HOW THE MOST, MOST REVERED CHAIRMAN, MAO TSE-TUNG, RESISTED THE TRIPLE TEMPTATIONS OF SELFINTEREST, SATRAPY & SEX,
or
H O W   M A O

by
Mordecai Goldberg

THE CAST

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS:

MAO/SKAI-HAI...a leading man.
LAY-MEE/THE GIRL...a leading lady.
ARTEMIS WEST...a playwright.

CHINESE VILLAGERS:

HUNG SO-LOW   FUH-KUP   DUKE DUNG   SHEN-TEH   MR & MRS MUK   AI-SINGH

PEKING OPERA TROUPE:

TZU-DOH   MR MOON   MEE-TOU   MAI-WEI   STAGE MANAGER   HERR FAUST/CARRUTHERS SOLDIERS/MUSICIANS/STAGEHANDS 1&2

THE SCENE

The play is performed on the stage of what was formerly a private theater within the Ducal Palace of Dung, and now serves mainly as the propaganda platform of The People’s Assembly Hall, from which the villagers of Lung Dung are routinely reminded of their "privileged" status as proletarians in the People’s Republic of China. Tonight, as a special treat, they are to be entertained by the Peking Opera’s anniversary production of "HOW MAO"—a play celebrating certain "earthshaking" events that occurred in Lung Dung 15 years before Mao’s revolution became a fact of Chinese life. Downstage left or right a plain table used as a desk by Local Party Chief So-low. Upstage in a central position an ornately carved couch upholstered in gold and silver tapestry. A pair of screens adorned with traditional Chinese landscape painting and calligraphy flank the couch.

ACT ONE

As audience enters HUNG SO-LOW is discovered sitting behind ‘desk’, on which there are stacks of paperwork. He is composing a speech. Now and then he notices audience and, treating it like his peasant constituency, barks insults and orders.

SO-LOW: What’s going on over there? What’s all that fussing about? Why don’t you just take any seat? Is there some reason for all that chitchat? Can’t you see I’m trying to get some official work done? Is it really so hard for you to sit there like bumps on a log; or is that too much for your Chinese brains to handle? You don’t think this is some kind of picnic do you? We were invited here to experience a "Cultural Event Of The First Magnitude"—so just sit there and chew on your tongues!

The stage contains the sparse furnishings and props for the play; notably an ornately carved sofa used for the Famous Seduction Scene, and 2 screens depicting traditional Chinese landscapes. Also there are homemade bunting and banners inscribed with the sayings of Chairman Mao and exhortations of the local commune, such as: PEASANTS & PROLETARIANS TOGETHER!—THE PEOPLE’S SCREW FACTORY No. 36 WELCOMES THE PEOPLE’S PEKING OPERA—THE RISING SUN OF EASTERN CULTURE GLOWS RED IN THE WEST!—THE PEASANTS OF LUNG DUNG LINK ARMS WITH THEIR THEATRICAL COMRADES IN ARTISTIC/POLITICAL SOLIDARITY. etc. Some seats in first row of auditorium are occupied by a small group of VILLAGERS, including: FUH-KUP, SHEN-TEH, and MR & MRS MUK. They gossip about their boring diet of bok choy, the layers of underwear they wore this past winter, etc. They also comment on appearance of the audience—the clothes, hairstyles, etc. of these ‘foreigners.’ (‘Where do you come from comrade, Moscow? Warsaw? East Berlin?’—‘Is that a real fur coat?’—‘That’s not American gum you’re chewing, is it comrade?’) When an "oriental" ambience has been established the play begins with:

SO-LOW: We might as well use this time for rehearsing the speech I’m going to give when the Peking Opera Troupe gets here. So listen carefully, as I might ask you for some constructive criticism—[Clears throat, reads.] "Distinguished visitors from Peking! My name is Hung So-low, Local Party Chief of Lung Dung. For 25 years I’ve been buried alive in this stinking hellhole"—[To VILLAGERS.] That’s not too harsh a description of this shitpile, is it? [Resuming speech.] "The best years of my manhood have been wasted here, so is it any wonder I’ve become what some people consider an ‘illtempered and bitter’ old man? How would you like it, comrades from Peking, if you were marooned in a hick town like this with the kind of subhuman types you see sitting in this audience? And the climate here is really disgusting! In the winter you freeze, and in the summer you roast—and when a nice day does come along, once every 5 or 6 years, like today for instance, what happens? Our comrades from Peking decide to pay us a visit so they can see how the 'other half' lives. Well comrades, if you had asked me I would have recommended our going to Peking to see how you live!"

VILLAGERS demonstrate enthusiastic support for this idea.

"And another thing comrades; you would think after spending a quarter-century in this social armpit a man like me might be permitted a breath of fresh air once in a while—not that I’m complaining, mind you; but—as my old granny used to say—‘Only the squeaky wheel gets the oil.’"

VILLAGERS make squeaking noises.

MRS MUK: Speaking of oil, when are we going to get something to fry our bean sprouts in?

SO-LOW: Are you trying to stir something up, Mrs Muk?

MRS MUK: Don’t get me wrong comrade Party Chief—I’m not complaining—I was merely expressing constructive criticism.

MR MUK: She was only doing what you yourself do so habitually, comrade Party Chief—

SO-LOW: Any time your wife wants to run this show, Mr Muk, I’ll be happy to turn the whole kit and caboodle over to her! Do you think I am doing this for my health? [Reading speech.] "25 years ago Chairman Mao himself said to me: ‘Sergeant Hung, in recognition of your heroic sacrifices during the Long March and in the ongoing struggle to drag China kicking and screaming into the 20th century, I am leaving you behind temporarily to govern the newly established soviet called Lung Dung’. That was in 1947; and I haven’t heard another word about my ’temporary’ assignment since—not that I’m complaining. I can understand Chairman Mao must have had something on his mind more important than me all these years—but still, I think this abstract proposition deserves to be considered: Does any human being deserve rotting in this pile of nightsoil?"

VILLAGERS ardently express their negative reply to this rhetorical question.

FUH-KUP: Maybe things wouldn’t be quite so bad here in Lung Dung if we had TV, comrade So-low!

SO-LOW: [Ignoring audience remarks, reading speech.] "Still, comrades from Peking, I have given my all to making the revolution succeed. They said it was impossible to manufacture screws in this wilderness, and now the screws of Lung Dung are holding China together in its Great Leap Forward! Maybe you should remember that the next time you pedal your bicycles to work!"

FUH-KUP: I haven’t got a bicycle, comrade So-low!

SO-LOW: "By now I might have been a sergeant-major—living in Fukien Barracks with a wife and a brood of kiddies. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Somebody had to stay behind to guard this manure heap. I just occasionally wonder out loud why it had to be old Sergeant Hung So-low!" [Dreamily.] Yes—right now I could be at the Fukien Barracks sitting with my boots on the railing of the NCOs balcony sipping a cold drink as the sun sets on those endless ranks of hot, thirsty recruits. Just a frosty glass of lemonade; with maybe a dash of gin in it—watching all those sweaty shavetails kick up clouds of parade ground dust. And then, after a bullsession with the cadre, to join my wife and kiddies for a nice homecooked meal? Nothing ostentatious, mind you; just a morsel or two of pork, or even pork fat, with a black bean sauce and maybe a little fresh asparagus and broccoli tossed in—or a few morsels of bitter melon to enhance the piquancy of the sauce—with some steamed dumplings on the side, the kind that are stuffed with dates or chicken and ginger—

MRS MUK: What I want to know is are we going to miss our suppers on account of this "cultural" shindig?

SO-LOW: I thought I just heard you complaining you were fed up eating bok choy?

MRS MUK: I’m only fed up with bok choy after I’ve eaten it!

SO-LOW: Missing a meal for the sake of peasant/proletarian solidarity won’t kill you, Mrs Muk. It’s a privilege to go hungry for the revolution. What about all those brave soldiers who sacrificed their lives liberating you from feudalism? Are they complaining about all the suppers they have missed? And what about the wife and kids I never had?

