Setting: Living room of Sam's apartment, pleasant but not distinctive second-hand furnishings.

Three knocks on the door to the apartment.

Sam enters and crosses to door. He is wearing a robe, Japanese or suggestive of the Japanese in design. Opens the door.

Lyn is there, still composing herself to greet him. She wears casual but tidy clothing.

SAM: Hi.
 
LYN: Hi.
 
Lyn enters. They hug.
 
LYN: Not going out?
 
SAM: No.
 
LYN: Change in plans?
 
SAM: Nope.
 
More passionate hug.
 
LYN: You're in a good mood.
 
SAM: Um-hm.
 
More passion, Lyn relaxing and getting into it.
 
SAM: We're going to do it tonight.
 
LYN: (Mock passionate.) Oh, baby.
 
SAM: No. It.
 
LYN: What it?
 
SAM: The Big It.
 
LYN: Oh no. No no no no no. (Disengages.) I thought we were done with
that.
 
SAM: No, just thinking about it. Planning it. Setting it up.
 
LYN: You know I'm not going to do that with you.
 
SAM: You said you would.
 
LYN: Never.
 
SAM: You promised.
 
LYN: I never promised.
 
SAM: It sounded like a promise to me.
 
LYN: That was just sex talk.
 
SAM: You meant it when you said it.
 
LYN: That was just sex B.S. Just one of those things you say.
 
SAM: Well it's one of those things I'm going to do. And I want you to
do it with me.
 
LYN: No.
 
(Beat.)
 
SAM: Please?
 
LYN: No.
 
(Beat.)
 
SAM: Okay. (Chipper) Well, I'm going to do it, anyway.
 
He resumes kissing her. She shoves him away.
 
LYN: What are you doing?
 
SAM: Before I do it. One last time.
 
LYN: What, are you crazy?
 
SAM: Why not?
 
LYN: You think I'm going to do it with you with the picture of you
doing that in my head?
 
She moves away from him.
 
SAM: It could be really beautiful.
 
LYN: No.
 
SAM: It —
 
LYN: No!
 
(Beat.)
 
SAM: This is not going at all the way I pictured it.
 
LYN: Sorry to put a crimp.
 
She prepares to leave.
 
SAM: I still need you to stay.
 
LYN: What for?
 
SAM: To be my kaishaku.
 
LYN: Your — ?
 
SAM: My second. I told you.
 
LYN: I'm not going to do that either.
 
SAM: You don't keep a single promise, do you?
 
LYN: Not like this.
 
(She is at the door)
 
SAM: I'm still gonna do it.
 
LYN: No.
 
SAM: Whether you're here or not.
 
LYN: No, you're not.
 
SAM: Hey. I am.
 
LYN: No.
 
SAM: Okay. I'm sorry. Goodbye. (Occupies himself elsewhere.)
 
LYN: Goodbye. (Beat.) I'm going now. (Beat.) Goodbye.
 
Sam displays a sword.
 
LYN: Jesus H. Fuckin Christ!!!
 
SAM: Isn't she a beaut?
 
LYN: Bleeding Buddha on a Stick!
 
SAM: I got her on e-Bay.
 
LYN: Put that thing down.
 
SAM: Why, are you staying?
 
LYN: If you'll put that thing down.
 
SAM: If you'll stay.
 
LYN: If you put it down.
 
SAM: If you stay.
 
LYN: Okay.
 
Sam puts down the sword.
 
LYN: Farther away.
 
He moves it.
 
LYN: Farther.
 
He moves it farther.
 
Lyn moves back toward Sam.
 
(Long beat.)
 
LYN: You know, you may be the worst boyfriend yet.
 
SAM: I don't mean to be.
 
LYN: That's seldom any comfort.
 
Sam tries to hug her. She repulses him.
 
LYN: Oh. Oh. Not.
 
SAM: But —
 
LYN: Finito.
 
SAM: But —
 
LYN: When the sword made its appearance.
 
Sam. Oh. Okay, the role of the kaishaku —
 
LYN: No, we're not doing that either.
 
