THE FIRST MIRACLE OF THE INFANT JESUS

A dramatic monologue

by Dario Fo

translated by Ed Emery

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For all queries regarding performance rights, please contact

Agenzia Tolnay : info [@] tolnayagency.it

For all queries regarding the text, please contact the translator at:

ed.emery [@]thefreeuniversity.net

Original text copyright © Dario Fo

Translation copyright © Ed Emery

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[The Performance Text]

It was night... and through the great dark sky, full of stars, the fiery comet suddenly flashed like a bolt of lightening, with its great blazing tale of fire... zigzagging across the sky like a wild serpent, and plunging down among the shining stars like a bat scattering a huddle of frightened lizards... And those poor stars were scared. They shouted:

"What was that! For heaven’s sake!"

And the great star staggered like a drunkard, moving off, and disappearing into the distance, and tracing a great trail which, as it happened, was the route for the Three Wise Men. The Three Wise Men were three kings, who came from afar, from the East.

The oldest of the Three Wise Men was a king with a great crown on his head, and white hair and a grey beard. His face was wrinkled, he had a terrible hooked nose, and he swore a lot. He swore because he had boils on his bum, and every time his horse went bump, they hurt, and he’d go "Nyaah... mutter, mutter, mutter".

There was another king. He was young. He rode a white horse. he had a crown on his head, and long, flowing golden ringlets. He had clear blue eyes. And he always had a smile on his face. Then there was another king. He rode a camel. he was a black king, so black that compare with him the grey camel that he was riding seemed whiter than the white horse of the blond king. He was handsome, always smiling, and when he rode his camel he always sang. Over and over again. And this is what he sang:

"Oh how fine it is, to ride on a camel!

What a treat! What a treat!

Bumpety-bump on the hump of a camel.

Oh what a treat to be on a camel going to Bethlehem.

Under the light of a thousand stars.

With a comet guiding us

To the little hut

And to the Madonna who’s singing lullabies

To the baby who is crying and fretting.

And Saint Joseph, who is sawing away,

And the cherubims flying and praying,

And the ass and the ox braying and snorting,

And the camel goes along, bumpety-bump.

Oh how fine it is to ride on a camel!

It’s a lot better

Than riding on a horse

Because a horse shakes your testicles,

And this doesn’t happen on a camel.

What a treat! What a treat!…"

"Stop it, stop it!" spluttered the old king. "I can’t stand it! Four days and four nights now, he’s been singing about how wonderful it is on his camel!"

[The BLACK KING starts his ditty again]

"Obviously I’m going to sing,

Because it helps my camel keep going,

Because if I don’t sing,

The camel falls asleep.

And when he falls asleep, he trips up

And falls over right on top of me,

And so I get squashed.

So of course I sing on my camel!

Oh what a treat! What a treat!

And this way we get to the manger,

With the Madonna singing lullabies,

And Saint Joseph sawing away,

And the baby crying and whinging,

And the cherubs flying and praying.

The camel going bumpety-bump,

What a treat! What a treat!

You have to sing on your camel,

So as to give it a bit of rhythm,

Because riding on a camel isn’t like riding a horse,

Because a horse can gallop along,

But a camel goes bumpety-bump,

One paw in front and one behind,

And if you don’t give it the right rhythm,

One leg gets tangled up with the other,

And it trips over its toes,

And over it goes!

And I end up squashed by a camel.

Oh what a treat! What a treat!

I’m off to Bethlehem on my camel.

OOOOOH WHAT A TREAT!

OOOOH WHAT A TREAT!"

"Stop it!" Shouted the old king, in desperation. " If you don’t stop, I’m going to eat you alive! I’ll peel off the black, and I’ll eat the pink bits inside! I’ll eat you whole!"

"I ask you what a daft idea, sending a black king along as well, just because all humanity had to be represented! Why didn’t we bring a yellow one as well, or a red one, or a spotty one? No, he had to be black! And then he’s got those white eyes, with the black pupil in the middle, and when it’s dark, they glow red and he looks like a wild animal."