MR MUK: So, what you’re saying, between the lines, is that we are not going to get supper tonight.

SO-LOW: Tonight we are all going to dine on "culture!" According to our comrades from Peking the citizens of Lung Dung are suffering from a collective case of theatrical malnutrition—which is why they are bringing us a thick and juicy artistic steak to chew on.

SHEN-TEH: If we are not going to eat I think we should at least stop talking about food, even the metaphorical variety—

MRS MUK: He was the one who started it all, Shen-teh—with his black bean sauce and bitter melon—

FUH-KUP: Not to mention the date dumplings and lemonade with gin in it!

MR MUK: Right now I’d settle for a stale riceball—with perhaps some tiny bits of salted turnip added to it, and a sprinkling of vinegar and soy—

SO-LOW: Do you have any idea what we ate on the Long March?

MRS MUK: [To MR MUK.] The other night I had that old dream again about water buffalo stew with lotus roots and cloud’s ears adrift in the gravy—

SO-LOW: We ate our shoes! We ate the bark off trees! We nibbled grass like sheep!

FUH-KUP: I’ve heard it said you even ate each other, comrade So-low.

SO-LOW: [Rhetorically.] You see what I mean, comrades from Peking? Here I am unmarried, childless and utterly forsaken by those who have the power—and the duty—to rescue me from this cesspool into which they dropped me; and in which I am compelled to endure this petty grousing about a missed meal or two! Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but simple justice is simple justice—

MRS MUK: It’s not our fault you never got hitched. You should have married Shen-teh years ago.

FUH-KUP: But Shen-teh is still in love with her dead pilot, aren’t you Shen-teh?

AI-SINGH, a goatherd, ENTERS auditorium wearing filthy goat skins. A crude man, he nevertheless bears himself with majesty.

AI-SINGH: What’s this about you locking all my goats up! I’m heading for the high pastures tonight, you cretinous communard!

SO-LOW: We thought you might like to be entertained by the Peking Opera, Goatman.

AI-SINGH: Why would I want to waste my time on propagandistic claptrap? I can get more "cultural" kicks from just gazing at the stars.

SO-LOW: I’m not asking you, Goatman, I’m telling you.

AI-SINGH: And I’m telling you to blow it out your yellow ass!

SO-LOW: You can’t talk like that to your Local Party Chief!

AI-SINGH: You’re not my party chief, you dumb chink. Don’t forget I still have this! [Takes wadded parchment from within shirt.]

FUH-KUP: What is that, Goatman?

AI-SINGH: A sacred document!

FUH-KUP: What does it say, Goatman?

AI-SINGH: It says I don’t have to take any crap from that overstuffed turd up there! You can see how it’s signed by Mao Tse-tung himself!

FUH-KUP: I can’t read, Goatman.

SO-LOW: That’s all right, neither can he!

AI-SINGH: I don’t have to read to know it says that for services rendered to the People’s Liberation Army in 1934 we Goatpeople have been given the status of an autonomous republic.

FUH-KUP: What’s a "ton of mouse public?"

AI-SINGH: It means those bloody mountains out there belong to me; as if they was foreign countries—

FUH-KUP: Like France, or Switzerland, or the U. S. of A.?

SO-LOW: But that socalled "treaty" of yours doesn’t say anything specific about goats, does it? And, since the goats are presently within the jurisdiction of the PRC they are going to remain under lock and key until the play is over!

AI-SINGH: Why you mealymouthed, slanteyed sonofabitch—that’s a declaration of war!!!

SO-LOW: [Taking revolver from desk drawer.] Good! Now I can rub you out legally!

AI-SINGH: [Brandishing kris.] If you think a Chinese bullet is faster than a Goatman’s kris, you just try!

MRS MUK: Don’t be silly, Goatman!

SHEN-TEH: Can’t you see he’s just looking for an excuse to liquidate you?

FUH-KUP: Maybe you should surrender, Goatman!

AI-SINGH: I’d rather die like a Goatman than live like you Chinese dogs! [He is restrained by VILLAGERS.]

SO-LOW: Out of the way! Let me get a shot at him!

MRS MUK: You’re too late—he’s capitulating!

AI-SINGH: The hell I am! I want to parlay one-on-one with Mao Tse-tung! Just me and him, sovereign-to-sovereign!

MRS MUK: Alright, but until Chairman Mao gets here why not sit with us and enjoy the show?

AI-SINGH: [To audience.] It’s just a truce—remember that. I haven’t surrendered a bloody thing! I’m still king of the Goatmen!

SO-LOW: I just wish the comrades from Peking had seen this little episode. They would have seen for themselves what I have suffered through these past 25 years!

MR MUK: Speaking of long-suffering, when is this show going to get off the ground?

SO-LOW: That’s another problem heaped on my head! The Peking Opera should have been here half an hour ago—

FUH-KUP: What are they going to perform for us? Is it going to have lots of sword fights, fancy costumes and torrid love scenes?

SO-LOW: The title of the pay they are doing tonight is: "How The Most, Most Revered Chairman Mao Tse-tung Struggled With The Triple Temptations of Sex, Selfinterest and Satrapy."

Loud groans from VILLAGERS.

MRS MUK: Not "How Mao" again!

MR MUK: We’ve seen that old warhorse at least ten thousand times!

SHEN-TEH: We know it by heart!

SO-LOW: I have nothing to say in the matter. The powers-that-be have decided that since this is the 25th anniversary of Mao’s Triple Temptation, and because The Famous Seduction Scene originally took place right here in Lung Dung, it would be appropriate to celebrate the occasion with a performance of this "classic of proletarian theater" staged by the best actors and actresses in the entire People’s Republic of China—and by Marx, Engels and Lenin, we are not going to disappoint our wouldbe benefactors! So; you can all just make believe you’ve never seen "How Mao" before, and clap and cheer and boo in all the right places. You are going to be on your best behavior, comrades! That means no coughing or bringing up gobs of phlegm during the patriotic songs and soliloquys like you usually do! That means no spitting on the floor and no farting either—definitely no farting tonight! And I don’t want to hear you squirming in your seats when the political rhetoric gets a little heavyhanded; and none of those obscene remarks during The Famous Seduction Scene! Also you can forget about leaving in the middle of the Soliloquy on Contradictions to take a leak or "check on your sick granny"—and no nosepicking or earcleaning just because the lights are dimmed. Is that understood?

FUH-KUP: What happens if a louse bites me, Comrade So-low? Does what you just said mean I can’t scratch myself or try to squash him?

SO-LOW: Yes, stupid; that is exactly what I mean! I am giving orders to all the lice out there not to bite anyone during this evening’s performance!

MRS MUK: Does that also include flies, ticks, mosquitoes, mites and chiggers?

Laughter from VILLAGERS.

SO-LOW: Alright, you have had your little laugh; now just sit there and behave yourselves until the choppers arrive with our distinguished visitors. You can occupy the time by reading your Little Red Books or maybe think about the dam we are going to build on your day off tomorrow. You can do anything, so long as you don’t bother me while I finish writing this speech.

A brief period of silence.

MR MUK: [Whispering.] It’s so quiet I can hear my stomach grumbling.

MRS MUK: [Whispering.] It was a beautiful day today; the first real day of spring.

SHEN-TEH: [Whispering.] It’s been a hard winter all right.

MRS MUK: [Whispering a little louder.] Remember, before the revolution, how we used to celebrate May Day with feasting and dancing?

MR MUK: [Whispering louder yet.] That’s when we first fell in love—during one of those spring dances—

SO-LOW: That’s enough of that!

MRS MUK: We were just talking about the first day of spring—

SO-LOW: I know what you were doing!

MR MUK: We were thinking about the good old days, comrade.

SO-LOW: Well now you don’t have to think any more. The authorities do all that hard work for you, Mr Muk. Haven’t you seen the new slogan—"Thinking Is A Waste Of Time?" In Peking they have whole office buildings filled with civil servants worrying about what is best for us.