SAM: But we are.
 
LYN: But we're not.
 
SAM: But I am.
 
LYN: But you won't.
 
SAM: Yes I will.
 
LYN: Why?
 
Sam flourishes a copy of Sun and Steel.
 
SAM: "To embrace suffering is the constant role of physical courage —"
 
LYN: Oh, not Mishegoss again.
 
SAM: Mishima. "...making true awareness of death possible. The closeted
philosopher —"
 
LYN: You, the closeted philosopher! Gimme that.
 
Lyn snatches the book out of Sam's hands.
 
LYN: Let me see this thing. (Flips through the book.) "Facile cynicism,
invariably, is related to feeble muscles or obesity, while the cult of
the hero and a mighty nihilism — "Hah? (Looks at the cover.) Well, he
was pretty buff. Why don't you join a gym instead?
 
SAM: (Grabs back the book.) "Blood flows, existence is destroyed, and
the shattered senses give existence as a whole its first endorsement —"
(Lyn snatches the book back. Sam finishes from memory.) "And this is
death."
 
LYN: Hey. You've got two pages folded down here, and they're the two
pages you just read to me from. (Flexes the book.) You didn't even read
the whole fucking book!
 
(Sam takes up the sword, hefts it experimentally.)
 
LYN: Look at this thing. It's full of soldiers and fencing and sweat.
And philosophy.
 
(Sam poises the end of the sword at his stomach.)
 
LYN: (Looking at back cover.) Did you even check out this bio? This guy
wrote a ton of books, he started his own private army. He acted in
movies. Maybe you should try some of that before you cut your guts out.
(Sees Sam with the sword.) Hey!
 
Lyn drops the book and wrests the sword from Sam, clumsily. The sword
is heavy. She drops it, away from him.
 
LYN: Gaaah!
 
SAM: Just practicing.
 
LYN: My heart.
 
SAM: Sorry.
 
LYN: No sorry. Don't do that!
 
SAM: Okay.
 
LYN: Good.
 
SAM: Except, of course.
 
LYN: Honey, why, really honey, why do you want to do this?
 
Sam reaches for the book. Lyn kicks it away.
 
LYN: No book.
 
SAM: (Produces a sheaf of papers) "Ritual suicide in samurai —"
 
LYN: (Snatching the papers) No crib sheets! (Examines the papers.)
Fucking Internet. (She tosses them.) Just tell me.
 
SAM: (Mulls, paces, adjusts his bathrobe, stops and stands.) I'm
finished.
 
LYN: You haven't even started.
 
SAM: No, I mean I'm finished.
 
LYN: And I mean, you haven't even started.
 
SAM: What's the point?
 
LYN: Of telling me? I'm going to slap you in a second, you want some
suffering.
 
SAM: No, of going on, what's the point?
 
LYN: Oh, this old thing. What's the point? What's ever the point? Who
told you there was going to be a point?
 
SAM: So you agree with me.
 
LYN: No, I don't agree with you! The point is, you got up yesterday,
there was no point, you got up today, there was no point, you'll get up
tomorrow, there won't be any point then either. No pointing, just
going.
 
SAM: Well, I'm going.
 
LYN: Well then, me too. (Heads for the door.)
 
SAM: I did think of one other thing.
 
LYN: What now.
 
SAM: Another way we could do it.
 
LYN: This is going to be rich. Throw ourselves in front of a train? Eat
red meat and smoke? Taunt a pit bull?
 
SAM: No. This.
 
Sam pulls a white paper bindle out.
 
LYN: Oh. Oh you bastard. Oh, you are an evil bastard.
 
SAM: No pain, right?
 
LYN: You evil, evil bastard. (She approaches him.) Who sold that to
you? Silvio? John?
 
Lyn takes the bindle and looks inside.
 
SAM: Nobody. I went down to that corner.
 
LYN: I can't believe you. Since when do you go anywhere near that
corner?
 
SAM: Since it didn't make any difference anymore. It was funny. I used
to be so scared of that corner, but all I could think about was, if
somebody stabs me, I wasted all that money on a sword.
 