"You know, the other day I went out into a field because I had to see to my bodily needs... and I pulled down my trousers (excuse me if I go into details), and there I was, halfway through, squatting on my knees, in this very position, when all of a sudden I see in front of me two eyes of some wild animal! I shat on my trousers! And then it turned out to be him, shitting in front of me! He was shitting, but he wasn’t singing! The first and only time that he’s not been singing. At the very least he could have sung: ‘Oh what a treat! What a treat to shit without your camel’!"

At that moment the comet star did a big swoop, like a meteorite, and came to a sudden stop, in the middle of the sky.

"What’s happened?"

And the black king answered, with a little song.

"It’s stopped to get its breath back!

That means we’ve arrived!

We’ve almost arrived at Bethlehem.

Oh what a treat! What a treat!"

In desperation, the old king spurred his horse, and went galloping off like a madman, but the black king followed, hard on his heels and both of them disappeared off into the darkness and vanished... But even though you couldn’t see them, in the distance you could still hear:

"Oh what a treat, what a treat!"

"Shut up!"

"Oh what a treat..."

"SHUT UP!"

He mimes listening to voices getting fainter and disappearing off into the distance.

"Oh what a treat... !"

"SHUUUUUT UUUUP!"

And then came a great silence.

At that moment, all of a sudden, a great big angel appeared in the sky. His hair was all ruffled and his locks were blowing in the wind. He had a gold halo fixed on his head. And great folds of silk clothing which billowed in the wind like loose-handing sails. And across his chest was a big silk sash, with big letters, which said: "Angel!" Just in case anybody hadn’t noticed. And this angel, with his great big coloured wings, looked more like a flying pheasant in the sky. He came zooming down, skimming the ground as he pulled out of his nose-dive, and shouted:

He mimes the ANGEL doing a nose-dive to the ground.

"Men of good Wiiiilll... come, for the Redeemer is boooorn."

And all the shepherds threw themselves to the ground, terrified!

"Heeey... Are you crazy? What are you trying to do, crush us? You’ve frightened all the sheep and now they won’t give any milk."

He mimes another nose-dive by the ANGEL, which comes within an ace of flattening the SHEPHERD who is speaking.

"I hope you end up crashing into the mountain, so that your halo jams itself down over your head, and all your feathers end up scattered far and wide. You great chicken!"

And the shepherds set off towards the manger, and took all sorts of things to eat. Some of them took cheese, some of them a little goat, or rabbits, and another took chickens, and another took wine and oil, and one of them took baked apples, and tarts with chestnuts. And then there was one idiot who turned up bringing polenta made alla Bergamasca. I ask you, giving polenta to a new-born baby! Anyway, they said:

"We have to make the crib!"

In the manger, Mary’s mother, Saint Ann was arranging all the presents that people brought. The whole manger was full of things to eat. The donkey was so buried under a pile of parcels and packages that you could only see his head, and the poor thing could hardly breathe.

The cow was completely covered, and you couldn’t see her at all. Chickens, cheeses, salamis, bottles everywhere...It looked more like a street-market! The Three Wise Men arrived, and they went down on their knees. There was the old king, who brought his gift; then the young king, who brought his gift; and then the black king arrived...

"Oh what a treat! What a treat to see!

The baby in his cradle"

"Out you go... black man! You’ll frighten the Baby! If you must sing, sing outside!"

At that moment, they heard the noise of soldiers arriving. The soldiers were going from house to house to find out whether the Redeemer had been born, so that they could kill him. And lo and behold, the big angel suddenly arrived right in front of the house where the Madonna and Baby Jesus were, and he stood in front, with a huge sword. The soldiers got to the house, and the one leading them said:

"Stop. Look. In front of that house. A bloody great angel! Come on, let’s go, before he splits us in half! Come on, let’s get out of here!"

Now, at that very moment, stomp, stomp, stomp, a town crier arrived on the scene.

"Calling all mothers! Hear ye, hear ye! Whomsoever of you has, within these three days, given birth to a child, may be happy, because the King has decided to give a prize to the most handsome baby in his kingdom. Bring your baby to the palace. Bring it to Herod’s big house, and the King will be the judge, and he will present the most beautiful baby with a little crown, with an inscription: ‘What a beautify baby! This baby is almost more beautiful than the Son of God!’ And the woman who bore him, too, will have a crown, inscribed: ‘This is the mother who gave birth to the beautiful baby!’"

Saint Ann heard all this, and immediately rushed off to find the Madonna:

"Come on, they’re giving a prize for the prettiest baby. Bring Jesus along."

