Olga Delia Mateescu

NO ONE’S GOING TO DIE

TONIGHT

CHARACTERS:

THE AUDIENCE:   THE LADY SPECTATOR

                                                THE SPECTATOR

                                                THE LADY IN RED

                                                A SECOND LADY IN RED

                                                THE WELL-DRESSED GENTLEMAN

                                                OTHER SPECTATORS

ACTORS:               THE BARITONE

                                                THE HOSTESS

                                                SHE

                                                HE

                                                THE YOUNG WOMAN

                                                THE YOUNG MAN

THE SET:

The action space makes possible, within the sight of the audience, various acting places, different planes. The audience hall is integrant part of the show. Provided they feel like it and have the required inspiration, the characters in the audience may improvise as the action develops.

The sound track creates an ambiguous atmosphere, even bizarre at times. Two young actors, seated on suitcases, in the dark, are waiting. Among the first people entering the hall are two ladies dressed in shades of red. They look avidly around them. They evince an eager curiosity for the others.

The light turns on, the gong is being struck. In one of the interiors, a conventionally wrapped bouquet of flowers can be seen on a dresser. She, a poised woman, yet with a flicker of unrest in the eyes, is watching Him, a thin man that, when talking to someone, looks intensely in the opposite direction.

SHE: Do you think they’ll have another fight today?

HE (without looking at her): Why would they?

SHE: Don’t answer me with another question.

          (He does not reply)

SHE (Going on): They haven’t got over it. The boy, I mean.

          (He changes his tie)

SHE: Why did you pick that one?

HE: Why not?

SHE (Closing her eyes): It’s too early. Would you like some coffee?

          (He shrugs)

SHE: All right. We’ll have some over there. (Suddenly) You didn’t say that you were proud of me.

HE: I am.

SHE: Why don’t you show it then?

          (He mumbles unintelligibly.)

SHE: Here we go again. Over and over again. This dull life, with you showing me daily how hard it is for you to live with me!

HE: I don’t understand what makes you say that.

SHE: That grain of… something that has remained mine and mine alone. The insecurity that your silence and smiles make me feel.

HE (Studying carefully the texture of his tie): Aren’t you afraid to be so straightforward?

SHE: What? Why should I be?

HE: You’re going to wake up and regret it.

SHE: What am I going to regret?

HE: Your mistake.

          (He puts his shoes on)

SHE: I don’t see your point.

HE: Life has a secret. That special right that each partner has to a part that belongs only to him or her. I respect yours; you should try to learn this, too.

SHE: You keep leaving me alone. You want us to be alone yet together. That’s hardly understandable.

HE (Explicatively): I respect you. I trust you that are all.

          (His shoelaces give in)

SHE (Throws a long glance and continues, apparently with no connection): The fifth step of the sin makes human beings sink into themselves. Once avoided, the temptation to confess and ask for forgiveness throws you into the sixth.

HE: What? What did you say?! What’s that got to do with anything?

SHE: The sixth step.

          (She stands up, walks to a chest, takes a new pair of shoelaces from a drawer and places them next to him.)

HE (Looking at them): I can’t dream any more. About anything. Not even about a pair of shoelaces! There is nothing left I could give you any more, wife. You’re richer than I am, you can foresee everything; you even have quotations for torn shoelaces.

SHE: Change them.

HE (After a while): Some other time.

SHE: This is just like you: nothing is done at the right time, everything is drifting at random.

HE (Dryly): And when would be the right time?

SHE: Don’t you think about me at all?

HE: Unfortunately, you’re all I think about at all times.

SHE: I don’t know what’s wrong with us. We don’t talk any more… I miss the times when we used to say whatever crossed our minds, make plans…

HE: What plans?

SHE: Nonsense. Dreams. We’ve run out of time. The time has shrunk… The largest part of it lies behind us…It is (She wishes to say something in particular but gives up) what’s in store for us? What’s going to happen to us?

HE: This is not the right moment.

SHE: I’m getting scared.

HE: I see we have serious matters to work out, what’s out, what’s the point to go to his place? We’ll stay at home.

          (Suddenly, a voice is heard from the audience)

LADY IN RED: He’s cheating on her, I bet he is!

SECOND LADY IN RED: Hush up!

(The two lady spectators in red get quiet, looking impassively towards the stage. The two young actors stand up, hidden from the audience by the dark. The intervention was short and looks like an accident).

SHE (Going on): We’re friends. Lifetime friends.

HE (Finished up dressing): I’ll be back shortly.

SHE: You’re going out? Where? Now?

HE (Avoids looking at her): I said I’d be back. (Takes the bouquet of flowers and leaves before She can say anything else).

SHE (After him): But the flowers are for... (Her voice dies out, then speaks to herself) He who digs a pit for others…

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Whispering to her companion): It’s a hit! Look at the audience, they’re entranced. It’s started well.

SHE (Dials a number precipitously): This is I. Yes. We’re coming all right, but…He’s left again…No, I haven’t been defensive. Not al all.

          (The following moments combines naturally. The two can be heard in the dark)

THE YOUNG MAN: The sweat we’ve put into this show!

THE YOUNG WOMAN: It’s been worth the while.

THE YOUNG MAN: I wonder. It lacks mystery, though. You can figure it out much too easily.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Shut up! Anyway, from the death scene onward it is sublime.

SHE (From the stage, slightly flustered by what she’s been told over the phone): He’s not? Are you sure? I don’t know what to think any more! No, I’m not suspicious. I know. I can feel it. I’m in a special situation…I’m going to tell you. Not over the phone. What? I should tell him? Show a man that you love him and it’s good-bye, you’ve lost the game. It’s all over and done with. As a matter of fact…

          (The cue is interrupted from the audience; the actress stands still, receiver in hand.)

THE LADY IN RED (From her seat): She’s pregnant.

SECOND LADY IN RED: Shut up! Be quiet!

THE LADY IN RED (Laughs in a low tone, as if apologizing): The character, not her.

SECOND LADY IN RED: Hush down!

          (A slight confused murmur is heard in the hall but dies out soon)

SHE (Continues to talk on the phone, rather through her teeth, in a trenchant tone) I haven’t done anything wrong, there is nothing wrong. But I can’t get used to be tolerant as you are, to…What are you saying?

          (More whispers can be heard in the dark)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Let’s gossip about the spectators!

THE YOUNG MAN: There’s no time. We’re coming in. what follows after ‘I can’t get used to be tolerant’?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: ‘Sorry, I have to hang up now’ and ‘Ah! I almost forgot, happy birthday!’ The French game and then we come in.

SHE (From the stage, acting): Sorry, I have to hang up. (Sights heavily) Ah! I almost forgot, happy birthday! (Hangs up the receiver).

THE YOUNG MAN: Come on! (Makes for the stage)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Holds him back, reminding him): The French game. Wait!

THE YOUNG MAN: Oh! I forgot. It should be cut out. It’s superfluous.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Look at that fat, well-dressed man over there, to your right. (Points to someone in the hall.)

          (She paces up and down the stage. She’s visibly disturbed by what happened but remains graciously poised.)

SHE: He has hardly the time to get there and I…I still have no proof. None (She sits down, sinks her head in her hands and bursts into tears, crying louder and louder.)

          (The figures of the two actors can be guessed in the dark, still outside the stage.)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I wonder if the woman next to him is his wife.

THE YOUNG MAN: Absolutely.

SHE: How can you tell?

HE: She’s well dressed. And her eyes are as lifeless as yesterday’s doughnuts.

SHE (Smacking him over his neck): What about me? Are my eyes like yesterday’s doughnuts also?

HE: But then, you’re not well-dressed either! (He presses a bell next to him)

          (She listens and, feigning surprise wipes her tears quickly. It’s obvious that the crying scene has been prolonged by the delayed entrance of the two. She stands up and opens the door. She’s pretty upset.)

SHE: You? I’m so glad to see you! (Whistles through her teeth, in a particularized tone) You’re late! The scene becomes ridiculous if prolonged. Out loud again and ‘stage-like’) I didn’t expect you. (Steps back) But who is…

THE YOUNG MAN: This is…a friend of mine.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Having obviously expected a different cue): What?

SHE (Again through her teeth, a forced smile on her face): Don’t change the text. Bloody kid! (Reverting to her act, in a posed voice) You mean your girlfriend…But do come in, please. (To him). How come you make up your mind to come visit? How long will you be staying? Spit it out! (Mumbles) A friend of mine, hear that.

HE (Speaks in a flat, school-like tone): I wasn’t sure you were in. we could go to a hotel. We’ve checked, there are vacancies. (In a forced diction) I see you are all dressed up…dressed up…(Playing with the sounds)

          (His partner pinched him from behind, discreetly)

SHE (Getting badly upset): You’re here now, you stay! (Still holding a grip on herself) I won’t have you go to a hotel when you have a sister in town! How can you talk like that?

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Whose characters pronounces words slowly, keen on each word): We could…

SHE (Cutting her cue short, taking control): It’s settled! Anyway, there is plenty of room here. I suggest you…

          (Pushes the two young people inside, sitting them herself into their proper places)

THE YOUNG MAN (Insolently, starts to speak sluggishly, in a spoiled tone, imitating his girlfriend): We are tired. A trip by train in this heat drains you of all strength. Ma’am, we would…Changes his voice, imitating Her) All right, I mean, it’s not all right after all! There is something mysterious about all this, I can feel it, ha, ha, ha (Doing the Young Woman) Ma’am, we didn’t think that…

          (The two actresses don’t get a chance to say anything for a few long minutes. They are watching the scene, hiding their bafflement. He goes on, speaking as womanishly as he can)

THE YOUNG MAN: Ma’am, I didn’t think that…we would like…Oh! (Imitating Her) Miss, the world is too complex for us to try our chance. Let’s have some mercy for this world, right, dear brother? (Back in his role, pushing it to the limit of common sense) I know you’re glad we’re here. As usual, we couldn’t have found a better timing. You’ve been crying, sis! (Leaning towards Her) My dearest one, you can’t welcome me with these teary eyes. As I said, I’m here to clear them up. Don’t worry.