FUH-KUP: If they want to know what’s best for us, Comrade So-low, why don’t they just ask us if we want TV?

SO-LOW: Because you are an idiot, that’s why.

SHEN-TEH: I think the boy’s got a point comrade Party Chief.

SO-LOW: The only point he’s got is the one on top of his head.

SHEN-TEH: That’s not a very democratic remark.

SO-LOW: If I were you, Shen-teh, I’d keep my mouth shut about "democracy."

MRS MUK: What’s that supposed to mean?

SO-LOW: Maybe that some of us are more "democratic" than the rest of us.

MRS MUK: Are you insinuating some subversive conduct on Shen-teh's part?

SO-LOW: [Putting pencil down.] Well, since the matter has come up, and we do have some time on our hands—hasn’t it ever occurred to any of you how stylishly dressed Shen-teh always is? I mean the way her "proletarian" pajamas seem to fit her form so perfectly ? And there is that "peach blossom" aroma she exudes even in the dead of winter—

He beckons SHEN-TEH to stage with finger. She obliges him.

FUH-KUP: Shen-teh certainly does smell nicer than the rest of us, comrade Party Chief!

MRS MUK: You haven’t managed to get your hands on some prewar perfume, have you Shen-teh?

SHEN-TEH: No, Mrs Muk, it’s just plain soap and water; although its possible the soap does have just a nuance of peach blossom essence in it.

SO-LOW: A leftover from your days of luxury in Tzechuan, no doubt?

SHEN-TEH: It’s true that I brought a few bars of my favorite brand with me to use on special occasions such as this—

FUH-KUP: Is it also true you used to be a prostitute and some famous dramatist wrote a play about you?

SHEN-TEH: That was long ago—ten thousand years and ten thousand li from here, boy. As you can see, I’m an old woman now—

SO-LOW: An old woman; but not too old for— this!!!!

He whips down her pajama bottoms, under which Shen-teh wears frilly red panties, black garter belt and long silk stockings. Gasps from VILLAGERS.

MRS MUK: I don’t believe it! All this time she has been deceiving us!

FUH-KUP: She might be over the hill but there is nothing wrong with those gams of hers!

SO-LOW: There are even more surprises, are there not, Shen-teh? [Undoes her peasant tunic to reveal a lacy black bra.]

MR MUK: Now, this is what I call democratic justice in action!

FUH-KUP: Are you going to strip her stark naked comrade Party Chief? A fellow once came through Lung Dung who told me that in a place called Cicero, Illinois there are nite spots where women peel right down to their birthday suits. You think that could be true?

SHEN-TEH has stepped out of her slacks, and stands proudly in the knowledge she looks quite glamorous despite her years.

SO-LOW: Here you see standing before us, comrades, the great spokesperson for democracy! Pure silk this is! Not even petty bourgeois nylon is good enough for our Shen-teh! She must have the genuine article! Nothing but the very best for her!

FUH-KUP: [Whistles.] You can almost see right through that bra!

SO-LOW: Yes, Shen-teh! Your transparent nature has been revealed for all to see! But comrades, the real question is: Where did our "poor" Shen-teh get the cash to buy all this fancy stuff?

FUH-KUP: That is a good question, Shen-teh.

MRS MUK: Now that we’ve all had a good look at the "evidence" don’t you think Shen-teh should be allowed to put her clothes back on?

SO-LOW: Oh, no you don’t! We’re not having any Watergate-style coverups in the People’s Commune of Lung Dung, comrades! We must delve deeply into the very bottom of this affair! [Gives SHEN-TEH’s bottom a pat.] We must get to the essence of things; to the bare, naked truth—as Chairman Mao has repeatedly urged us to do! Isn’t that right Mr Muk?

MR MUK: Whatever you say, comrade.

SO-LOW: We must have a full confession of your sins, Shen-teh! And none of those fairytales about some gods descending from heaven with bags full of silver dollars!

SHEN-TEH: All I can tell you, comrades, is that one thing led to another. It all began when I sold the few surplus eggs laid by my hen, Esmeralda. Just one or two extra eggs a month—that is what started me sliding down the slippery slope of capitalism. With the few yuan I saved from selling those eggs, I bought some sugar cubes at the county market. I like a little sugar in my tea, but before I could use it a shortage developed and I was able to sell those cubes at the market for 2 silver dollars, with which I purchased 4 kilos of Java coffee. With the coffee profits I bought licorice and tobacco, and before I knew it I owned a small warehouse in Pei-tou. And because of my conscientious dealings I had established good credit. So when there was a chance to buy a shipment of smoked hams and bacon from Kwang-Si—

MRS MUK: So that’s where that bacon came fro—[Shuts herself up, having made a damaging admission.]

SHEN-TEH: As I say, one thing led to another. Profits grew from profits until I had three warehouses and nine retail outlets throughout the province. The trouble was that the silver dollars kept multiplying but there was nothing I could buy with them of a personal nature without becoming too conspicuous a consumer; so I indulged my secret, intimate self, with the luxurious feel of silk lingerie, moisturizing creams ointments and various other scented powders and soaps to remind me of my wasted youth. Believe me comrades, there were many times when I wanted to end my life of crime; but there were thousands of people depending on me! Entire industries had sprung up to supply the demands I had so unwittingly created by selling those few surplus eggs! Now there was smoked salmon when for decades there had been none. There was chewing gum and cigars, chocolate covered marzipan, lipstick, ballpoint pens—

SO-LOW: Ballpoint pens? Are you telling me you can actually lay your hands on some ballpoint pens?

SHEN-TEH: How many dozen would you like—if we’re talking gross quantities I can discount them by 20%. My factory in An Luk is overproducing just now.

SO-LOW: Yes—well—we might have to confiscate some of them—officially—as evidence—in this matter.

SHEN-TEH: So you see, even though I wanted to stop, how could I? It isn’t as if I was getting rich for myself, comrades. After all, how much fancy underclothing can one woman wear?

SO-LOW: That’s the nightmare of capitalism, comrades! Wasn’t it Lenin who described the free enterprise system as a runaway freight car of creature comforts?

MRS MUK: It certainly wasn’t Mrs Lenin!

SHEN-TEH: Whoever said it, truer words were never spoken! I see that now, comrades. I will simply abandon the whole business, regardless of the catastrophic consequences. I’m sorry, Mrs Muk, but I shan’t be able to deliver those sausages from Canton as I promised—

SO-LOW: I think that’s quite enough, Shen-teh. You can dress now—

MRS MUK: It’s a scandal!

SO-LOW: I agree, Mrs Muk—so perhaps you will cooperate in the matter of all this ham and coffee and sausages you have been consuming!

MRS MUK: Can’t you see what Shen-teh is trying to do?

MR MUK: Her game is to shift the blame on to us!

SO-LOW: And she has succeeded!

MRS MUK: Shen-teh knocked on our door and practically begged us to take those surplus eggs off her hands!

MR MUK: Just a minute, dear. It wasn’t us she begged—that egg business was all your idea.

SO-LOW: Since the cat is already out of the bag, Mr and Mrs Muk, I think we might as well look into all of your eating habits—

He beckons MUKS to stage. SHEN-TEH returns to seat in audience.

MR MUK: [Pleading with SO-LOW.] Believe me, she was the one who bought that first egg from Shen-teh. I didn’t even get a nibble at the damned thing!

MRS MUK: But when you came home and began sniffing around the kitchen you started asking questions, didn’t you? "Is that a fried egg I smell?" Always sticking your olfactories into my personal life!

MR MUK: Maybe if you shared things instead of being so selfish I wouldn’t have to "sniff" into your affairs!

MRS MUK: You call it being selfish when all I was trying to do was spare you from the temptation of Shen-teh's illicit dealings? After all, darling, I know how dedicated you are to your revolutionary ideals!

MR MUK: Yes, well—that certainly is the truth, my dear—

SO-LOW: Would you mind getting back to the bacon and ham business!