"No, I don’t want to. I don’t need prizes or rewards. I’m happy just as I am!"

"No, the whole world should know about your baby. We can’t have the prize offered by Herod going to another baby! Come on, come on! Do as your mother says!"

And they were just about to leave, when they had second thoughts:

"Wait a minute, we’ll go and get some ribbons to make the baby look pretty, and Joseph, you keep an eye on him and make sure nothing happens to him."

They go out, and immediately Joseph stops sawing, and says:

"There must be a trap here. I’m sure it’s a trap, Baby Jesus. What do you think?"

And Baby Jesus, who was not daft, said:

"Yes, yes . . " And he winked.

So then Joseph pulled out a jam jar where he kept some black stuff for painting chains. He took a little brush, and tac, tac, tac, he put little black dots all over the baby’s face, and the baby pulled faces, because it tickled.

"Now you just stay there!" And he carried on sawing.

What Saint Ann came back into the house:

"Waaah! Chicken pox . . ! Black chicken pox! It must have been that black man who came in here and frightened the baby!"

St Ann was a Sun reader.

But then she took a rag, and, wipe, wipe, wipe, she wiped the spots off, and the baby was all clean again.

"Somebody has been painting spots on our baby’s face! I wonder who that might have been!"

Joseph carried on sawing:

"Hrumph. Don’t ask me! Haven’t a clue!"

"You there, with your silly saw, you’d better watch your step, because otherwise, I might decide to saw something of yours off!"

Saint Ann was a terrible woman!

Then she and the Madonna went out again, to get some ointment to put on the baby to make him smell nice.

"Now, watch out. We’re going out, and you’d better mind that nothing happens to the baby, because we’ll know who to blame if it does!"

When the women had gone out, St Joseph didn’t know what to do... But then he saw a great big bumble bee sitting on the wall...all black and yellow stripes, a great big whopper of a bee. He took a glass... and... whap! He used the glass to trap it against the wall... Then he took a bit of card, and slipped it over the glass. Caught it!

He mimes imprisoning the bee in the glass.

"I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to give you a bite on the cheek. Whap! Whoomf! [He mimes an immediate swelling on the baby’s cheek] Now the other side. What! Whoomf! [He mimes an immediate swelling on the babe’s other cheek] Zap! And another on his forehead! [He mimes as above] In the name of the Father... (etc)."

Then he returned to his sawing, carrying on as if nothing had happened. Saint Ann came back into the room:

"Aaaargh! God! Look at that! Waaah! What happened! What a monster! Look at the state of him!"

"Don’t just stand there crying. They’ll be gone soon," said Joseph, "Two months at the most."

"What’s that?"

She points to one of the bee stings.

It’s a wisdom tooth!"

But there’s one on both sides!"

"Yes!"

"And there’s one in front too!"

"Very wise baby..."

The Madonna started crying, and Saint Ann likewise.

Oh, what bad luck! Why did he have to go and get three wisdom teeth today, when there was such a good prize to win! We won’t be able to take him now, he looks terrible!"

A little while after, down the road, they heard the sound of crying. They heard the desperate screams of women, of mothers, carrying their babies, all bloody and cut to pieces.

Waaah! It was a trap! No sooner were we in the courtyard than Herod shut all the gates. And soldiers came in and killed all the babies. It was a trap! All our babies, killed!"

So then Saint Ann realised what had happened, and went down on her knees. And the Madonna too. And both of them cried out:

"Thank you, God, thou are so wise and all-knowing. With this clever device of the bee stings, you tried to save this baby so that he would not end up in Herod’s clutches. Aha! What intelligence! What a wonderful discovery, oh Lord!"

And this rather irritated Joseph, and he sawed and sawed and sawed, sawing so hard that he even sawed through the bench that he was sawing on, and he spluttered:

"That’s the way it is... Always like that! Every time!" he said. "A fellow has a bright idea, and everyone goes off thanking God, who never had anything to do with it in the first place!"

At that moment, an angel came in, crying:

"Out, get out," he said. "Flee the massacres!"

"What do you mean, the massacres?!"

"Time to move! Get out! You’ve got to run!"

"Where to?"

"The Flight into Egypt!"

"Already?"