SHE (Flatly): I’m tired.

THE YOUNG MAN: What a coincidence, so am I! (In the Young Woman’s voice) This is reassuring! (Goes back to the She character, sitting down on a couch) I’m tired. I feel suspended between one state and other. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know this but… (She starts to stamp her foot rhythmically, menacingly. He goes on, pushing it even further) I think I’m afraid to understand, to accept that I’m about to understand something very important. To me…

SHE (Harshly): You can’t be doing this!

          (The Young Man displays a contagiously charming smile and, as if he wishes to apologize, brusquely hugs his sister.)

THE YOUNG MAN (Whispering): We’re only humans, we happen to make mistakes, what the heck! (Loud) Go on, go on, and don’t stop. You can tell me everything you want!

          (She, raging with anger, tries to free herself from the embrace. He laughs wildly, and derailed moment seems to come back to normal trough the good humor with which the two actresses eventually decide to respond.)

SHE: I’m too old for this kind of jokes.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Don’t say that. People have the age of their souls. That’s what…

SHE: Nonsense! You have no idea how little people belong one another!

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Enthusiastically, in her staccato, sometimes spoiled tone of her voice): See? This is not fair. What I mean to say is that people should not belong to one another. This is what makes our life bitter. (Shuts up suddenly) She watches her, waiting for her to continue)

SHE: Go on, miss.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: That’s all I had to say.

SHE (To the Young Man): You’re a godsend. (Whistling through her teeth) Rather a devil send! (Loud) Tonight, I decided that I should be happy for three hours. On schedule. Three hours on the dot. Like a practice. Do you understand? And this because… (She looks into vacancy and then makes an announcement) As of today, I’m my own master.

THE YOUNG MAN: Have you made associate?

SHE: Yes.

THE YOUNG MAN (In a serious tone): Congratulations.

SHE: Thank you. (Cuts her short by squinting her eyes)

THE YOUNG MAN: Shall we celebrate?

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Looking sideways): I should… (Her voice dies out)

SHE (To the Young Man, in a warm tone): Explain to your “little friend” that if you love her I love her also and, consequently, she can finish up her sentences.

THE YOUNG MAN (Replies): If I love you, she loves you too! (He is amused) But I don’t know whether I love you. Not yet.

SHE (Cuts in, in a determined tone): I changed my mind. We’ll talk tomorrow. Tomorrow. The words, tomorrow. Understood or not, it’s tomorrow.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Feeling embarrassed): May I take a bath?

SHE: A bath?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Yees! That is, I wouldn’t like you to think that I’m not a clean person, but after a trip, a shower, a bath relaxes and invigorates one. So they say, anyway. I mean, it has been proven.

SHE (Standing up): Let me get you a towel.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Quickly, grabbing her suitcase): I’m ready. I’m always ready when I’m on a trip. I don’t like to cause any inconvenience. I have everything I need. Ever since I was a little girl! I mean, I don’t have everything I need since I was a little girl, but as a little girl I was taught to…

          (Her cue gets lost again. They both exit. The phone rings, the Young Man gets it)

THE YOUNG MAN: Yes? Right. She is. I’m her brother. Yes. My respects. I’m going to tell her. Don’t worry. (Hangs up)

          (She rushes back in hurry)

SHE: Who was that?

THE YOUNG MAN: I don’t know.

SHE: What? She didn’t say?

THE YOUNG MAN: No. She asked me who I was?

SHE: And?

THE YOUNG MAN: She told me that…

SHE (Impatiently): What did she say, for Christ’s sake?

THE YOUNG MAN: She said…

          (Exasperated, She leaves her character and sits down, watching him insistently. She is determined to be silent)

THE YOUNG MAN: She said…It was a woman speaking, you know. You missed her. I’m not going to tell you.

          (She doesn’t react.)

THE YOUNG MAN: She had a very distinguished voice. She said that… (Looks at Her) Don’t you want to know?

          (She deliberately refuses to react.)

THE YOUNG MAN: She said she drove past – I have no idea who she is where that was! – But she didn’t stop. She didn’t stop. She repeated that she didn’t stop. Is that of some consequence? If it is, then I, for one, have fulfilled my mission. You can’t expect more from me. I’ll keep my mouth shut. (Repeats insistently) I’ll keep my mouth shut. (Sits down.)

SHE (Breaks the silence): But I do expect more. So that I can get as much as I want! Now, tell me about this girl. Did you pick her up from the street? She’s rather…

THE YOUNG MAN: Yeah, something like that. From the streets…

SHE: You make a nice couple.

THE LADY IN RED (Bursts out from her seat): He doesn’t cheat on her. I don’t understand anything any more. He doesn’t cheat on her.

A VOICE: Will you shut up, ma’am?

          (Her companion is fidgeting with embarrassment. The two actors on the stage look at each other amused and, momentarily, consensual. The scene goes on, although it becomes obvious that the night is turning bizarre).

THE YOUNG MAN: Love…What a blessing for us! Isn’t it, young old lady?

SHE: It’s being bestowed on those who don’t deserve it. And it’s being taken away from those who have it.

THE YOUNG MAN (In a serious tone): What is it? What’s wrong? Will you tell me?

SHE (Confesses simply, in a plain tone): Either we don’t part…and I have the baby, or we part and…I’ll have it nonetheless.

THE YOUNG MAN (After a short pause): Are you going to make me an uncle?

SHE: Yes.

THE YOUNG MAN: What about him? Your husband I mean? What does he say about it?

SHE: He doesn’t know. I don’t want to force him into staying with me. Don’t look at me like that. It’s all very simple. It only takes a gesture, a glance, and you know the rest. Some other times, you keep speaking for one, two or three years, to no avail. It’s all for the worse. No word hits its target. He’s changed with time; he is no longer the man I used to know. He stays. He’s staying now. I used to throw away my years. Now, I feel like I don’t have them any more. They seem to stay in hiding somewhere.

THE YOUNG MAN: The world is magical and we are trying in vain to understand it. But what you’re telling me is a beautiful miracle and as beautiful is the word that fits this magic we’re living.

SHE: You’re talking like a drunk. Throwing away with words like this.

THE YOUNG MAN: But I am. I am drunk. I’m going to have a nephew! Or a niece! (Kisses her on the forehead) You mocking bird! You nasty mocking bird!

SHE: Stop it! Cut this childish gibberish.

THE YOUNG MAN (Making some aikido moves): Horsefly! Mocking bird!

SHE (Indulging his game, she gets mad): I’m going to kick your ass, jerk!

THE YOUNG MAN: Get me if you can!

          (A brotherly fight seems to build up, in spite of the relations so far. A lady spectator starts applauding loudly. Her singular applause dies out. The actors stop flat. A loud noise is heard from the bathroom. The Young Woman shows up, wrapped in towel. She’s wet and scared.)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: It wasn’t me. I didn’t…It broke. It came off the wall and fell down. The water is spurting as high as the ceiling. Like an artesian well. It must be true. I don’t know how it broke! Was it me? Me? ... (She freezes in a corner, perplexed.)

          (The two brothers revert to the scene situation and dash to the bathroom. The Young Man’s voice can be heard.)

THE YOUNG MAN: It’s falling back into the tub. No flood hazard.

SHE: Good Lord! For Christ’s sake, make it stop!

THE YOUNG MAN: Calm down. I’ll turn it off from the master faucet.

SHE: Shall I call the plumber?

THE YOUNG MAN: I’m gonna turn it off from the master faucet. There are you. Done.

          (She returns, followed by the Young Man)

SHE (To the Young Woman): How did you do that, young lady?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I have powers.

SHE: What?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I have big powers. My folks say I’m cursed. How should I know? You’d better beware of me. Wherever I go, I break something. Damage things. Start fires.

SHE: Are you crazy?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: No. it’s beyond my control.

SHE: You are.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Last winter, I set a house on fire.

SHE: Are you…sick?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: No. I’m fine. I’m in perfect health. I feel all right. It’s just that I have bigger powers than other people.

THE YOUNG MAN (Obligingly): On Christmas Eve, I set off some firecrackers. The tree was rather dry. I was afraid it might catch fire and it did. I wasn’t afraid because I’m always ready. I had already grabbed a bottle of water.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: No. we were just frightened. See, that’s why I wanted to stay in a hotel…Whenever I put my foot into a house, something bad happens. I’d better leave, shouldn’t I? Although it would be useless now, since the damage has already been done.

SHE (Exclaims): You really feel relieved!

THE YOUNG WOMAN (In a grateful tone): I should say so.

SHE: But a few minutes ago you were not so self-assured. When you were taking that shower, I mean. You were rather terrified when you rushed out of the bathroom. Why was that, since you say you knew something was going to happen?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I didn’t know what was going to follow. That’s it. I’m glad it wasn’t more serious! (Politely) If necessary, I’m willing to pay for the damage. (Apologizing) I can only feel that something is going to happen, but can’t tell exactly what.

THE YOUNG MAN: It’s nothing much, it can be fixed, whoever you are.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (As insistently): I hurt all the people I care about. My folks used to say that also. I’m cursed. I’d much better leave. I’ll pay for the damage and go away.