MRS MUK: [Rather enjoying spotlight.] Well, as Shen-teh says, one thing does lead to another. First you have just that single fried egg sitting there, looking so lonely on such a large plate. The proportions just don’t look right, if you know what I mean. And the smell of an egg frying positively cries out for additional, complimentary aromas. Eggs and bacon. Eggs and ham—combinations that couldn’t be more natural. And then there is the coffee one needs to wash it all down with—which, of course, brings us to the subject of cream and sugar—

MR MUK: And don’t forget the toast!

MRS MUK: I was coming to the toast—

MR MUK: And what good is toast without butter?

MRS MUK: And you can’t have buttered toast without imported English marmalade—

MR MUK: Yes, the flavors blend so perfectly!

MRS MUK: [To SO-LOW.] You see how one thing really does lead to another!

MR MUK: And after eating fried eggs and ham and bacon and buttered toast with English marmalade, when there is still a sip or two of coffee left in your cup, what could be more satisfying than an American cigarette?

MRS MUK: [Caught up in MR MUK’s rapture.] Yes, an American cigarette after a breakfast like that is the icing on the cake all right!

SO-LOW: That’s a very pretty picture you two are painting. Now I wonder if you can explain how you managed to pay for all those goodies?

MRS MUK: It was simple, comrade Party Chief: We used the money you paid us for the night soil we supplied to the commune!

MR MUK: If you check the official record they will show that our production of night soil has been quite extraordinary—

MRS MUK: We’ve been getting bonuses for exceeding our quota—

SO-LOW: I know all about your night soil bonuses! And now we all know how you managed to put out so much surplus crap!

MR MUK: It isn’t as if we planned it that way. The more we ate the more we shit, and the more we shit the more food we could buy. So, once again—it really does seem to be a case of one thing leading to another!

FUH-KUP: I can understand what Mr Muk is talking about, comrade Party Chief. The more they ate the more they shat and the more they shat the more they ate—

SO-LOW: We’ll get to you in a minute birdbrain!

MRS MUK: Of course, now that we appreciate all of the ideological ramifications and since Shen-teh is being put out of business, there shouldn’t be any more problem—

MR MUK: Except that our production of fertilizer will fall off rather dramatically.

MRS MUK: That is undeniably so. A diet of millet and gruel just doesn’t result in the mountains of manure you get from bacon and eggs and imported marmalade—

MR MUK: It’s a shame the government can’t find a way of legalizing what Shen-teh was doing on the sly.

SO-LOW: Is that what you think our glorious revolution was all about? Just finding better ways to produce more night soil!

FUH-KUP: That’s how they do it in America, comrade Party Chief!

SO-LOW: What could an idiot like you possibly know about America?

FUH-KUP: A fellow I once met from Weichungpo told me all about life in the good old U. S. of A. He came through Lung Dung collecting bristles from the communal piggery and had a scar running from his ear clear down to his chin from a real Japanese samurai sword. He said he got that scar in hand-to-hand combat near Nanking in the Fall of ’37, I think it was—or maybe the Summer of ’38.

SO-LOW: What in God’s name has the Sino-Japanese war got to do with the issues we are discussing!

FUH-KUP: He had a brother.

SO-LOW: Who had a brother?

FUH-KUP: This fellow from Weichungpo. Although, now that I think about it—it could have been an uncle of his who went to the states right after the Boxer Rebellion and helped build a railroad but actually ended up owning a hand laundry in San Francisco. Or, it might have been the other way around, in that he had the laundry first and then helped to build the railroad—

SO-LOW: And what is the point of this stupid, dreary, boring tale?

FUH-KUP: It has to do with his impression of America—the uncle or brother of this fellow from Weichungpo—the one who left China after the Boxer Rebellion, or maybe it was before the Rebellion; but that isn’t the really important part of the story. The really important part is that this fellow wrote a letter to the fellow with the scar from Weichungpo saying it was his impression that the secret of American prosperity lay in the simple fact of how much they ate. The more they ate the more food the farmers produced, and the more food the farmers produced the richer they all got. He said: In his humble opinion the trouble with Marxist-Leninist economic theory was—it started from a basis of production, whereas the true genius of American capitalism was its consumption-oriented basis.

SO-LOW: Do you have any idea what you are saying?

FUH-KUP: Not necessarily comrade—I’m only repeating what that pigbristle fellow from Weichungpo told me his brother or his uncle wrote before the war. He said the problem with Chinese communism was that we produced goods nobody wanted and wanted goods nobody was producing. At least I think that’s the way he put it.

SO-LOW: I’m warning you, comrade Fuh-kup, you’re in enough hot water as it is without dabbling in economic theory!

MRS MUK: What’s the boy done this time?

SO-LOW: It’s none of your business. You two can return to your seats now.

MUKS return to audience seats.

MRS MUK: [As she leaves the stage.] We’ve had to confess in public. What’s so special about Fuh-kup's transgressions?

MR MUK: [To FUH-KUP.] You’re not a CIA operative are you boy?

SO-LOW: If you must know, Fuh-kup has been charged with a moral offense—the details of which are too disgusting for public airing.

AI-SINGH: It couldn’t be any worse than that time he got his pecker stuck in the tailpipe of the district bus!

MRS MUK: Or more obnoxious than when he buggered the bung hole of the communal rain barrel!

SHEN-TEH: And it certainly couldn’t be as bad as the trick he played on—

FUH-KUP: [Rising from seat.] I’ll tell you what I did! I’m not ashamed to have the facts exposed for all to see!

SO-LOW: You’d be smarter to keep your trap shut, pervert!

SHEN-TEH: We have a right to know.

MR MUK: Our curiosity has been aroused—

MRS MUK: And what else is there to do while we wait for the Peking Opera troupe to arrive?

AI-SINGH: This might turn out to be a helluva lot more entertaining than that infernal "How Mao!"

MRS MUK: We haven’t had a juicy sex scandal in Lung Dung since old granny Chang ran off with that one-legged sailor from Hong Kong.

MR MUK: The chap with all those lewd tattoos on his chest?

SHEN-TEH: I thought Granny Chang eloped with her grandson—

MRS MUK: That was Granny Kwang who was having it off with her grandson.

AI-SINGH: Isn’t Granny Kwang the one who used to run around all summer with her cleavage on display?

MR MUK: No, no, no—that was granny Wang—

MRS MUK: And she is still doing it!

AI-SINGH: Is it any wonder that a healthy young ram like Fuh-kup gets ideas with you women provoking him at every turn?

FUH-KUP: It wasn’t a woman this time, Ai-Singh—

SO-LOW: Since the horse is out of the barn you may as well know that the Manager of the People’s Piggery has filed a complaint alleging comrade Fuh-kup has gotten one of the Peoples’ pigs pregnant.

SHEN-TEH: Is that possible? I mean for a man to get a pig pregnant?

AI-SINGH: Why not; we’re all animals, aren’t we? You don’t think we were dropped from the clouds or delivered in the beak of a stork, do you? All this talk about being made in the image of some celestial being is plain horsefeathers. Just ask yourselves where these finger and toe nails of ours evolved from!

SO-LOW: Just because you happen to be half mountain goat doesn’t mean we Chinese are not 100% human!

AI-SINGH: Hell’s bells—I’m proud of the fact my maternal grandpa was a bona fide Tibetan mountain goat!

MRS MUK: That may be, but I wonder how he feels about having a grandson like you!

AI-SINGH: All I know is I get along better with my goats than I do with you yellow bastards! And I’ll tell you this—no selfrespecting goat would work in a screw factory or sit through a performance of "How Mao" on a gorgeous night like this!

FUH-KUP: Getting back to my case, comrade Party Chief, what I want to know is: are you going to allow us to get married?

SO-LOW: Married! You’re headed straight for a mental institution—and that sow of yours will end up as Spam for the Red Army!