"Yes, because there’s all the soldiers outside, and they’re looking for you."

"Wait, first we’ll have to get a cart," said Saint Ann. "So that we can load up the presents that everyone’s brought us."

"No presents. You can’t take anything with you!"

And the Madonna Said:

"Do you mind, young man! Presents don’t grow on trees, you know, and I want them for the baby, for when he grows up . . "

"Bring out the donkey!"

"You must be joking," said Joseph . "You can’t load up that donkey. He’s been going for four days and four nights, and the poor thing is worn to a frazzle!"

And at that moment, the donkey came forward, walking like a drunkard. The poor thing could hardly stand up, and as they loaded him up, his legs began to buckle. They loaded all the bottles, and the posts, they loaded the cheeses, and the parcels and the bundles. And all of a sudden, the donkey collapsed. Whoomf, he went. His knees buckled, and his belly hit the ground. And there was the Madonna, still sitting on this back, with the babe in her arms.

"Madonna," said Joseph, "you’re going to have to come down, because the poor thing can’t budge. It’s dying"

"But I can’t, dear. In the Flight into Egypt the painters always show me sitting on the donkey."

So Saint Joseph got down underneath the donkey, and humped it up on his back, and so they all went off together. Then, after two days, or maybe three days, the whole Holy Family arrived at Jaffa. The white city of Jaffa, with all its tall, wonderful towers.

And all at once the angel flew up into the sky, with a great swoop. And the donkey lifted up its great head. Brrrrrrr! [He imitates the donkey farting]. The donkey farted! Brrrrrr! The donkey’s soul went off to heaven. He spread his legs, and boomp, his belly hit the ground. And the Madonna, sitting on the poor expired beast, looked and said:

"Poor animal! It must be a sign from God. It means that we’ve arrived!"

They entered the city, and found a hovel, a rat-hole of a place, which made the manger in Bethlehem look like a palace. Joseph blocked off all the holes with cardboard, and the family settled down to sleep. Then, first thing the next morning, the Madonna took a basket and went round looking for clothes to wash, because she too had to find some way of supporting the family. And Saint Joseph went around with his hammer, his saw and his nails, to try and find a job. And the kid was left out in the street.

That evening, the Madonna arrived home dead-beat, tired and sweating and with her back all aching. Then Saint Joseph returned, furious, because he hadn’t managed to earn a penny all day. He sat down there, and with his hammer began to hit his fingers on the table! Whack! Whack! Whack! Because this is the way carpenters like to let off steam. Then Baby Jesus came in, his hair all over the place, his hands dirty, his trousers all crooked, and no shoes on this feet.

"Mum! I’m hungry!"

"Oh, that’s wonderful manners, that is... ! You come home and instead of asking your mum and dad if they’re alright, or if they’re tired... Why do you have to be so horrible, eh?

"But mum, I’m hungry!"

And the Madonna said:

"Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Don’t forget that you came from heaven especially, that you were born into the world to show others how to be good, and to show love, and to have good words for everyone... And here you are, with the first two Christians, to whom you should show some respect, and you don’t even ask them how they are!"

The Madonna was furious. And Joseph too. They sat down at table.

"Boy, go and wash your hands. And wash your face too. And blow your snotty nose. Look at the state of your golden ringlets! Tidy them up a bit. And before you eat, make the sign of the cross. Oh no... wait... it’s a bit early for that!"

Then the child went to bed. And the Madonna went to bed, and so did Joseph. In the morning, Jesus woke up, and he found himself on his own again. All alone, with no one around. So, he put on this trousers, ate a bit of bread, and went out in the street, and there he saw all the children playing: leapfrog, and hide and seek, and hopscotch....

"Hey, kids! Can I come and play with you?"

"No!"

"I’ll be the leapfrog! Let’s play leapfrog. And hopscotch!"

"No! Go away...Palestine!"

"Let’s play ‘On It’’. You can chase me. I’ll be the robber. Can I be the robber?"

"No!"

"But why not?"

"Go away, Palestinee! Peasant!"

The boy started to cry. He cried with great big tears running down from his great big eyes. And at this point, just for a bit of fun and the chance to amuse himself with the other children, he did a miracle. Despite the fact that his mother had always told him:

"Don’t go doing miracles around the place, because if they find you out, they’ll realise that you’re the Son of God...and then Herod’s soldiers will arrive, and we’ll have to run away again!"