LYN: Yeah, that would be a shame. (She closes the bindle.) No.
 
SAM: Are you sure? You could like, do some, and then I'd, you know, do
the sword thing for you, and it's not like you'd have to worry about
having to quit again.
 
LYN: (Simpering.) Gee, you must be the best ex-boyfriend in all the
world!
 
(Beat.)
 
SAM: Your sarcasm is not really anything that I pictured as part of
this whole evening. It's just as well we broke up. (Reaches for the
bindle.) Maybe I should do some.
 
They each hold an end of the bindle.
 
LYN: You? You never snorted heroin before in your life.
 
SAM: So?
 
LYN: Think about it, dopey duck, what happens to people the first time
they do shit?
 
SAM: They throw up... oh.
 
LYN: Yes, "oh." That's a nice way to go out. Barfing one way while your
intestines stick out the other way... You didn't even think to get some
works?
 
SAM: A needle? It never even occurred to me.
 
LYN: A shame. You might almost have had a chance of tempting me.
 
SAM: Sorry.
 
LYN: The old-timers used to do some sort of gimmick with a straight pin
and an eye-dropper... nah.
 
She tosses the bindle away.
 
SAM: Well, okay.
 
(Beat.)
 
That's all I got.
 
(Beat.)
 
If you're going, go. If you're staying, stay.
 
Lyn doesn't move. Sam takes the sword and kneels. He opens his robe and
positions the sword point on his belly.
 
SAM: You're just going to stand over there?
 
LYN: What, a little dance? (Demonstrates.)
 
SAM: You're not going to help me?
 
LYN: By cutting off your head? No.
 
SAM: Okay.
 
LYN: Okay.
 
SAM: I should warn you, it's supposed to be really terrible to watch.
 
LYN: I'll grit my teeth.
 
Sam shakes his head in pity, and prepares. A moment of stillness. Sam
leaps up.
 
LYN: I knew it. I knew it I knew it I knew it! (She dances
spontaneously.) I knew you weren't going to do it!
 
Sam shows her a piece of paper and a pen.
 
LYN: An oral apology will suffice. Perhaps some kissing of a foot.
 
SAM: This is for the poem.
 
LYN: Ah yes, the poem! of course! The poem! What's a degutting without
a poem?
 
Sam kneels with the paper in front of him, the sword at his side. Lyn
moves to read over his shoulder.
 
(Beat.)
 
LYN: Roses are red —
 
SAM: Shh!
 
LYN: — violets are blue —
 
SAM: Shut up!
 
LYN: — Hari-kiri is swell, and so are you.
 
SAM: I'm really going to have to ask you to leave if you keep this up.
 
LYN: Or what, you'll kill yourself?
 
Sam glares, glances at the sword. Lyn puts her foot on it.
 
LYN: Not in your wildest.
 
SAM: No.
 
LYN: Not ever.
 
SAM: Okay.
 
LYN: Just so we understand.
 
SAM: Yes.
 
LYN: All right.
 
She moves her foot off the sword.
 
SAM: Seppuku.
 
LYN: You're welcome.
 
SAM: No, not hara-kiri, seppuku. (He bends to his poem; she watches.)
"Hara-kiri" is considered, kind of vulgar.
 
LYN: Well, excuse the fuck out of me, gut-boy. (He writes two words,
lays down the pen and picks up the sword again.) That's your poem?
"Cherry blossoms"? That's your poem?
 
SAM: (Robe open, sword at belly.) Enough already.
 
LYN: My poem had roses and violets.
 
SAM: Shut up.
 
LYN: And it rhymed.
 
SAM: Will you please?
 
LYN: Sorry.
 
SAM: I'd really like to end this on a good note, you know.
 
LYN: I know, I'm sorry.
 
SAM: This is important to me.
 
LYN: I understand. I'll be good.
 
SAM: Okay.
 
LYN: Okay.
 
SAM: I appreciate that. (Beat.) It was nice knowing you.
 
LYN: You too.
 