FUH-KUP: That’s not fair. We’re in love—

SO-LOW: ""Love" has nothing to do with it. Leaving the issue of bestiality aside, you have got to be 28 before you can marry in the PRC.

FUH-KUP: I can’t wait that long! My hormones are in a state of flux! Isn’t that what you told me, Dr Dung? [DUNG and LAY-MEE have been sitting in row behind other Villagers.]

SO-LOW: Have you been giving this sex maniac some of your psychiatric advice, comrade Dung?

DUNG: The unfortunate boy has been my patient since that episode with the rain barrel. He developed an infection from a wood splinter and after we cleared that up I began treating his Dingus Erectus.

SO-LOW: What the hell is "Dingus Erectus?"

MR MUK: Didn’t someone write a play once about a man falling in love with a pig!

FUH-KUP: They strapped my pecker to my leg—[Laughter from VILLAGERS.] Honestly, that’s what Dr Dung did!

DUNG: According to the People’s Clinic for The Study of Dingus Erectus that is the recommended treatment for what is currently an epidemic among the adolescent male population of China—

AI-SINGH: There’s always an epidemic of that ailment in the adolescent population where I come from but we give it the less fancy name of "peckeritis."

LAY-MEE: We’ve tried herbal medicines, acupuncture and ice packs, but—

FUH-KUP: I melted a hole right through the middle of all that ice, didn’t I, Lay-mee!

DUNG: I’m afraid comrade Fuh-kup's condition is beyond my barefooted medical skills.

SO-LOW: Yes, this is certainly a slippery case.

SHEN-TEH: Still, we have to come to grips with the problem.

MR MUK: There are so many ins and outs involved—

MRS MUK: The real question is, can we really punish Fuh-kup for being an upstanding member of the commune?

SO-LOW: Have you all finished with your puns now?

MRS MUK: I was just going to add, comrade Party Chief, that whatever Fuh-kup's punishment is, it shouldn’t be too stiff!

PEKING OPERA TROUPE ENTERS at rear of auditorium dressed as bedraggled remnants of People’s Liberation Army—survivors of The Celebrated Long March, which ended in The Famous Trek Across The Grassland Swamp. SKAI-HAI, the actor playing Mao, is carried on litter made from rifles. SOLDIERS carry SKAI-HAI to stage and lower him gently onto Couch.

SO-LOW: What’s going on—what is the meaning of this?

TZU-DOH: I am Prang Tzu-doh, Artistic Director of the Peking Opera Troupe.

SO-LOW: I’m Hung So-low, Party Chief of Lung Dung. [They exchange bows.]

TZU-DOH: As you can see—things have not gone according to our plans.

SO-LOW: What happened? Did your chopper crash?

TZU-DOH: We haven’t come by helicopter, comrade—

MEE-TOU: A comfortable helicopter ride would not have been in the spirit of Mao-thought!

MAI-WEI: [Striking theatrically heroic pose and declaiming.] "To Know The People One Must Go Among The People!"

TZU-DOH: It was decided by the entire troupe that we should make our journey to your village in the same way Chairman Mao and his heroic soldiers did 25 years ago. In that way the experience would be artistically, as well as politically, satisfying and correct.

SO-LOW: You’re saying you actually marched the entire 20,000 li of the Long March!

TZU-DOH: Well, that would have been rather impractical comrade, considering such a trip would take us at least 2 years to complete.

MAI-WEI: With the result that we wouldn’t have the time or energy to do any acting if we marched our way to every performance of "How Mao!" [Laughs nervously.]

TZU-DOH: We decided it would be prudent to only do the last part of the Long March—The Trek Across The Infamous Grasslands.

SOLDIER 1: It sounded so easy!

SOLDIER 2: Just a pleasant little stroll through some grasslands!

SOLDIER 1: What could be so difficult about that?

SOLDIER 2: Maybe we should have expected the hazards of crossing the grasslands based on our rehearsals of "How Mao!"

SOLDIER 1: But how could we know the play was telling the truth? You don’t expect that from a play!

SO-LOW: You were damned lucky to make it through that swamp in one piece comrades. We lost ten thousand hardened combat veterans crossing that mean stretch of real estate in ’34.

TZU-DOH: I’m afraid we actually did lose a few of our people out there; as a matter of fact, some of China’s finest actors perished on our way here to Lung Dung.

SOLDIER 1: Not to mention a couple of clarinetists and a trombone player!

SO-LOW: That’s terrible!

MAI-WEI: [Striking heroic pose.] But they did not die in vain! They sacrificed themselves for the cause of the Great Cultural Revolution! They gave their all for your artistic enrichment, comrades of Lung Dung!

MEE-TOU: Our intent was to recreate the conditions historically setting the stage for "How Mao"—

TZU-DOH: To put our feet into the footprints left behind by the heroes of the People’s Liberation Army—

SOLDIER 2: The only trouble with that scenario was that when you put your foot down into that muck you sank up to your thighs in the filthy stuff!

SOLDIER 1: And, the harder you struggled to free yourself, the deeper you sank!

SOLDIER 2: Right up to your armpits—

SOLDIER 1: And when that happened you were a gonner.

MAI-WEI: [Striking heroic pose.] But now we know from our own first hand experience the hellish nightmare those brave soldiers of old endured!

TZU-DOH: I must admit that for an actor it was a priceless experience. Now we can truly understand the characters we portray in this epic drama of revolutionary selfsacrifice—

SOLDIER 1: I still don’t see why it was necessary for the musicians to risk their necks for the sake of artistic verisimilitude. After all, music is music.

SKAI-HAI: [Rising on one elbow.] You will see—comrades—even your music—will sound better—[Collapses back onto couch.] You will see—it was all worthwhile—

TZU-DOH: [To SO-LOW.] This is comrade Skai-hai, the brilliant young actor who plays the role of Mao Tse-tung in our opera. Skai-hai seems to have come down with some strange illness while crossing the Grasslands. Is there a doctor in the house?

SO-LOW: Comrade Dung, see what you can do for our leading man.

DUNG and LAY-MEE come to stage. She carries his medical bag.

DUNG: I’m not a real doctor you understand—not by Peking standards at any rate; but I will do what I can. This swamp fever isn’t easy to treat—as you probably know from the play.

SKAI-HAI: [As his upper garments are being removed by LAY-MEE.] Are you saying—I have the same illness—Chairman Mao himself—suffered from?

DUNG: Yes. It is a fever peculiar to this remote region. For centuries the inhabitants of Lung Dung have avoided the Grasslands like a plague—and for good reason!

DUNG and LAY-MEE begin treating SKAI-HAI.

SKAI-HAI: That is what the "barefoot doctor" tells Mao in the play—those are almost his exact words!

DUNG: Are there any other words one can use to describe what is happening?

SKAI-HAI: This is fantastic!

TZU-DOH: Don’t worry, Skai-hai, we can have a team of specialists flown in from Peking to cure you!

SKAI-HAI: What are you saying Tzu-doh—can’t you see what a golden opportunity this is for me? I am suffering from the same malady as the character I will be playing! How fortunate I am to be so "fatally" ill!

SO-LOW: [Aside to TZU-DOH.] He’s not serious about going ahead with his performance, is he?

TZU-DOH: That would be out of the question. He’s obviously delirious. Besides, as I explained, we lost half of our cast in this disaster—

SOLDIER 1: Not to mention those two clarinetists and the trombone player.

SOLDIER 2: Why is it you keep forgetting to include the musicians in the casualty count, comrade Artistic Director?

SKAI-HAI: Listen to me, comrades—did Mao Tse-tung cancel the revolution because he lost half his army crossing those same grasslands?

TZU-DOH: This is an entirely different kettle of fish—

SKAI-HAI: [As LAY-MEE bathes him with alcohol.] Why? Did we not come here to rededicate ourselves to the principles of selfsacrifice? Is performing a play under these conditions any more arduous than performing a revolution?

TZU-DOH: You’re a very sick man, Skai-hai. You don’t know what you are saying. A performance in these circumstances would be suicidal!