THE YOUNG MAN: You might be right, miss. But I for one won’t let you alone with your bloody curse. Damn! Can’t you understand that I want you around me for a while?

SHE (Aloof): I for one I’m happy. Actually, I have to be. It’s madatory.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: You? Happy? At a time like this? With me having ruined your bathroom?

SHE (Glancing at her wrist watch): Yes. And stop looking at me like that. I said I was happy and I am. Anyone got a problem with that?

THE YOUNG MAN: No, not at all.

SHE: In this world there are different laws that one learns to understand, accept and even grow to like. Do you agree?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: You must be a dreamer; I’m more practical.

          (She and The Young Man burst into laughter, repeating: ‘Practical, practical! Hear that, she is practical person’. The light dies out. Polite, rather scarce applause can be heard, as if the scene is over…

The light comes up again instantly, in a different game space, which is empty. A man is singing Eine Kline Nachtmusik in a baritone voice. After a few second, an attractive man emanating vital force shows up: the Baritone. He is followed by his wife, the Hostess, a woman with luminous complexion, and by already known couples. The two young people are to wear casual clothes, according to the fashion of their generation, and will show up a little later.

Upon their entrance on to the stage, the same lady spectator starts applauding. Her singular applause goes on and causes murmur in the hall. Eventually, it dies out.)

HOSTESS (As if continuing a conversation): For years on end, I used to go from restaurant to restaurant, three times a week. I would wake up in the middle of the night and go look for him. From Continental to Pestera. I would follow his tracks and take him home: he had a concert next day! I alone used to take care of everything. He…

BARITONE (In high spirits): What do you mean you alone? (Sings in another score) What about Mozart? What about The Letter of San Michele? Axel Munthe? Camerata academica? You would have missed them all if he hadn’t been for me. (Sings loudly on)

HOSTESS (To the others): I would have had everything if only the boy had remained at home.

          (The Baritone acts like he hasn’t heard that.)

HOSTESS: Am I going crazy? Spare me your Mozart stuff!

BARITONE (Promptly): You’re more like Verdi fan. That’s the composer you like, don’t you little dove? (Tries to caress her)

HOSTESS: Shut up.

BARITONE (Changes suddenly the aria, moving to Rigoletto): Ridi, pagliacci…

HOSTESS: Stop it!

          (The guests, He and She laugh politely. The two young people enter from the garden.)

THE YOUNG MAN: It’s good to have a patch of grass in the middle of the city.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: The plants have a soothing effect on people…they are so gentle!

BARITONE: Gentle or rude, depends on the angle! (Keeps singing)

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Apologizing, while he sings on): Excuse me for interrupting you.

HOSTESS (To her husband): Please, stop it!

BARITONE: I haven’t suspected you of cultural insensitivity until now! Only of sheer insensitivity… (Tenderly) Tell me, do you love me?

          (She remains silent, her eyelids heavy)

BARITONE: You won’t speak to me again? Then let’s see what the music says (Continues to sing Rigoletto aria)

SHE (To the Baritone): You’d better sing an aria from one end to the other. These kids (Points to her brother and his girlfriend) aren’t likely to have ever stepped into the Opera House, and except for Pavarotti, they don’t know that…

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Interrupting her zealously): I went there once. When I was in school. There was a tour in town with…what was that?  …The Bird…

HOSTESS: An operetta performance.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: What? Yes. I meant no. The Bird Seller, I think.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Yes. Sorry. There was that… (Looks at the Baritone) singer in short pants, excuse my words, who kept singing by a fountain and his feathered hat kept falling from his head…

BARITONE (Gravely): You’re scaring us, Miss!

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I do?! There’s no wonder about that. Then… you know who I am? (Suddenly) Do you want me to leave? Are you afraid?

BARITONE: No, Miss, don’t go, we enjoy being afraid.

HOSTESS (To him): Stop it!

BARITONE: Who passed the sentence? I can’t hear! (His hand to his ear looks around the room, amused) Was it the scholar lady? The businessman’s mother? The mother of the Canadian fool? Was it her, the Avare  of the words, the lady of few words?

HOSTESS: That’s enough! I’ll take no more of this crap. You’ve mocked at everything. All the time. I won’t let you scoff his choice. The boy made his own choice. And he succeeded. And he went so far away that he’d never hear your trills, no matter how loud you’d strain your lungs.

HE: Whatever you might sing, they hear it differently overseas. (He amuses himself, morosely)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: We should be going now.

          (The others ignore her.)

BARITONE (Speaking on, as if he didn’t hear the last cue): Yes. It was she that spoke. Words and more words. God, I’ve been waiting for them for so long! She deigned to speak to me, the unworthy. (To the girl) Don’t go, girl, the cake’s to be served soon. You’ll miss the candy on top of the funeral cake.

HOSTESS: Don’t start again.

BARITONE: Start what? The wake, my clairvoyant wife? Let me explain: I’m speaking because you’re all quiet. And this silence affects the harmony, my dear euphoric and wise guests.

SHE (Who has been quiet, moodily): Your parties get bleaker all the time.

BARITONE: Like our souls, my friend. They have the color of the soul!

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Politely): Let’s not overreact! Why are you talking like this? We must be optimistic!

HOSTESS: That’s him!

BARITONE: She spoke again! Ah! I realize now: the martyr-woman is speaking. But only tonight, because she has an audience. Otherwise, she keeps quiet. For days, even month on end. She just looks at me. She must have the approval of the Almighty tonight.

SHE: Even that is too much. She’d better have left you and gone to her son, to Canada.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: That’s it. Why don’t you pay him a visit? Well… I mean…everybody… I mean…sorry.

BARITONE (In a thunderous tone): She’s free to go if she wants to. Good riddance! You may all leave just as well. My brat of a son was at least honest: he said ‘that’s enough!’ and enough it was. I admire him for that. I wouldn’t have the guts to say ‘I’ll show you’ and then actually do it. Show them! Show them what? The void? And leave them with that huge question mark thrust deep into their souls, like a thorn! No. I couldn’t have done it. Because I am a coward and I like… this life… here. As it is. Teeming with losers like me and successful people like you.

HOSTESS (Stands up): I’ve had enough.

          (The others look at one another in embarrassment, like people used to such scenes. The Young Woman is slipping regularly from her drink, her eyes wide open)

BARITONE: Sit down. Ever since you gave birth to the “foreigner” in this house spoke only the hen and her egg. Because I wanted it that way. I used to like this duet in my life.

HOSTESS (Whispering): You’re out of line. Completely out of line.

HE (In a cavernous voice): Change the switch, man! Make me you assistant and I’ll come up with another subject. Let’s talk about the rape crop.

BARITONE (Steamed up, doesn’t hear him): You seem to forget, my sweet analyst, how many asses I kissed for him. Right here, in the native realm. The drinks I had to have with his computer science teacher, for instance. Did I ever tell you how much money I had to pay for your ambition as a former Olympiad winner? What’s wrong with you? Has democracy made you run amok?

HE: Rape oil is a profitable business.

HOSTESS: Shut up.

BARITONE: Do you have any idea how much? A whole barrel. A whole barrel of good wine. You’re complaining about me now? I wasn’t out of line back then, was I? You wouldn’t keep chasing me across the city pubs back then. I could have just as well dropped dead, since that was my duty as father! Do you have something to say, you mother of Henri Coanda? (To the others)  And you? Ha! You’re ashamed, you sissies. You’re ashamed that I’m standing up myself. That I’m not holding back in that noble, cold and impersonal way that you used to like. I’m not holding it back anymore, because otherwise I’ll burst, you dolts. Ha! I can be ashamed of myself, but why should I be? What do you care about my shame? You’re ashamed of me because I drink vacuum and sing void? That’s exactly why I’m never filled, because I’m swallowing nothing, a big and total nothing.

          (The lady spectator applauds again, lengthily. The actors exchange again short glances. They go on.)

BARITONE: I’ve been long explaining to you, my friends and dear wife, that is not for my sake that I’m martyrizing myself in the pubs you’ve have got that prize if I hadn’t drunk the wine crop of two years with the chairman of the jury? (To the others) Did you hear that, my dear assistant? The wine crop of two years! There are no enough vineyards in this country to yield wine to match the prizes awarded to lowbrows. (To his wife) Wait, don’t squirm like that, I’m not saying you didn’t deserve that diploma. But you wouldn’t have got it if weren’t for me. Nobody would have noticed you, quiet as you are.

HOSTESS (To the others): Please excuse us. Today I’m his punching bag.

BARITONE: Come on, you’re twisting things to your liking. (Imitating her, in calm, noble accents). Sorry. (To himself) Stop that and speak on! (Spurting up) What are you waiting for? Put the funeral cake on the table! If you know how, bring it over here! What the fuck!

HOSTESS: You’ve had to much drink.

SHE (In a grave tone): Why are you giving each other the hard time?

BARITONE (Charming): Since we have a certificate!

HE: They’re sharpening their fangs! It seems they have turned blunt in time!

THE YOUNG MAN: We have to go (Standing up) Thank you, but…

BARITONE: You’re not going anywhere. Stay and listen up. My birthday is the one day of the year when I speak up my mind. If you leave, I’ll be howling like a wolf at a full moon. I eat, drink, sleep and when I wake up, I start howling… I’m living with a saint, I who am a drunkard and a loser.

HOSTESS: Who says that?

BARITONE: I do. And I say it out loud, because you’re only thinking it. (To the others) What’s she got that I don’t? What she got that everyone is listening to her when she opens her little mouth? What? Do you think that I don’t have a heart? A soul? It doesn’t hurt… you vegetables, because… Come on, speak up! Have you heard that they’ve started to award prizes for the soul now? They do, you sissies, even if it’s broken in two.