In the middle of the square was a fountain. And all around the fountain there was red clay. The sort of clay which they use to make bricks. Baby Jesus took a handful of clay, and began to mould it with his little fingers. He made a little bird’s head, then the bird’s little body, with little wings, and then tiny, tiny feathers. He took two twigs, to make its little legs...

" Look, look at this little bird I’ve made! It’s made out of clay!"

"Oh well done, Palestine! He comes all that way to show us how to make a clay bird... Oh well done!"

"Yes, but I know how to make it fly."

"What do you mean?"

"I breathe on it."

"Let’s see."

"Look! Whoosh!"

He blows the bird.

And the little bird opened its wings, and stretched itself, and beat its wings: chirp, chirp, chirp, chipichip, chipichip, chipichip!

With his hands, he mimes the bird flying around, and then disappearing off into the sky.

"Hey, that Palestine is a genius! Brilliant! Hey! He made a clay bird, and then he made it fly, just by breathing on it. Made it out of clay..."

"I don’t believe you."

"What do you mean? I saw it with my own eyes!"

"That trick’s as old as the hills. He finds a little stunned bird that’s fallen down from a tree. He picks it up. Then he dunks it in water. Then he rubs it in the earth a bit. Then he cups it in his hands, blows up its bum, and the bird gives a little shiver...chirp, chirp, chirp... and off it flies!"

"But no! I saw it! It really was made of clay! Come on, Palestine, show us again! Come on, another bit of clay. Look, see, he’s doing it... Give it its little wings... and now, blow!"

"Wait"

"Who... ?"

A big lad arrived on the scene, a boy with a big head, and long black curly hair.

"Hang on a minute. I want to check this!"

"Who are you?"

"Thomas!"

Thomas? That figures!"

He shrugs his shoulders, resignedly.

Thomas took a nail... and tack, tack, tack... He stuck the clay bird full of holes:

"All in order. Off you go!"

"Alright, now I’m going to blow!" [He blows] Whoosh... cheep, cheep, cheep, chirrup, chirrup...

Once again, he mimes the bird flying off.

"It’s flying! The bird is flying! Bravo, Palestine! Hey, I really like you! Where have you been all my life? What fun this is! Now everyone’s going to make a bird. And then Palestine will: Whoomf! He’ll breathe on them, and make our birds fly!"

"Come one, Palestine! You’re brilliant, you are!"

And all of them began making birds. One of them made a round peacock with a straight tail, and with square wings and a great big head drooping forward and then he put two feet on it. Crash... it fell over . . so then he put four legs on it, then five.

"But you can’t have a bird with four legs..."

"Well... it won’t stand up otherwise... Anyway who cares, as long as it flies..."

Then another one made a kind of sausage thing, with twelve wings in a row, with no tail, and with twelve feet.

"It’s a dog..."

Then another child made a big pastry, which looked more like a jam tart, with a head jammed in the middle, with no neck, a break pointing up... and all its wings, all splattered out, all around. And no legs.

"I don’t know if that one’s going to fly, we’ll have to see..."

Then another kid made several little birds, which looked like little turds. Then another one made a great bit turd. And the last one made a cat!

You can’t make a cat fly!"

"If that big turd there is going to fly, then my cat will fly too!"

"No, you can’t make cats fly. That’s not fair!"

"Mum! Palestine says he won’t make my cat fly!"

He mimes the MOTHER, leaning over the balcony and shouting.

"Palestine! Make my boy’s cat fly at once! If you don’t I’m coming down, and I’ll nail you up!"

He mimes JESUS looking at the palms of his hands, a bit worried.

"Alright, line up all your birds."

"He’s blowing! There they go!" [He mimes the staggering flight of the sundry birds] Whoosh... The peacock. Quack, quack, quack, quack . . Whoosh... the sausage. Chirrup, chirrup, chirp, chirp... whooosh! The tart. Tweet, tweet, tweet... Vrrrm... the big turd. Clunk, clunk, whoomf... The cat! Whoosh... Miaow... Yum, yum, yum! The cat ate all the birds in the sky!

Oh! That’s great! I’ve never seen anything so funny....!"