SO-LOW: This swamp fever is no joke, lad. I had a dose of it myself 25 years ago and now on rainy days or even when the humidity is high I still get the shivers and aches in all my joints. There are times when every bone in my body reminds me of those dark and desperate times when China’s fate was borne entirely on our humble backs—

SKAI-HAI: You are actually one of the original Long March survivors?

SO-LOW: Yes, and I can tell you it was no Sunday School outing we were on. No, sir! We weren’t playing "artistic games" in those days.

MAI-WEI: [Kneeling by SKAI-HAI, caressing his face while pushing LAY-MEE away.] They’re right, darling—it would be foolhardy to play Mao in your condition. You’ve done your best. You’ve proven your courage. You have made your holy pilgrimage. You have mingled with the masses—now it’s time to be sensible and think of your career.

SKAI-HAI: My career? Did Mao Tse-tung think of his "career?"

MAI-WEI: I didn’t mean in a selfish way darling; your career belongs to the People’s Republic. You have no right to throw away a national treasure in a fit of misguided idealism.

SKAI-HAI: Isn’t that another speech from the play? Aren’t those the lines spoken by your character to Mao? Isn’t it obvious what is happening? We are reliving the play we came here to perform! We are dealing with the identical issues Mao himself dealt with—only instead of the revolution we are talking about doing or not doing our act—

TZU-DOH: [To SO-LOW.] I think we should send the audience home, comrade, and contact the local army commander about getting some proper medical attention for my leading man—

SOLDIER 1: What about the musicians? Aren’t we entitled to "proper" medical attention?

SKAI-HAI: The show must go on! The show will go on! [He struggles to his feet, shrugging off efforts of DUNG, LAY-MEE and MAI-WEI to restrain him. He comes to footlights.] Members of the audience don’t despair! There will be a performance of "How Mao" this evening come hell or high water! You will not be disappointed! No power on earth can deprive you of seeing this stirring drama of heroic selfsacrifice! We can all—[Falters and is helped back to couch.] We can do it I tell you—there must be someone out there in the audience who can fill in the missing roles—

SOLDIER 2: Maybe we could find an amateur actor or two—but what about the clarinets and the trombone? You think it’s that easy to find musicians in a boondock like this?

SKAI-HAI: [Lying on couch, spoken weakly.] You will be amazed at what the masses can do once they set their minds to the task. All we need do is call on them to make the sacrifice. Isn’t that what Mao himself said—on this very spot—while lying on this very couch? People of Lung Dung, I am confident you will rise to this occasion just as you did a quarter century ago when that Greatest of All Great Men came amongst you in his darkest hour of need asking for your help.

SO-LOW: But these folks aren’t actors—they don’t have any imagination, comrade. I’ve seen them do this play and it’s an insult to the cause of Marxism-Leninism-Maoism to put them anywhere near a stage—

MRS MUK: That’s not fair!

MR MUK: I thought we did a decent job with our production of "How Mao" last summer, don’t you, Shen-teh?

SHEN-TEH: We certainly tried our best.

MRS MUK: If you want to know the truth, the only thing wrong with our "How Mao" was that you played the title role!

SO-LOW: Are you inferring I don’t know how to play Chairman Mao? Don’t forget, in the old days he called me his "right hand man"—

FUH-KUP: I’ve heard that Chairman Mao is left-handed, comrade Party Chief!

SO-LOW: I’m sure the Director of the Peking Opera is qualified to judge such matters. [To TZU-DOH.] An occasion like this demands the highest professional standards, isn’t that so, comrade Tzu-doh?

TZU-DOH: There is no question about it—and even for us "How Mao" is not a piece of theatrical cake! Besides, the artistic standards of the Peking Opera don’t permit the co-mingling of amateur and professional talent—not to deprecate the "rustic charm" some "agrarian" performances of this play manifest from time to time.

SKAI-HAI: And what kind of soldiers did Mao have? Were they all "professionals?" The entire world ridiculed them but that didn’t stop the Red Army from making military history. No. Those brave peasants and proletarians linked their arms, and together they brought forth on this continent a new government of the people, for the people and by the—[Having risen on elbow he falls back again. MAI-WEI goes to him.]

MAI-WEI: Please, darling, you don’t know what you’re doing. Can’t you just lie there until the proper medical personnel arrive?

SKAI-HAI: Only if you all promise me—as Mao was promised in my situation—that I won’t be double-dealed during my incapacitation.

TZU-DOH: Alright. It’s a promise.

TZU-DOH takes SO-LOW downstage as DUNG and LAY-MEE intensify their treatment of SKAI-HAI.

SO-LOW: You’re not actually going to proceed with this farce, are you?

TZU-DOH: Of course not. I’m only humoring him until the drugs your doctor administered take effect—

SKAI-HAI: What are you whispering about? I won’t stand for any tricks! I’m not dead yet—and as long as my heart beats the revolution lives!

TZU-DOH: We were simply discussing some casting problems—

SKAI-HAI: Koumingtang runningdogs! I ought to have you arrested for conspiring behind my back!

TZU-DOH: We are having trouble finding the right people to play the Duke and the Princess. They aren’t easy characters for these rank amateurs to portray.

SKAI-HAI: [Laughing deliriously.] Fool! They are already playing their parts! This doctor and his nurse are doing exactly what the Duke and Princess do during the prologue of "How Mao," aren’t they?

TZU-DOH: In the crassest kind of realistic terms I suppose that’s true enough—but dramaturgically it’s quite another matter—

SKAI-HAI: Silly little man! You still can’t comprehend what is happening to us! Art and actuality are merging into a single theatrical phenomenon—

TZU-DOH: If that’s what you really think then you’re right—it is beyond my comprehension.

SKAI-HAI: Let me explain it to you then: In the beginning of the play am I not carried into the theater on a litter of rifles and laid on an ornately carved couch?

TZU-DOH: True.

SKAI-HAI: A couch very much like the one I am lying on now?

TZU-DOH: Well, I wouldn’t—

SKAI-HAI: [To other actors.] Isn’t it plain to see how similar this couch is to the one we had to abandon in the grasslands?

SO-LOW: In point of fact, this is "the" couch, comrades. I don’t mean the stage furniture you lost in the Grasslands—but the one on which Mao actually recuperated from the fever he came down with on his way to Lung Dung.

SKAI-HAI: Now, Tzu-doh, ponder the ontological implications of that piece of news!

SO-LOW: Yes, that whole seduction business happened right here in Lung Dung—and on this very stage as a matter of fact.

TZU-DOH: Ah, my friend, I’m afraid you are mistaken about that. According to the official history books the events celebrated in "How Mao" occurred in a palatial setting—

SO-LOW: But this is a palace—or was one before we communalized it.

TZU-DOH: I find it hard to believe this dive could once have been a royal residence!

SO-LOW: What do you expect in a rundown hovel like this—the bleeding Taj Mahal? Even at the height of feudal times Lung Dung was in very sad shape as satrapys go.

SKAI-HAI: Are you telling us this is the authentic site where the events of "How Mao" did in fact transpire?

SO-LOW: The very building, the very couch and the very spot!

SKAI-HAI: Did you hear that, Tzu-doh?

TZU-DOH: Yes, yes, yes—all these "coincidences" are very interesting, but they don’t solve the problem of blending these rural actors into our troupe of cosmopolitan performers.

SKAI-HAI: And yet what better way is there of "Mingling With The Masses" than to share a genuine artistic experience with them? Can there be any more "Exalted Harmonization Of Contradictory Forces?"

TZU-DOH: I was referring to the practicalities of recruiting actors familiar with the play on such short notice, comrade.

MRS MUK: But we all know "How Mao" backwards and forwards—

MR MUK: And inside out!

MAI-WEI: [To SKAI-HAI, referring to Lay-mee.] Still darling, can’t you see this creature is all wrong for the role of Princess Lay-mee? What Chinese audience would ever believe she is the legendary seductress who tried to deflect the great Mao Tse-tung from his rendezvous with destiny. And surely, this barefooted medico couldn’t be mistaken for Mao’s arch rival, the aristocratic Duke Dung!