HE: You’re overreacting. The broken soul stuff is outmoded. (In an amused, conventional tone) Well, let’s take a bath since you’re not interested in the rape crop.

SHE: A bath? Where?

HE: A cold bath would be good. It would calm us down.

BARITONE: I’m calm since the day I was born! I’m not mean and calculated as you are. But I’m taking no bath. I’m clean. My conscience is immaculate, you accountants. (Starts singing an aria from Aida then stops) But you’re right my friend! You should all wash up, because you stink, you ninnies. You stink of hypocrisy. I for one don’t need a droplet of water. Neither on the outside, or inside.

HOSTESS: We were high-school sweethearts. You can’t say that I kept coming to your concerts out of hypocrisy. Why are you talking about hypocrisy? Because I bear up? What do you expect me to say when I’m living with my teeth clenched?

          (A woman’s voice is heard from the audience)

LADY SPECTATOR: The argument of love is trivial. Even animals got it.

          (The actors on the stage become silent this time)

BARITONE (Bursting out): We are in a theater hall, after all.

LADY SPECTATOR: I know that.

BARITONE (Ambiguous): We are in a theater hall and you’re looking at me, you simulants. And you don’t understand a thing. Not that you would be able to, since you don’t even exist. You’re only a presupposition.

SHE (Stands up and attempts to brighten the atmosphere) You went too far. We’ve been friends for more than ten years. Through think and thin. I’ve got it that things are not good with you, but I have to tell you that they are okay with me. I repeat. Things are okay with me, even excellent.

BARITONE: Okay?

SHE: Yes.

HE (Dryly): Why?

BARITONE: You’re putting up such a bad act, my dears…

LADY SPECTATOR (Cutting in from the audience): That’s not true.

BARITONE (Clenches his teeth and goes on grinning): You’re giving a poor performance of the family comedy.

LADY SPECTATOR (In an omniscient tone): I’ve enjoyed it.

BARITONE (To her, in a matter-of-fact tone): Go away, you’re intruding. Go! What are you waiting for?

LADY SPECTATOR (On a similar tone): I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a ticket.

BARITONE: I beg your pardon?

LADY SPECTATOR: I’ve bought a ticket and I’m gonna stay right here.

          (The actor playing the Baritone’s part bursts into laughter, the others can hardly help doing the same)

BARITONE: Very well. (Resumes his role, speaking to the persons on the stage): We’ll deal with this situation somehow, won’t we, comrades? In life not everything is as it seems.

          (The Hostess bursts suddenly into bitter tears and leave the stage. The Baritone panics.)

BARITONE: She needs us. So does she. And I. (Looks at them) Shit! (Exits and returns fast, addressing both the actors and the Lady Spectator) Don’t go away. Everyone will get a piece of the funeral cake. On the ticket! By casting lots! The hazard, my dears! Watch out, hazard steps in! (Crosses himself and exist singing from the Gospel) The Lord is my shepherd; the Lord is my shepherd…

          (The other four actors freeze on the stage, slightly confused. A moment of silence, then, looking towards the audience, the young actor picks up the course of the play)

THE YOUNG MAN (To his partners, but also to the audience): I have the feeling that we don’t fit in here.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I’d rather had…

THE YOUNG MAN: Shut up.

HE: As you can see, the world is not as great as we imagine it to be.

SHE: Great! This world does exactly fit your prophetic ton.

          (The scene between the two spouses becomes even tenser)

HE (Continues, amused): Did you catch this snapping attitude from our hosts? Or you got drunk as well?

SHE: On the contrary, I’ve sobered up. Why are you causing trouble?

HE: I’m causing trouble?

SHE: Yes.

HE: You’re snubbing me just when I was trying to…

SHE (Completing the sentence): ignore the present.

HE (Flatly): What do you mean?

SHE: The world no longer answers – poor thing! – To your projections? Just like that? Do you find the world a little too tight and already measure for your taste?

HE (In the same tone): What’s wrong with you?

THE YOUNG MAN: We have to go. We’re rather tired and perhaps you’d like…

SHE: Please, stay.

HE: We’re leaving together.

SHE: We’re staying together. It’s not nice for you to leave me alone like you do a beast of burden in the barn at night.

HE: You’re roaring like a recruit.

SHE: I’m roaring like a recruit? Like a recruit, you say? Well, I’m roaring like this because I’m happy. I have announced already that I’m going to be happy (Glancing at her wristwatch) for a couple of hours. So, I’m roaring, what else should I be doing? (She blows out a big roar)

HE: I wonder what kind of woman could utter such sounds.

SHE: I’m not even a woman anymore. For the past two years I’ve been wearing only trousers in order to be ready to board a train, a plane, a…

HE: Ready to buy and sell.

SHE: That’s a sublime nuance I’m detecting in your voice! Is it disgust or admiration? Or a little of both?

HE: You should have been born a man or… something else.

SHE: What?

THE YOUNG MAN: Listen…er…my dear brother-in-law, ‘cause I can’t call you otherwise, unless you don’t know this magnificent woman is my sister!

SHE: Leave him alone! He’s right. I’ve turned into a man. I’m handling only manly business.

THE YOUNG MAN: We are going out into the garden. (Makes an encouraging gesture to his sister and exits together with his companion.)

HE: Who decides what a man or a woman is supposed to do?

SHE: I don’t understand.

HE: You do what you want

SHE: I only do what I don’t want. I’m running around, buying, selling, and meeting all kinds of strangers… I for one refuse to do any of this any more.

HE (Calmly): Then don’t.

SHE: If I don’t, everything falls…

HE: It’s not important. Things have a way to work out eventually. You’re no God to know it all. Get humble and you’ll understand.

SHE: Humble?

HE: Whenever you feel like you don’t want to do something, don’t. It’s that simple. Why should I teach you that?

SHE: is that the way you think?

HE: You’re too greedy, like any other woman. You want it all.

SHE: I have to confess once more that I don’t understand you! Am I a woman or what the hell am I? Make up your mind!

HE: Discover your essence. You can do it. It’s easy. You get drowned if you go far too much. I’m the only one that can tell you that.

SHE: I’d rather you had been the only one that loved me.

HE (Interrupting her): You’re smothering me.

SHE: Me? I’m smothering you? You?

HE: Of course. I can hardly stand you any more. I’ve told you that before.

SHE (In a low tone): Stand me?!

HE: I can’t program somebody else’s life. You’re going to get cheated.

SHE: Cheated?

HE: Yes. Cheated.

          (The two of them keep a long moment of silence. She is rubbing her palms nervously, on the verge of tears.)

SHE: And you’re telling me this to my face! Oh, Lord!

HE: Sure. I still trust you.

SHE (Emphatically): You? You still trust me? And you’re cheating on me?

HE: What?

          (From the audience, the Lady in Red utters a groan. The Second Lady in Red gives her a jab)

SHE: I’m asking you if you are cheating on me.

HE (Pouring himself a glass of wine): You’re emitting. Launching words. Throwing them into the air. That’s all you need. Are you ever listening to anything? Do you hear anyone? Anyone, a man or a woman that looks into your and talks to you. Can you hear them? Can you see them; are you able to locate them in at least one point within that confused tangle you’re living in?

SHE (Ironically): From prophecy to drama! You’re trying all genres! Look at me. It’s not fair to talk to me as if I weren’t here. I’m here, I’ve been and I’ll always be here.

HE: You totally lack self-confidence. Why?

SHE: This is an infallible recipe: answer with a question. Look me into the eyes. Can you do that?

HE: Why are you overreacting?

SHE: Overreacting? What am I overreacting about? The fact that I feel, that I want to know, to understand? Am I overreacting because I am alive? There was a time when this was precisely what you liked about me. You said you were going to be married to a storm.

HE: And just like a storm, you’ve become devastating. You cause damage. (Looks at her for the last time)

SHE: Damage? You’re right. That’s how I am. (Abruptly, almost without a pause) I’m going to have a baby.

HE: What have just said?

SHE: You heard well. I’m going to cause you more damage still. (Emphasizing) I am going to have a baby.

HE: Who?

SHE: Me.

HE: How do you mean?

SHE: It’s very simple. Me. I have it, it’s mine and I want it. I already love it. I’m going to have a baby.

HE: How long have you known about it?

SHE: What do you care? You can do whatever you like. I don’t give a damn about you.

HE: Wait a minute…

SHE: I just informed you. That’s all. It was my duty to do so. Please don’t annoy me with questions.

HE: Are you out of your mind? What’s this all about? You simply le me know about a matter like this? (Grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her) What are you trying to do to me? Is it true? Speak to me! Do you realize what you’ve just said? Do you? (Becomes pretty aggressive)

SHE (Defying him): I’m perfectly aware of it.

HE: You didn’t answer my question.

SHE: To which of the thousand ones?

          (He is jerking her violently, almost strangling her)

HE (Furiously): Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why? Is this the way to break news like this? Do you realize what you’re doing?

          (The Baritone returns and effortlessly grabs and throws him to the floor, like a professional wrestler)

BARITONE: The sweet living together during a withered marriage secures the immortality of the material bond. (To him) Stand up, swine!

          (His wife, the Hostess brings a cake, followed by the two youth. The Baritone brightens up the atmosphere, muffing the incident)

BARITONE: The dictum says: “Feed the beast” and there you are my dear guests. My charming spouse is going to serve you generous slices of her almond cake. As bitter as life itself! Bulky as I am, you should know that I have pretty tiny soul. Frail! Delicate! Like a leaflet barely sprung from its little bud.