"Let’s have some more birds. Come on, all together!"

And everybody started making birds. Even children from other parts of town started arriving. The whole square was full of children making their little clay models. Birds of every shape and size. They were playing, laughing and singing!

But at that moment, whammo! The big door on the square swings open. And out comes a black horse, a handsome animal, all decked out, with a little boy on top, all shiny faces, with bright eyes and his hair properly combed... feathers in his had, dressed in silk and velvet, with a lace collar. And he was surrounded by soldiers in armour, and they too had feathers in their hats, and were riding white horses.

The little boy was the son of the lord of the whole city.

He mimes the little boy turning round on his horse and asking the local kids:

"Hey, children, what are you playing at?"

"Ignore him. He’s just a troublemaker. He’s the son of the Lord of the Manor. Ignore him, Palestine. Make out that you haven’t noticed him. Pretend he’s not there."

"Won’t you tell me what you’re playing? Can I play with you?"

"No!"

"And why not, pray?"

"Because... Because every time that we want to play with you, rich man’s son, you say no! And because every time that we come to your house where you’ve got your horses and lots of big toys, you get your guards to chase us away. Well now we have got a lovely game, the best game in the world, but Palestine is in charge of our game, and he belongs to us. You might be rich, but you haven’t got Palestine. Palestine’s on our side. Isn’t that right, Palestine? Splosh, splosh! [He mimes kissing Jesus] Don’t go off with the rich boy, eh? Don’t be a Judas, will you?!"

"But may I know what this game is?"

"Easy-peasy... We’re making birds. Then Palestine breathes on them, and makes them fly. Would you like to play too?"

"Oh yes."

"Alright then, pull out your willy, blow on it, and let’s see if you can make that fly!"

He mimes a great guffaw of laughter.

The rich man’s son was absolutely furious! With his eyes bulging out of his head. Black with anger, the little boy took a spear from one of his soldiers, and spurred his horse. The horse rode in among the children, and he started shouting like a madman:

"If I can’t play, then none of you are going to play either!"

Crunch, crunch... with the hooves of his horse, he smashed all the little clay figures. There they were all over the ground, shattered into little bits. The children were crying... and throwing lumps of clay at him... and the soldier arrived on their horses, and began shouting:

"Scram! Get out of here, got out, go on! Because he’s allowed to do anything he wants, because he’s the rich man’s son!"

All the mothers looked out of their windows.

"That’s naughty! That was such a good game! Didn’t cost anything. .Our children were happy, and you . . "

And the soldiers:

Scram, mothers! Get out of the way, because you’ll get a spear in you if you don’t!"

Slam, crash, bang, bang! All the windows closed. All the doors closed. The square emptied. The only people left were the little boy, the rich man’s son, on his black horse, and his soldiers, who were laughing. And nobody noticed that Baby Jesus was still there, near the fountain. With eyes wide open, full of tears...And he was looking at the sky, which had filled up with clouds.

He mimes the little boy, turning to heaven and shouting.

Daaaad, Daaaad!"

The clouds opened: Creeeaak, vrooom, vraaam!

He mimes the clouds opening up, and GOD peering out from between the clouds.

"What’s the matter?"

He imitates the tone of a little boy trying to hold back the tears.

"Dad, it’s me, Jesus..."

"What happened, son?"

"Sob, sob, sob... That boy’s naughty, he broke all the little clay things that we made to play with. He scrunched them all with his horse. Sob, sob, sob, sob..."

He cries, sobbing.

"But look, son, was it really necessary to give your father such a fright for such a silly thing? Do you realise I was right the other side of the universe, and I came tearing across at full speed... I punctured almost twelve clouds, not to mention running down a dozen cherubims, and my halo’s all over the place - it’ll take an eternity to get it right again!"

"Yes, but he’s been naughty. He’s the rich man’s son. He’s got everything! He’s got all sorts of toys, but when he saw that we were enjoying ourselves, he... sob, sob, sob... [He sobs] ... he broke everything... Waaaah... [He cries] ...And I tried so hard . . . "

"Speak up, son."

"And I tried so hard to do the miracle, to get the birds to fly, so that I could have some friends to play with... And it was nice, because we all made friends... but now I’m all on my own again like before. All my friends have run away... Waaaah! [He cries] I’m ever so unhappy, Dad, I’m ever so unhappy... Waaah!"