FUH-KUP: But that is who he is—that’s his name!

MRS MUK: It’s true. Doctor Dung is the son of Duke Dung, Mao Tse-tung's real life nemesis.

TZU-DOH: [To VILLAGERS.] When we want your advice, comrades, we will ask for it!

SKAI-HAI: "Let the masses speak! Let a hundred flowers blossom!." Are those not the words of our glorious leader? [To DUNG.] Is it true? Are you really the son of the man who grappled so ferociously with Mao?

DUNG: Yes.

SKAI-HAI: And if this young woman is your daughter that would make her a genuine Princess—

DUNG: But she is not my daughter.

SKAI-HAI: Then why is it that just now, when I overheard her whispering in your ear she called you "father." She said, "Be careful, father."

MAI-WEI: Has the fever so clouded your eyesight you can’t see that this socalled "Princess" isn’t even Chinese?

SKAI-HAI: And are you forgetting the Princess in the play was of mixed blood?

MAI-WEI: That’s true only in the historical subtextural sense—theatrically she must appear to the audience as she appears to Mao when he is under the hallucinatory influence of her father’s drugs; speaking of which, I wonder what they’ve been doping you with!

LAY-MEE: It is only a local herb remedy, comrade.

MAI-WEI: The same words used by the Princess in "How Mao!"

SKAI-HAI: As she knows the part so well, she should play it.

LAY-MEE: No! She is right! I’m not at all right for the part. The Princess is always played by the most beautiful actress in the company.

SKAI-HAI: And you do not think of yourself as beautiful? You, with your hair the color of burnished gold?

LAY-MEE: Everyone knows a classical Chinese beauty must have jet black hair and brown, almond-shaped eyes.

SKAI-HAI: Well this is one Chinaman who finds your eyes very attractive!

LAY-MEE: They are too big, too blue, too round—

SKAI-HAI: And too deep? Deeper than any eyes I have ever gazed into! Looking into them I can see—I can see—what is it I see? Is it possible we have looked into each others’ eyes before?!

LAY-MEE: No!

SO-LOW: She has never been away from this village.

SKAI-HAI: I tell you I have seen those eyes before!

SO-LOW: There is something about her round, blue eyes; something that attracted Mao Tse-tung too. The real Princess had the same eyes, the eyes of that English missionary lady who the old Duke fell madly in love with back in the days of the Empress Dowager. She was Lay-mee's grandmother and the Princess’ mother. When Mao went off to Po-an, after having successfully resisted the Triple Temptations, this place was overrun by the KMT. There was a German military adviser with them who claimed the Princess as a warspoil, and Lay-mee is the product of that tragic union.

DUNG: Lay-mee's mother, the Princess, was killed in a Japanese air raid and Lay-mee was, in fact, delivered from her dying mother’s womb by my father, the Duke, who succumbed shortly thereafter to the overpowering tragedy of it all. When it was seen the infant girl had her mother’s yellow hair, milkwhite skin and sky blue eyes, the villagers took her to a mountain ravine and left her to die. That is where I found her—I had been exiled to the hills nearby when the village was first sovietized. And there, in the mountains, I raised Lay-mee as my own daughter. We lived as outcasts, with only each other to cling to as the wars raged and the seasons passed and the pages of history turned and the hair on my head changed to white—[Embraces LAY-MEE. There is a hint in this their relationship in the hills might not have been altogether ethereal.] I was content to watch my little foundling flower into her womanhood—[Becomes absorbed by LAY-MEE’s eyes.] Then, 3 years ago, there was an outbreak of cholera in Lung Dung and I was sent for. In the years of my exile I had read my father’s old medical books and practiced some of his cures. As you must know from the play, my father was an amateur physician. Anyway, since we had come back to the village, we decided to stay. And I think it’s fair to say we have been more or less accepted by the people—

SO-LOW: What do you mean, "more or less?" Everyone in Lung Dung is equal!

DUNG: I only said that because I feel the shame of my feudal ancestry can never really be shed. Just as Lay-mee can never conceal the infamy of her mixed blood. Maybe that is why we have dedicated ourselves to atoning for the sins of our forefathers together. [Hugs LAY-MEE.]

SKAI-HAI: This angel of mercy has nothing to atone for!

TZU-DOH: None of that matters. The point is—according to the script and all of the critical commentary on this play—despite the historical fact of her mixed blood, theatrically the Princess must be perceived as a "Classical Chinese Beauty." This allows her to merge with the underlying theme of Mao’s wellknown—and even selfadmitted—flirtation with archaic art forms. Now, how can we play that with a girl of her grotesque figure and bizarre face?

LAY-MEE: He is right! I couldn’t play the part—I don’t want to play the part.

MAI-WEI: Remember: the plot of "How Mao" hinges on your being irresistibly attracted to her Chinese charms, Skai-hai!

SKAI-HAI: I want her in the play. She is perfect for the part. I can feel it in my bones—I can feel it in Mao’s bones!

MAI-WEI: Even with your fabulous acting skill, do you really think you could convince an audience Mao was falling in love with such a peculiar-looking female? Can’t you see how absurdly wide her hips are; and with those big boobs she looks more like a cow than a femme fatale! [Laughter from MEE-TOU.] Not to mention that preposterously "cute" nose of hers!

MEE-TOU: She would make a perfect female Cyrano!

MAI-WEI: To say nothing about this platinumized "coiffure" she’s wearing!

MEE-TOU: I’ve never seen such a hilarious hairdo!

SKAI-HAI: It may be true she’s not a classical Chinese beauty, but there is a certain style—a tenderness—the gentle touch of her hands just now when she bathed me. That must have been the way it was with Mao—her cool fingers drawing the fever from him—and the deep, deep look in her eyes—it doesn’t matter that they are such a strange color or that her bosom is so large or that her hips are somewhat broader than we Chinese are accustomed to—none of that matters. I say it will play. We will make it play! She will be Princess Lay-mee!!!

TZU-DOH: Even so, there is still the question of the chorus, Skai-hai. Are you forgetting our entire chorus was wiped out on that trek through the Grasslands?

FUH-KUP: We can do the chorus parts, can’t we Mr and Mrs Muk? [Sings with MUKS:]

Great things are about to happen!
Great events are about to take place!
The moment you have all been waiting for
Has arrived!

That’s the bit in the Epilogue where the Heroes of the Revolution sing their—

TZU-DOH: Yes, yes, we know what "bit" that is—

MRS MUK: In last year’s production I sang "The Song Of The Ten Thousand Desires"—[Clears throat, sings warmup notes or scales.]

TZU-DOH: That would be very nice comrade, but one song doesn’t make an opera—and the soprano part is quite useless without a decent contralto—

FUH-KUP: Shen-teh can sing contralto. Show him your stuff Shen-teh!

TZU-DOH: I’m sorry young man, but we can’t risk our operatic reputation on the unproven talent of some provincial "chantoosie!"

FUH-KUP: But Shen-teh’s no hick from the sticks comrade—she’s an old pro from Tzechuan!

TZU-DOH: [Aside.] Shen-teh from Tzechuan?

SO-LOW: She came to Lung Dung on the heels of the Red Army—her boy friend at the time was one of our pilots.

SHEN-TEH: One of your pilots? He was the entire Red Air Force in those days!

TZU-DOH: This is quite extraordinary. There is a play written about a woman from Tzechuan named Shen-teh who was in love with a pilot and who tried to live a good life but—it’s probably just another coincidence. Shen-teh is a rather common name in Tzechuan.

SHEN-TEH: Yes, but there was only one pilot in all of China named Sun!

TZU-DOH: You’re not really claiming to be the Good Woman From Tzechuan, are you?