          (The Hostess cuts the cake, furtively searching her guests)

THE YOUNG WOMAN (In her monotonous, slightly spoiled tone): Thank you, but I’ll pass. It’s fattening…

BARITONE: Nowadays the youth avoids the dainties of life, takes the world abreast and dashes right for the bone. Ah! (Takes his hand to his heart) the good old days are gone… and my songs along with them. (Takes a plate with a slice of cake on it and holds it out ceremoniously to Her) Here you are pretty lady and… cheer up because from now on things are clear: life gets sweeter with each spoonful! (To his wife) Fill my mouth, wife, if you want me to shut up.

HOSTESS (In a low voice, reproachfully): You promised me! (Serves cake to the two youth)

BARITONE: Don’t worry, my dear. Make it a double portion for me. Chewing is the music that I like. (Walks around the platter with the cake) Divine food!

          (With ceremonious gestures, the Hostess finishes serving the cake. He stands up and wants to leave)

HOSTESS: I’ve left you alone for too long, haven’t I? (Puts her arm around His shoulder) Please take a bite. I’ve really outdone myself this time! (To Her) Sorry, but I went out into the garden with your brother and his girlfriend. (With a polite volubility) I showed them the quince tree.

SHE: The quince tree?

HOSTESS: Yes. The one I planed three years ago.

SHE: I remember. You planed a quince tree and an apricot tree.

HOSTESS: Yes. And the quince tree bore four quinces this year. They are as small as nuts. It’s the first year it bears fruit. This tree is so beautiful with its smooth bark and its large, shiny leaves. And the fragrance of its fruit! To me it spells harmony. (Throws a glance to the Baritone) it’s like one of Verdi’s arias…

          (The actors on the stage are listening to her, plates in their hands)

HOSTESS: I wanted to have a quince tree ever since I was a little girl. A quince tree of my own! A quince tree, not any other tree. I used to spend my summer holidays at my grandmother’s and I would stay for hours perched in the quince tree that grew in front of the window. During those moments, I felt like I wasn’t either in the house, or on the ground, nor was in the air, and I had everything within reach. Am I boring you?

BARITONE: Go on, wife, you have the right to say anything as long as you baked this wonderful cake! Take advantage while our mouths are full.

THE YOUNG MAN: I’ve rarely seen quince tree orchards.

HOSTESS: See? Just a solitary tree here and there, in an old, traditional household. Did you notice my dears that a harmonious person usually passes unobserved?

BARITONE: they are just as rare as quince trees are!

HOSTESS: Yes. That’s right. We are living a life of excesses, and whoever doesn’t stand out by some kind of excess, a malformation, an access of anger seems to be lifeless. In order to be noticed, we learn to live a crooked, ugly, nodose life…

HE: What’s this? A sermon?

BARITONE: A sermon all right, my little friend!

HOSTESS: That’s exactly what we were talking about in the garden. By the quince tree. That it is a tree that goes unnoticed precisely because is balanced, harmonious. No poet has ever written a verse about it.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: It probably doesn’t make one prone to dreaming.

HOSTESS: No! A quince tree holds no significance, it just is.

BARITONE (Eating): But it does! The fragrance of autumn and the forthcoming freezing winters.

          (Isolates loud applaud from the audience: the Lady Spectator again. The actress playing She addresses to her from the stage)

SHE: You over there. Yes, you. Come with me.

HE (Grumbles): This is anything but a performance.

SHE (Making for the hall): Please come with me.

HE: Leave her alone!

ANOTHER SPECTATOR: What’s going on? Isn’t tha play supposed to be this way?

LADY SPECTATOR: Me? Come over there?

          (The Baritone’s eyes are sparkling)

SHE: Yes.

LADY SPECTATOR: I couldn’t.

SHE: You are disturbing the show.

LADY SPECTATOR: Me? No way. Oh, but (Searches in her bag) I have my ticket. There, I have every right to be where I am. (Intently) What’s your name?

SHE: I bag your pardon? Who?

LADY SPECTATOR: You.

HE: Don’t egg her on.

          (The actors, but the spectators too become curious)

THE YOUNG MAN: I don’t like this.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (In a lively tone, different from that of her character): I do! It’s something new… different.

LADY SPECTATOR (Insists, pointing to the two young actors): I know them from the TV; they’re on the Bingo show. I can’t remember your name though. What’s your name?

SHE (Pissed): Don’t mind my name, please leave the theater.

LADY SPECTATOR: I have no intention to do so. I asked you just for the sake of conversation, you don’t have to get mad over it. You don’t have a program. There is just a sheet of paper with a list of name printed at random. I just meant to draw attention upon you. That’s all.

A MAN FROM THE AUDIENCE: Why don’t you go on with your part?

SHE (Bursting out): I can’t.

LADY SPECTATOR (Philosophically): See? That’s because you don’t have a name to defend!

SHE (Outraged): Get out! Out! This has to stop! You’re ruining the performance, show a little respect for Christ’s… This in not the way it’s supposed to be. My God, these people! These people! I will not go on. Somebody restore the order!

          (The people in the hall are annoyed and create a commotion)

BARITONE (Rises to his feet calmly and addresses the audience in an official tone): We apologize for this incident. Resume your seats, we shall continue the play.

                    (He snaps his fingers as if in a signal, turns around and takes three steps. He raises his hand asking for silence. Suddenly, he collapses to the ground. Against a background of general surprise and panic, the actors dash to the man lying on the floor)

HOSTESS: God! What’s the matter? What’s happened? Did you hurt yourself?

THE YOUNG MAN: Is he sick? Or… What are we supposed to do? (In a different tone) Did he jump to the scene of the death?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: what happened? Is he…

HE (Calmly): Calm down. What’s wrong with you?

ANOTHER SPECTATOR: For God’s sake, get a doctor!

          (Part of the audience rises to their feet. The young actress decides to save appearances; she produces a loud shriek and plunges into a monologue)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: This is all my fault! I shouldn’t have come here! My powers are at their peak and he’s going to die now. I told you I was cursed. You didn’t believe me and now we are being punished. I killed him because I exist. Help! Chase me away! Stone me down! I’m the bearer evil. I can’t rid of the evil. Kill me! Get a priest to toll the bells. Kill me and you’ll be all safe. Otherwise…

          (The other actors look at her in confusion. The Young Man slaps her over the face, quieting her down. She looks at him baffled for a moment, then slaps him back almost instantaneously)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Ha! You fool!

THE YOUNG MAN (Laughing): You’re the fool here! Serves you right!

                    (They go back to the scene situation. Given the ambiguity that has been created, this seems to be the best solution)

SHE: What’s wrong with him? Is it serious?

HOSTESS (Acting like a lioness, dragging the Baritone to a couch): I’m here, my love! I’m not going to let you down! Hang on! I love you! I love you with all my heart; I love you more than anything in this world! Hang on! (Shouts to Him) What are you waiting for? Call an ambulance! Get to the bloody phone and call a doctor! (To the Baritone) I know you can hear me, you must hear me, understand me. I was never good at words, at least now I want you to know that I love you. Stay with me, don’t leave me. Listen to me. Stay with me, my darling, my bandit, my only love!

          (The Baritone opens his eyes, and moves his head slightly)

HOSTESS (Goes on): That’s good boy. Talk to me. Give me a sign. You’re looking at me… yes…yes. My love, hold my hand, do something! (Whispers) Are you okay? Don’t move. (Loud) Give me a sign!

          (The Baritone squeezes her hand visibly, blinks, half opens his mouth, champs, and then roars like thunder)

BARITONE: I want some more cake!

                    (He rises to his feet as if nothing  happened and produces a wide, obsolete and histrionic salute. His colleagues and the audience watch him awe.)

BARITONE (Putting on his charming smile): You’ve forgotten my dear ones that you are not supposed to mess up with actors. (Puts his arm around his wife’s shoulders) Actors know how to snatch from life what they want, when they want. They steal everything: heart and mind, eyes, pain, smile. They remain young and loved. White-haired young people. Isn’t that right my talkative little wife?

HOSTESS (Not knowing whether to laugh or cry): You son of bitch! Rascal! Abominable liar! You’re given me the fright of life. How could you do that to me? Let me go! Let me go, I’m telling you! Clown! (Whispers quickly) if you’re not dead, what are we going to do now? What are we supposed to do? (Loud) Sentimental crook! (In a low voice) Why did you swallow nitroglycerine?

THE YOUNG MAN (Baffled): Unbelievable, what a farce! (To the others) Persuade him to die.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Playing her part): He’s up? Did he pretend or was it for real? Isn’t someone going to answer my question? What was that? From what place… (She stops abruptly, her hand at her mouth, goggled-eyed)

BARITONE (To his lady partner): What lovely words you were saying earlier, when you got scared! And so true! The pure truth. It was sparkling. Murmuring like a mountain spring in summertime. Why don’t you say them every day?

HE: Asshole!

BARITONE (To all): My fellow man, we are going to heal the world together. We shall use a simple cure that you all know: therapy through words. My dear ones, listen to what and asshole’s got to tell you. An asshole, you’re right my friend, because I’m not perverted. Remember those simple words, those basic words – as they call them now – “yes, no, I love you, I care for you”, or others… and you’ll conquer the world. (He sings with easiness a stanza from O sole mio) Can you sense the power of sounds and of music? The world scares off rain, chases away death, my dear ones! The hideous hag shivers and steps back! (He seems to caress the air with his eyes) Isn’t that right, you little pungent-tasting quince tree?

          (He lifts his lady partner into his arms, almost above his head. He advances with her towards the forestage)

HOSTESS: Put me down! You’re not supposed to strain yourself. Put me down, do you hear me?

BARITONE (Ignoring her): I’m presenting to you the great master of magic, the true and immortal Houdini, a.k.a. my wife! Applaud! Because she loves me. You’ve all heard her say she loves me.