"You’re right. I have to say that smashing up children’s games, destroying their dreams, really is the worst of violence... But he’s just a kid, son... What do you expect me to do, eh?"

JESUS lets out a long, thoughtful, weeping sigh, and then, in a very matter-of-fact tone, says:

"Kill him!" [He smiles, looking heavenwards, naughtily] "Eh?"

He mimes smiles and little shrugs aimed to win his father’s agreement.

"But Son, I sent you down from heaven specially to teach peace between men, and to speak to them of love. The first time someone upsets you, you want to kill them?! That’s not a very good start, is it, eh?!"

"Is that asking too much? Well, alright then, cripple him... Blind him, eh? Blind him and cripple him!"

"No, you can’t do that sort of thing, son. You can’t just go being violent to people."

"You can’t eh? What you mean is, you can’t eh? Can I Kill him, then?"

"Alright then, do what you like. I can see there’s no point my talking to you. But don’t go round telling people it was me that did it."

Creeak, vraaam, the clouds disappeared . . . The clouds faded away, and once again the sky was clear. And time had stood still. Once again, there was the rich man’s son, laughing, and the soldiers sniggering, and Baby Jesus nearby, calling out;

"Cooee...! Rich man’s son!"

"Eh?"

"Tee-hee-hee."

He laughs the sly laugh of somebody who is preparing a wicked joke.

"So, you’re laughing, eh? You’ve created all this mess around here, you’ve smashed all our birds, broken up our game. And there you are, pleased as Punch, thinking that nobody in the whole world can touch you. Not even your father, eh? Well, how would it be if I decided to get you struck by lightning, eh? You’re laughing? Don’t you believe me?"

Vroooonnch! A terrible lightning bolt flashed from the eyes of Baby Jesus. [He describes the terrible flash of fire] A tongue of fire, like a snake on fire, twined itself all round the boy, picked him up, turned him over, threw him to the ground, and he turned into terracotta as if he’d been made in an over. Blam! All smoking!!

And all the women looking out from their balconies started shouting:

"What is this terrible thing that you’ve done?"

The soldiers went white as a sheet and galloped off on their horses.

The Madonna had heard shouting from afar, and came running:

"What’s happened? What have you done, son?"

"Nothing... Just done a miracle. My first miracle. Look, he’s still warm."

"But what... It’s a little boy? It’s a little boy that you’ve turned into terracotta!! But what have you done? What is this? Why?"

"Well, he was nasty to me, Mum!"

"I don’t want to hear another word! Bring him back to life!"

"No." [In a whining tone of voice]

"Jesus, do as I say! Think of this boy’s poor mother... She’ll have a fit... ! bring him back to life at once... !

"But I don’t know how to, Mum. I only learned how to do lightning bolts, and I haven’t learned the bit about how to bring them back to life!"

"Don’t tell fibs. Bring him back to life, and get on with it! Don’t you realise that if the soldiers come, we’re going to have to run away again... And your father, and I have just found work!"

"Alright, but... You know, you can’t just do a miracle and then undo it at once! Alright then, I will bring him back to life. But I’ll do it with a kick..."

Blam! A big kick up his clay bum... Vrooom... The little boy turns back to flesh and blood, brought back to life.

He stands there holding his bum with his hands and looking around him, frightened:

"What happened, what was that, what’s going on?!"

And Baby Jesus answered:

"It was me... A miracle... Struck you by lightning...Then brought you back to life! That’s ‘cos my Mum came... So you’d best thank the Holy Mother! You still feel your bum smarting from the kick, eh... ? Well, remember that, because it’s an allegory! Very instructive for all those who took fright and ran off and hid behind their shutters because they were too afraid..."

He points to the windows all around the square.

"Because the day that they started to think for themselves, then you’d better watch out... because you’re going to get such a kicking! Your bum will swell, and swell, and swell, and swell, until blam! It’ll burst! And there you’ll be, for all eternity without an arsehole! Amen!"

[Ends]

 [Last edited: 6.viii.2012]

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Please be aware that this translation can only be performed with explicit permission in writing from the agency representing Dario Fo and Franca Rame, the Danesi-Tolnay agency in Rome.

Last updated: 6.viii.2012

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