SAM: You absolutely —
 
LYN: No.
 
SAM: Okay. (Beat.) A goodbye kiss?
 
LYN: Sure. (She kisses him, putting just enough sex into it to make him
give her a dirty look when she pulls away.) What?
 
SAM: Nothing. Farewell.
 
LYN: Farewell.
 
Sam holds the sword poised at the center of his belly, then repositions
it [correctly] on the left.
 
(Beat.)
 
Sam cuts into his belly, a bit.
 
SAM: Ow!
 
LYN: (Short sharp screams.) Aa! Aa! Aa!
 
SAM: Fuck! Shit! Piss! (Beat.) Sheesh, that hurts.
 
(Lyn kneels and puts her arms around Sam.)
 
LYN: Let me see it honey, let me see. (She peers at the wound.) It's
not so bad, honey, it's not that bad.
 
SAM: Jeez.
 
LYN: It's not as deep as it feels. But we should go to the hospital
anyway.
 
SAM: No, no hospital.
 
LYN: Okay, honey, no no hospital. (She peeks again.) It not that bad.
It just a little seppookoo.
 
SAM: Not funny. (Winces.)
 
LYN: Dat right. It not funny, sweetie. If you pass out, Mommy dwag you
to deh hospitoo anyway.
 
(Lyn lies back, still supporting Sam.)
 
LYN: I know honey, I know. Everything's so bad and awful and horrible.
Life stinks and nobody understands you. And there's no point. Just all
these people walking around, not having any point. But it's not so bad,
booboo, it's not so bad.
 
SAM: No.
 
LYN: No, it isn't. (She relaxes, strokes his hair.) I tell you what,
booboo, life starts to look really bad to you again, we can go get
fucked up on some shit. We can play beautiful losers together, and when
that gets tired we can quit together too. That'll give you some point
for a while.
 
SAM: No.
 
Sam puts his hand on the sword.
 
LYN: No. Okay. How 'bout this? When you're all done with your bleeding
and stuff, we can go down to the chapel and get married. Have a big
wedding, live in a big house and drive a big big car. That way we don't
have to walk around without a point anymore, we can drive straight
there.
 
SAM: No.
 
Sam grasps the sword.
 
LYN: Okay. No. How about —
 
Sam impales himself on the sword. The wound erupts. He is in agony.
 
Lyn, at first paralyzed, leaps for the bindle of heroin. She smears it
across Sam's face. No effect.
 
Effortlessly, gracefully, Lyn extracts the sword and decapitates Sam.
Immediate end of agony.
 
The sword, now heavy, drops from her hand.
 
A moment of regard, the body, the wreckage. Lyn uses Sam's robe to wipe
the hilt of the sword, then picks up the bindle, ponders, drops it on
the body, picks up the poem.
 
LYN: Fucking cherry blossoms.
 
She crosses to the door and uses the poem to turn the knob, closes the
door behind her. Beat, then blackout.
 
 
 
SOME NOTES ON THE PLAY
 
Casting is racially open.
 
Lyn and Sam have been more or less imagined as a woman and a man in
their twenties. However, older couples of about the same age are
acceptable as is same-sex casting (Lyn — Len). I find it hard to
picture the play working with Lyn as a man and Sam as a woman, but
you're welcome to try if you must.
 
Play set can range from a full naturalistic apartment down to a bare
stage with a single couch, and you can do without the couch — as long
as all of Sam's props are concealed until their moment. Sam's robe
would probably be useful for this.
 
Theoretically, and maybe ideally, the play could be performed in any
sufficiently large living room, den, or other available space.
 
 
The immolation scene, from "Sam impales himself..." to "Immediate end
of agony" calls for as great a coup as imagination and budget allow...
a gushing of blood and intestine; a fabulous unfurling of yards of red
and black crepe; an intense white light and the deafening beating of a
gong....
 
©2000 Michael Rosenthal

This play is under copyright by Michael Rosenthal and protected by applicable law. Downloading does not confer to you any production or other rights, which can only be obtained from the author or his representative.

 
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