                    (His fellows actors applaud loudly. They signal towards the electricity box. The light goes out, the actors exit. The hall remains lit discreetly in a few spots, so that it may look like there is not an intermission. A few spectators go out in the foyer. The two ladies in red rise their feet, making for the hall exits doors.)  

LADY IN RED: I enjoy that. I for one enjoyed it. But I think that slim guy is cheating on her. That’s why he was talking about femininity.

SECOND LADY IN RED: I don’t understand.

THE LADY IN RED: Didn’t you see that show on TV? When a man is concerned about the condition of the woman next to him, it’s he’s been beating her up for eleven years.

SECOND LADY IN RED: What’ got over you to start speaking out loud during the performance?

THE LADY IN RED: Come on, my dear I come so rarely to the theater. I mostly sit in front of the TV set and there I can speak as much as I want. That’s it! Anyway, I didn’t spoil anything; can’t you see that this is the way the play is written?

SECOND LADY IN RED: What?

THE LADY IN RED: With actors in the audience, couldn’t you tell? It’s modern stuff.

SECOND LADY IN RED: I like the guy that sings, the Baritone. He’s got a wonderful voice. He’s made me feel in a special way, like I would be making preparations for a holiday or something. As the other one, the slim guy, I don’t know… I don’t quite like him… I feel he’s holding something back. The singer though, I would leave everything behind and run away with him. At his first sign!

THE LADY IN RED: He’s a great actor. But what do you think, is he cheating on his wife or not?

SECOND LADY IN RED: Who, the Baritone? I’d rather he would. With me!

THE LADY IN RED: No, the other one.

SECOND LADY IN RED: I don’t know. Hush. People are staring at us.

THE LADY IN RED: It’s intermission.

SECOND LADY IN RED: Hush down. Stay in your seat. There. Look when she’s not looking this way. There’s the crazy woman who spoke during the act. She’s not an actress. No. she’s… That one! See, the woman that applauded… is in the audience. Over there!

THE LADY IN RED: Which one?

SECOND LADY IN RED: The blonde woman. Look at her purse. Keep quiet! Turn around; she’ll see you looking at her.

                    (The two assumed an impersonal attitude. They make their way through groups of spectators, towards the foyer. Interspersed or concomitantly, fragments of a dialogue can be heard.)

A SPECTATOR: Don’t they have security men here in the theater?

SECOND SPECTATOR: Why should they? There are no valuable things here.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN (Seated): Do you think so?

SECOND SPECTATOR: There is nothing worth watching over.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: What about us?

          (The two ladies returns to the forefront)

SECOND LADY IN RED: Isn’t that the lady doctor on the TV show?

THE LADY IN RED: Which one?

SECOND LADY IN RED: The one charged with murder.

THE LADY IN RED: We should keep our voices down. It’s her all right. I think.

SECOND LADY IN RED: She looks like a nice person. She’s polite. She looks good. I wonder how she managed to cut that man apart by herself.

THE LADY IN RED: A murderess at the theater. Jesus Christ! They are everywhere. Wherever you may go, you come across one of them. (Quoting) Democracy made all run amok, that’s what’s happened!

SECOND LADY IN RED: It’s not her!

THE LADY IN RED: Come on!

SECOND LADY IN RED: It’s not. I remembered. I mistook her for someone else. For the spokesperson of the Government. They look alike. She’s a blonde also. The spokesperson I mean.

THE LADY IN RED: I think you’re right.

SECOND LADY IN RED: Of course I’m right. Do you remember how she would speak about those guys from the Customs Office? See? She’s wearing the same outfit. Can you see?

THE LADY IN RED: No.

SECOND LADY IN RED: That’s why she looked familiar. (In a low voice) Take a look. Is she by herself? No body guard? Why would she make that applause circus? Perhaps she’s on a mission. Maybe it’s the Government that asked her to applaud. What do you think? I haven’t seen anyone accompanying her. Ha! I’m gonna find out! I’ll fry her! She’s got her match all right!

THE LADY IN RED: Leave her alone.

THE SECOND LADY IN RED: No, I’m gonna fix her up. (In a professional” tone) I have no mercy for these people in the Government. I’m gonna do her in. (Passing information) I forgot to go to ladies’ room. (She looks significantly at her companion)  Done. Go ahead!

THE LADY IN RED: But then we’ll have to leave and I wanted to see the whole performance.

SECOND LADY IN RED: Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today. (Makes for the foyer)

SECOND LADY IN RED (To the people in the audience): Excuse me! Let me through! Excuse me!

                    (She walks through the people, stealthily. Reaching the Lady Spectator’s seat, she trips and leans against her)

SECOND LADY IN RED: I’m sorry! God bless you for being here or I would have fallen. I have an operated leg. Bless you!

                   (The Lady in Red leaves the hall in a hurry; the second Lady in Red has vanished. Meanwhile, a man caught in one of the light spots starts speaking, addressing those around him)

THE SPECTATOR: Wait! Don’t leave! I’ve got something to tell you.

SECOND SPECTATOR: That’s outrageous! What people! They’re all so disrespectful! (Emphatically) It’s intermission, gentleman, and we are in a theater hall.

THE SPECTATOR: Am I disturbing anyone? Are you trying to prevent me from saying what I want to say?

SECOND SPECTATOR: Who do you think you are? Who do you think you’re talking to?

THE SPECTATOR: To everyone.

ANOTHER MAN IN THE AUDIENCE: If you have anything to tell this country, go to the Parliament Palace! Ha! Ha! This is a theater hall.

THE SPECTATOR (Insisting): I’m speaking during the intermission, gentleman. Keep your seats for a while. I’m speaking during the intermission.

ONE SPECTATOR: Had you taken your medication at time, you’d have felt much better. Go where you belong, to the loony house. I have no intention to listen to you.

          (Exits in the foyer, mumbling) That’s what intermission is about.

THE SPECTATOR (Agitated): Look at me.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: Relax, I’m looking. (Sits down benevolently).

A MAN FROM THE AUDIENCE: Let’s play along! Come on, speak up! What? Have you lost guts?

THE SPECTATOR: This in not about guts. I’ve wanted… this… all my life and… I couldn’t. Being an actor, I mean. Just like… (Points to the spot where the Baritone made his exit) him. To be able to freeze and defrost a hall full of people. Different people. Each with their own mindset. I thought: how could I show to others what I feel and I think? How could I make a clean breast before total strangers? What if they laugh at me? What if all the labor is wasted and remain… What if! I kept wondering what it was like to die several times. Brr! And that is how I got used to answer the question “what would you like?” with “a beer” (Explains) A beer gentleman, I mean I would like to show that I am a normal person. Normal!

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: You should wish for reasonable things, and this is not one of them.

THE SPECTATOR (Cheerful): Right! It’s not, because we did something that made history. And we did it all right! The trouble is that something entered the pages of history and we are getting out. And through the back door at that! And since we are making our exit though the back door, I’m asking you gentleman: what’s the use of it all? I mean, what’s going on? What are we doing here?

A MAN IN THE AUDIENCE: You’re nuts.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: No he’s not! Shut up. He’s making a point though. Quiet!

          (The Spectator blinks repeatedly; he’s nervous and stops speaking, breathing heavily)

A MAN IN THE AUDIENCE (Can’t help himself anymore and starts shouting to the Spectator in a chanting tone): Speak up! If you want to speak you mind, do it and us don’t mind. Do it and don’t cease till your soul is at peace! (He remains up, in a triumphant attitude)

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN (To the Spectator): Don’t mind him; I’m interested in what you have to say. It’s a point of view. Prove it.

THE SPECTATOR: I can’t! I don’t know what came over me.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: Will you go on if I give you one million? Come on! Brace up!

THE SPECTATOR (Astonished): A million? Why would you do that for?

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN (Smiling): Two.

ANOTHER MAN IN THE AUDIENCE: Show the money if you make a wager!

          (The Well-Dressed Man produces a sheaf of bank notes and flutters them. The Spectator looks in the vacancy)

THE SPECTATOR: Why? Why? I was sincere.

ANOTHER MAN IN THE AUDIENCE: The fool’s luck! (To the Spectator) Do you accept the wager? I’m a witness. Take the millions! What? Don’t you need the money?

                    (The Spectator doesn’t react. A few ladies and gentleman watch the scene with reticence yet with excitement. The Well-Dressed Man pockets his money and with surprisingly gracious gestures – like those of a certain category of congenital fat men – starts to leave the hall. The Spectator takes a deep breath and gets out of his numbness.)

THE SPECTATOR (In a unexpectedly deep voice): Dear spectators and… TV watchers. (Justifying himself) I can call you that because you also watch TV! Not just now, of course. (Flutters his hands in a “freedom” gesture) only when you feel like it, since this is precisely the point. (Wipes his perspired brow) There, before you TV sets, you’re swallowing everything. I mean (His knees are trembling) everything those people say. Strangers (Gets inflamed) They aren’t our relatives, godparents, godchildren, or whatever! That’s the issue! But here… Ah! It’s so hard (Turns his head to catch the rumor of the audience) Of course somebody asked me (Answers back to someone); here, I’m saying, you have in front of you a man who feels like hiding into a rat hole and who is content nevertheless. Take my word for it. Content because he’s reached the top of the world. That is, where he dreamt to be. In the light! At least once in his lifetime, before the final exit. Leave aside my stammering or my perspiration; this doesn’t matter. Scout’s honor! It doesn’t matter because “I spoke up my mind.” (Brows before the man that chanted) That is, I showed you – a man on the point of departure, a “normal” man, ha, ha – that one may see their dream come true before making their exit though the back door!