SHEN-TEH: I’m not claiming to be anything. Although there was a time when I was visited by some gods, and a time when I tried to do good deeds—and another time when I fell in love with a young aviator—and even a time when a stranger came along who listened to my sad story and wrote it all down.

TZU-DOH: A stranger with a German accent calling himself "Bert Brecht?"

FUH-KUP: I told you she was a famous person—

MAI-WEI: Infamous, you mean! Shen-teh is one of the most notorious Middle Characters in all of bourgeois dramaturgy! The idea of making a woman with her illrepute and sexist mentality the heroine of a play is positively disgusting! Happily such characters have been weeded out of our repertoire.

TZU-DOH: While everything you say is ideologically impeccable, Mai-wei—The Good Woman of Tzechuan is still a very interesting play when seen from the proper historical perspective.

MAI-WEI: Forgive me for saying so comrade Tzu-doh, but that sounds suspiciously revisionistic—and not the kind of opinion an artist with your political responsibilities should be expressing in public.

MRS MUK: What is this "Good Woman of Tzechuan" about, anyway?

MR MUK: It sounds pretty interesting to me.

MAI-WEI: You wouldn’t think so if you understood the full implications of its counterrevolutionary plot.

AI-SINGH: Well, why don’t you tell us what they are? [VILLAGERS clamor to be told.]

MAI-WEI: The theme of the play is that people are fundamentally and incurably corrupt—that we live in a dog-eat-dog world; and that somehow a common prostitute represents the only human element in our society—

AI-SINGH: That definitely sounds like something worth seeing!

MRS MUK: Such a thesis strikes a sympathetic chord with me, I can tell you! I feel like society has been using me for its doormat since I was a teenager! Yes, I think it’s about time we saw a play with a heroine in it—even if she is a whore!

MAI-WEI: I’ve told you; Shen-teh is not a heroine!

MRS MUK: How do you know?

MR MUK: I suppose you’ve seen this "forbidden" play?

MAI-WEI: [Evasively.] You will just have to take my word for it.

MRS MUK: You’re sufficiently "sophisticated" enough to survive the experience but we "peasants" aren’t, is that what you’re telling us?

MR MUK: I think we might be just intelligent enough to judge these cultural matters for ourselves, comrade!

FUH-KUP: "You should not treat the Chinese masses like children"—that is what Chairman Mao says, anyway.

SKAI-HAI: The boy is right, Mai-wei!

MAI-WEI: How can you say that when Mao himself has forbidden the playing of other Middle Characters like Hamlet, Willy Loman and Wozzek?

SKAI-HAI: I can say it because—

TZU-DOH: Be careful Skai-hai! Remember you are not actually Mao Tse-tung. Your mind has been clouded by drugs.

SKAI-HAI: And what about you, Tzu-doh? Why is your mind so lucid on the subject of selfcensorship?

TZU-DOH: Censorship is a strong word, comrade—

SKAI-HAI: Yes, but perhaps not strong enough in your case. Not as strong as hypocrisy for instance!

TZU-DOH: It is poor taste to delve into these complicated matters under such conditions. Mai-wei is right. You are delirious.

SKAI-HAI: Maybe that is a good thing to be. Maybe a little delirium is required before one begins to see the truth.

TZU-DOH: There are many kinds of truth—

SKAI-HAI: I am speaking of the kind where a man turns his back on his art; the kind of truth involved when a man sells his soul for a high-sounding bureaucratic title, such as "Artistic Director Of The Peking Opera." Once you were a great actor, Tzu-doh—an actor who gave his heart and soul to the theater. And now what are you but a frightened little sycophant keeping score every day to make sure he has gotten his three square meals!

TZU-DOH: If that’s what you think of me after all I have done for—

SKAI-HAI: Yes! That is what I think of you! I can read you like the script of a second rate soap opera!

TZU-DOH: Really? And what does my "script" say?

SKAI-HAI: It’s about a man who is waiting for the current regime to fade away before he digs up his long buried treasure of forbidden plays and suddenly reveals them in a one man renaissance. Tzu-doh The Great! The only Chinaman whose head is full of occidental masterworks! The sole producer of Moliere, Shakespeare, Chekov, Ibsen, Shaw, Strindberg—and god knows who else you have locked away between your inscrutable ears!

TZU-DOH: Really, Skai-hai, this is all quite fanciful—

SKAI-HAI: Is it, comrade Director? Then what has happened to all those plays you did before the revolution? And where are all the great Middle Characters of world drama? Did they escape in that pile of nightsoil you deposited when the People’s Republic was proclaimed; or did they suddenly fly out that window you opened to cheer the Red Army as it marched triumphantly past your precious Peking Opera House? Tell me, Tzu-doh, where are all those ambivalent soliloquies you declaimed so brilliantly in the Golden Age of Chinese Theater? Have you really forgotten them, or just put them in mothballs for the duration of your discontent —waiting for those first signs of a thaw when you can discard that proletarian uniform and emerge like a butterfly in the dazzling regalia of a King Lear or Mephistopheles?

TZU-DOH: Leaving aside the chaos of your metaphors, Skai-hai, I will only tell you this: my many years on the stage have taught me that discretion is indeed the better part of valor.

SKAI-HAI: Ah, but doesn’t that sound like the speech of a Middle Character? Those are not the words one expects to hear from a True Believer in the party line on dramaturgical ambiguity—

SO-LOW: While this discussion must be very interesting for our comrades from Peking, I don’t see what all these high fallutin’ ideas have to do with the practicalities of the situation at hand. Are we going to have a play tonight, or are we not?

TZU-DOH: We are not. You can send the audience home with our deepest apologies—although I am confident they will appreciate that under these circum—

SKAI-HAI: The play will be performed as advertised!

TZU-DOH: You don’t have the authority to make such a statement, Skai-hai. You are an actor—a brilliant one it’s true—but only an actor nevertheless; and accordingly, you will obey your Artistic Director’s orders!

SKAI-HAI: What are you talking about old man? My name isn’t Skai-hai—it is Mao Tse-tung; a name few people recognize now, but one that will soon come to signify the eternal dream of the Chinese masses to achieve social justice and human selffulfillment! I am the only man in all of China with the power to make that dream come true! I am not an actor—I am a force of nature—a great wind blowing everything asunder; a stormtide smashing all that stands in my path! Even now, old man, I can see you quaking at the awesome power of my will! How dare you give me orders, when it is I who pull your strings and put words into your mouth, puppet? Now, puppet, tell them the play will be performed!

TZU-DOH: [With a manifest lack of conviction.] The play will be performed.

SKAI-HAI: You don’t sound very enthusiastic, puppet.

TZU-DOH: The play will be performed!

SKAI-HAI: I want to hear some conviction!

TZU-DOH: The play will be performed! [Claps hands once.] Everyone on stage! Come on, you rustic thespians—the curtains are about to rise on a grand spectacle! A great theatrical event is being born! Hurry, hurry, hurry!!!

VILLAGERS scramble on stage.

SO-LOW: Don’t you think we ought to take a few minutes to collectivize our thoughts?

TZU-DOH: I will suggest an intermission of five minutes to my master, Mao Tse-tung. [To SKAI-HAI.] Master—

SKAI-HAI: [Weakly.] Yes, yes—alright—I could use a few minutes to—

DUNG: Take this potion—it will help you gain some strength.

SKAI-HAI: [About to drink.] Your father’s recipe?

DUNG: —yes.

SKAI-HAI pauses, then drinks entire potion.

SO-LOW: [To audience.] Alright everybody, you can take a break. Go outside for a few minutes but don’t get yourselves involved with any moonbeams—or make a dash home for a quick snack! At the sound of the gong I want to see every one of your smiling faces back here for the First Act of "How Mao!" [To wing.] That’s it—close the curtain and let’s get organized! It’s eight forty-five and we haven’t even got started yet!!!

Curtains close. SOLDIER 1 puts his head through them.

SOLDIER 1: [Addressing audience.] Before you go; does anyone out there play the clarinet or trombone?

End Act One

Act Two     Return to Index