A MAN IN THE AUDIENCE: May see what? What do you mean? Being normal no longer?

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: Shut up, mister!

THE SPECTATOR: I’m through. I rest my case. Each of you may twist my words as they please; I for one gave my word. I mean, I haven’t, but I’m doing it now. There! (To the Well-Dressed Man) Let me see the money.

ANOTHER MAN IN THE AUDIENCE: He doesn’t deserve it.

THE SPECTATOR: You’re a lord!

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: It’s worth every penny. Enjoy spending it!

THE SPECTATOR (Counting): Thank you. I needed a spur. Fourteen, fifteen… nineteen, twenty. It’s all here. (Returns the money) I didn’t do it for money.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: I felt like seeing something special. I’m used to pay for this. Would you like to be my guest for dinner? Somewhere, at a restaurant? Tonight? We could talk some more there.

THE SPECTATOR: I don’t think I would have very nice things to say in private. Thank you, anyway.

                   (The first gong is heard. The spectators resume theis seats. At the third peal, the Lady Spectator’s asthenic silhouette can be seen floating towards her designated seat. The light floods the stage.

                   The Baritone is pursuing a conversation with the two youth. It looks obvious that they have figured out the way to pick up the dramatic course of the performance)        

THE YOUNG MAN: You let me believe otherwise.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I’m not sure myself, either. I’d like to think it over. I need time; I’ve been taught not to rush into things.

THE YOUNG MAN: Can’t you understand that you’re not to blame for everything that’s happened around you?

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Evasively): I don’t know.

BARITONE: I do.

THE YOUNG MAN: How?

BARITONE: It’s her fault all right.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Accepting calmly): Yes. So I’ve been told.

BARITONE: Of course. The supreme vanity: since I can’t do anything right, all that is wrong is to be blamed on me! False humility. Uriah Heep! Beware!

THE YOUNG MAN: You are exaggerating. The others made her believe that. She…

BARITONE: She enjoyed it. She’s got the calling.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Calling? But I’m not talented at all.

BARITONE: The calling to ignore what she doesn’t like. And then sticks the tags. (To the Young Man) Can’t you see, she’s got a halo of tags around her head?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: And what’s wrong with that?

BARITONE: My dearest ones! I’m too old to fail seeing that in this world the engine, the kernel is love. It was not I that said it! Love. With it’s shapes. Some wearing tags. My dear children, tags are however the big threat to our lives. Because the person that sticks them on first spits on them, see? They spit. Young lady, keep in mind what an old clown told you.

          (From the audience, a muffled sob can be heard)

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: Stop it! Call the police!

LADY SPECTATOR: No! Don’t!

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: Nobody’s leaving.

LADY SPECTATOR: Never mind, we’ve going to ruin the performance. (Tears are rolling down her cheeks profusely)

THE YOUNG MAN (To the audience): Call the police, do what you like, but I for one am going to take this performance to an end, damn it! I’m going to play whether you like it or not. Nobody, do you hear me, nobody will prevent me from being on the stage. Call whoever you like, I’m going on with my act. (Sits down and continues his cue) What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong about that? Can’t you hear me? What’s wrong about that? Why don’t you answer? Isn’t someone supposed to answer? What’s wrong about that?

LADY SPECTATOR (Jumping to her feet): That’s right! I noticed that I was gone. The purse I mean. But I didn’t want to say about that before the end. (Sobbing) I’m sorry, but I got scared. My ID, my money, my keys are all gone. I’m… (Apologizing) Of course, this only concerns me… but what if they are at my place now? I’m sorry I’m crying, I’m so ashamed…

THE YOUNG MAN: They who?

LADY SPECTATOR: The thieves. What if I’ve been robbed of everything, except the walls?

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: Gentleman, aren’t we going to do something about this? Are we going to just sit here? I’m asking you: what kind of men are those who won’t help a woman in distress.

LADY SPECTATOR: Never mind. I’m… I’m going to leave. I didn’t pay attention. I was married… Oh. No!... All I wanted was to spend a nice evening and… I’m sorry (She bursts into tears again. At the exit door, she turns around) Don’t mind me and please excuse me for the disruption.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: That’s the way we are; whenever we are down we apologize instead of demanding our rights! Serves us right! (To her) I’m seeing you out, ma’am.

A VOICE IN THE AUDIENCE: Do what you please, mister, but spare us the moral lesson! We’re at the theater after all!

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN (Turning his head): You’re having fun, aren’t you? It’s your fun hour and nothing else matters.

          (He exits but returns accompanied by the Spectator)

THE SPECTATOR: Boo! It was them.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: What did you see?

THE SPECTATOR: Two ladies in red left in a hurry. Two ladies with tree purses. Boo! What about that?

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: Are you sure?

THE SPECTATOR: That they left? Yes. That they stole? I doubt. That they didn’t steal? I doubt again. Actually, there are a few things left that I don’t doubt about any more.

THE WELL-DRESSED MAN: Thank you. (Exits in a determined gait)

THE SPECTATOR (To the actors, embarrassed, adopting a haughty air): The theater is the only place where… so many things can happen! Here life has been gathered drop by drop, ready for one to drink. (For a moment, he remains amazed at his own person) The Romanian is a born poet, ha! ha! I’m sorry. I’m talking like I have been drinking newly-made wine!

BARITONE: The wine, my dear, the wine brings out the man’s darkest side! Where is the purse? You saw it, didn’t you?

THE SPECTATOR (Pulling back): I beg your pardon? I’m… holding my peace now; I’ve talked enough. The air is rather… strong here.

          (The Baritone has his eyes closed and his head bent backwards. He nods. The two youth look aggressively towards the audience.)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Wherever you turn you head, you see only bad and insensitive people.

ANOTHER SPECTATOR (Standing up angrily): That’s the last straw! I’m leaving! (Resumes his seat)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Whether I like it or not, these things that are happening are all mine.

ANOTHER SPECTATOR: Is this part of the play?

THE SPECTATOR: Shut up, mister! Can’t you see it’s started?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: The world keeps amounting to more and to less at the same time.

THE YOUNG MAN: What do you mean?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: It’s not the way I’d like it to be. It’s wrong.

ANOTHER SPECTATOR (Insists): Is this part of the play?

          (The two don’t’ answer directly. They continue to observe the audience.)

THE YOUNG WOMAN (To him): What do you do about the great and sacred insensitivity of the world?

THE SPECTATOR: Who?

          (Laughter)

THE YOUNG MAN (Answering the girl): I treat it just the same. Trying to level up with it.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I would like to be sitting with a cat in my lap on a rainy day. (Asks towards the audience) Why doesn’t it rain? Tell me, why?

          (The people don’t ask)

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Stepping towards the Spectator): I’m asking you. Do you know why it doesn’t rain?

THE SPECTATOR: Because… there’ a drought…

THE YOUNG WOMAN: When it doesn’t rain, there is drought. But why doesn’t it rain? Where’s my cat?

THE SPECTATOR: You’re asking me, ma’am? I beg your pardon, miss?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Yes.

THE SPECTATOR: I like pizza.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Pizza is fattening.

THE YOUNG MAN: Did you get that?

THE SPECTATOR: Get what?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: That the world is not perfect. Now, here, there is neither pizza for you or a cat for me. This world is not at all perfect.

THE SPECTATOR (Bursting out): What the hell do you all want from me now? What do you want? I’m not on a trial here.

BARITONE (His eyes still closed): One thing is for sure: we’re having fun. We’re showing you the wild goose and you no longer chase it.

THE YOUNG MAN: This is the strangers of nights!

BARITONE: So is the world! (Steps down stage) That’s enough. I’m asking you: what’s happened, my dear ones? What ghost is haunting this place, messing everything up? Where has all this started? Where has this acquire substance? What is this? A joint access of anarchy? I’m asking you, because I can’t figure it out. Never before has such a thing happened. I’ve heard and seen many, but a night like this, never before in my life. What’s wrong with you? With us? Maybe you’d like to be here, on the stage in our places? I think that’s it! Yes. Piece of cake. Be my guests! In this way, this stage may become a memorable night. Not just bizarre. I insist. Come join us. you’ll feel better up here. Any voluntaries? Pluck up! Who’s breaking the ice?

          (The audience doesn’t respond, but many turn their heads towards the Spectator)

THE SPECTATOR (Compulsed to answer): I would like to play, for instance, the part of your son. The one overseas.

BARITONE: Be my guest.

THE SPECTATOR: I don’t think I can.

BARITONE: Of course you can.

THE SPECTATOR: I feel like… I don’t know how I feel. I’m scared again.

BARITONE: Don’t be. Sit down. Here. Good.

          (He invites the Spectator kindly and ceremoniously on to the stage.)

BARITONE: I take it you’re back.

          (The Spectator nods)

BARITONE: Good! Here we go.

          (A moment of silence, then the Baritone charges.)

BARITONE: my dear son, now that you’re back – I wouldn’t know for how long – I would like you to listen to me carefully. Would you do that?

THE SPECTATOR: Yes.

BARITONE: I came to realize, my son, that we, people are God’s thoughts! A good thought, another… is it? … less good?

THE SPECTATOR: Yes.

BARITONE: and these thoughts are voiced out, felt. Not all of them though. Some remain (Pointing to his chest) here, unspoken, unuttered.

THE SPECTATOR (Giggling): Unfelt.

BARITONE: Yes. And they are heavy. They want to come out too.

THE SPECTATOR: Yes.

BARITONE: Utter them.

THE SPECTATOR: Yes.

BARITONE: I’m waiting.

THE SPECTATOR: What?

BARITONE: Get them out. (Points around him) This is the elephants’ cemetery. Sick thoughts die here; they don’t travel any farther.

THE SPECTATOR: Well… I… said the intermission… But… I can’t do it now.

BARITONE: You volunteered.

THE SPECTATOR: Yes. But I have something else in my mind now.

BARITONE: Son, you promised me! Speak up. Listen. Tell me now what’s on your mind; that’s why you’re here with me. For instance, you were saying you were afraid of something. What is that?

THE SPECTATOR: I don’t know.

BARITONE: Is it the police?

THE SPECTATOR (Shakes the idea off, amused): No way! Why would you say that?

BARITONE: Then whom are you scared of?

THE SPECTATOR: You’ll laugh at me if I tell you.

BARITONE: What if I laugh? What’s wrong about laughing?

THE SPECTATOR: You’re right.

BARITONE: I’m listening.

THE SPECTATOR (Coyly): you go first.

BARITONE: All right. (Ponders for a moment) I’m dreaming of my vacation days, my son. I’m waiting for the sun to come up. It’s warm, it’s morning and… when the sun rises, I don’t know what happens but I get cold. Have you ever had this feeling?

THE SPECTATOR: No.

BARITONE: The air brisk and fresh, like a child running.

THE YOUNG MAN: Cold?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Hush down!

BARITONE: It’s so cold that you feel like putting a jumper on. The leaves get colorful and start to weep quietly. The dew is falling.

THE YOUNG MAN: And?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Quiet.

BARITONE: The hubbub is on: it’s morning and everybody gets up. It’s good. It’s good that the others are up too because I have big plans.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Plans?

THE SPECTATOR: Yes. I got it. I know! Just a moment, please! (Goes on as if it had been him speaking so far, showing no stage fright) For instance… I got it! I wanted to skip TV this evening.

BARITONE: Why?

THE SPECTATOR: To watch something else instead. The moon, for instance. I can’t see it because I live downtown and I’m always tired in the evening. I watch TV, I read a little and then I go to bed. (Reverts to reality) What did you say?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: And you don’t look up to the sky?

THE SPECTATOR: No! I keep forgetting. I don’t have the time. I’m so annoyed in the evening; there are so many pieces of news! Then, at about eleven, my children usually want drawing books or squares; I scold them. The result: tears and screaming!! We all go to bed lulled by the sound of sobs. So, I don’t have time. For the moon I mean. I don’t even think of it.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Why did you now?

THE SPECTATOR (Pointing around him): Well, since I’m here!

BARITONE: Are you married?

THE SPECTATOR: I am. And my wife won’t drink wine.

BARITONE (In a serious tone): Why?

THE SPECTATOR (Shrugging): I for one enjoy having a glass of wine. Alone. “Have a sip”! I tell her every time. She won’t; she just smiles and watches me. But you know in that way?

THE YOUNG WOMAN: In what way?

THE SPECTATOR: like this. (Shows her) Piercingly.

BARITONE: She wants to understand.

THE SPECTATOR: Probably. But what is there to understand?

BARITONE: She doesn’t know either.

THE SPECTATOR: Maybe. (Pondering) I don’t know.

BARITONE: It’s all right. Go on.

THE SPECTATOR: Yes. Okay. (To the Baritone) Anyway, I’m the tough one; I have to protect her.

BARITONE: Sure you have.

THE SPECTATOR: Well… then, that will be all about. I mean this is what I don’t say at home and haven’t told anyone so far.

BARITONE: There is some more to it! There must be.

THE SPECTATOR: Yes. (Jumps to his feet. It is obvious that he no longer observes the rules set by the Baritone) I have come here precisely to understand and… not understand. As far as I’m concerned you may even laugh; I don’t care. I always like to talk much. Few where friends who could help not listening to me. “You should have become an actor”, they used to say. “You should publish that”, said others. But I thought: what can I do and write since everything has already been said and written? I could just as well have dropped dead; it wouldn’t changed anything. And now, look, there are things crossing my mind, but I can’t voice them out. I keep those for myself, for a later time.

BARITONE (Trying to push him): Wait, son! Wait! I haven’t seen you for so long. I keep in my mind your letters, just your letters and the printouts of your e-mails that your mother gave me. That’s all I’ve got. A son on a paper! Do you think this is enough? Can I live on this? On second thought, this may be what I’ve been waiting for: to see you. To see you once more. Say something.

THE SPECTATOR: What?

BARITONE: Why don’t you write to me?

THE SPECTATOR: But, didn’t you say… haven’t I written on that… computer?

BARITONE: Why don’t you write to me with your own hand? To me. Why don’t you write an old-fashioned letter to your father? A mailed letter, in a stamped envelope, with an address scribbled apparently illegibly…Why? All you have now is a new country; you don’t have a mother or father anymore? Don’t you want to have us?

THE SPECTATOR: Well, I for one would like to have you but… (Gets out of his role, fidgeting) May I say something?

BARITONE: Please.

THE SPECTATOR: Something…that is not part of the role I mean. A piece of my mind.

BARITONE (Likewise): Please.

THE SPECTATOR: Well, I can hardly play the role of a son, since I… do have a father.

BARITONE: And you think my son no longer has one?

THE SPECTATOR: On the paper, yes. But in fact… he apparently hasn’t. No. he doesn’t need one.

BARITONE: What do you mean?

THE SPECTATOR: I don’t know… but that’s the way it is. And, as I have said, I have a father so… I couldn’t…

BARITONE: We all have a father.

THE SPECTATOR: Yes, sure, only that I feel the need to say that because I’ve had him since I was born. Don’t laugh, it’s a fact! And now he’s all I’ve got left. It’s strange. I have a father. My mom was young, cheerful, pretty and busy, so that I was raised by my grandparents. My dad would come to see me once a year. When I met him – my father I mean – I was playing with other children in the street. I had a robe sash of my grandmother’s tired around my head and the father that she used to spread egg yolk on her Easter cakes thrust in the knot. It could be spotted from afar, announcing those around that I was determined to be the Apache chief, that I alone was the best choice of the day to play Winnetou. (Looks around him) Shall I go on?

BARITONE: Yes, don’t stop. Speak on.

THE SPECTATOR: I was sort of…showing off when a car drove up the street and pulled up before the house I was living in with my grandparents. A man with a big teddy bear in his arms got out of the car. A huge bear, a toy that you could only see in the movies. He walked into the yard, surrounded by the children’s curious quietness.

THE YOUNG MAN: I used to have a teddy bear when I was a little boy.

THE SPECTATOR (Excited): You did, didn’t you? A teddy bear!

          (The Baritone smiles)

THE YOUNG WOMAN: And…what happened next? Go on!

THE SPECTATOR: Well… We all followed him, to see at which door he was going to knock. That’s it: we wanted to know where he was going. Nae’s shop – the cobbler – was out of question but the idea intrigued us that his two daughters – Miss Doina and Miss Pachela – might receive a toy like that. They had plenty of cats. Brisk, coming in all colors. They were all over the place. What would they do with a teddy bear?

BARITONE: Women are as unpredictable as the weather. You can’t tell what they like, when they like something and why! You bring them flowers and, crying, they tell you they’d rather had a rabbit. And a purple one at that!

THE YOUNG MAN: You buy them an apartment, they’d rather have a car.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (To the Young Man, humorously): You’re a misogynist! (To the Spectator) Please go on.

THE SPECTATOR: Well… I mean… I’d better keep quiet.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: I want to hear the story out. I’m curious. I really do! Who was the toy for? To whom did he bring it?

THE SPECTATOR (Talking his time, shyly): He came to us! (Looking around) Do you realize? To us! So… I…And then… I ran away. Alone, in the middle of the street, my heart pounding. The other children were watching me enviously, from the gateway. None felt like playing any more…and…I wasn’t myself anymore, I was… an eye. A big huge eye that was waiting. There’s grandma. (He rise to his feet) She calls my name. (Turns back to the audience and starts playing hopscotch) I couldn’t breathe, but I was pretending I couldn’t care less. After she had called for me about three times, I walked into the house in the respectful silence of the other “Indians” in the street.

THE YOUNG WOMAN: And?

THE YOUNG MAN: Stop interrupting him.

THE SPECTATOR: The gentleman with the teddy bear asked me whether I knew who he was. He looked like he expected me to know. My grandparents had tears in their eyes. I had to say something. I had to. I watched him, I watched him for some more… He had to cry also. What was I supposed to do? I said I knew. I know who he is. Who am I, he asked me panting. Uncle George, I said, confident that only Father George who had read me from Winnetou one summer, in a village of the Baragan plain where my mother was buried could come to bring me a teddy bear like that. “It’s you father, your father”, said my grandparents… The story repeated itself each year. He would bring me a dog or would take me for a ride in a cab. Each year I would be told: “It’s your father”. (Looks at them) That’s it. That’s the whole tale. So now he’s staying with us; he no longer has money for cab rides. Yes. But he’s very angry because he doesn’t know why he lived in this world; he says that everything he’s done has been to no avail.

BARITONE: This is the world that’s been given to us, son. Some are greedy and somehow take it all, and the others cannot even already answered them instead.

THE SPECTATOR: So this is why…all sorts of question keep crossing my mind and I can’t voice them out.

BARITONE: Do you need another audience?

THE SPECTATOR (Enlightened): That’s it. (Recoils) Maybe. I mean, that’s what I think.

BARITONE (Like a guru): An audience that could use what’s in your mind, breathing along with you.

THE SPECTATOR: I don’t know. Anyway, a different one. Different. (Rushes suddenly to the Baritone) Bye, dad, I’m going overseas again. Take care. (Whispers) Is it okay? (Joins the audience in a rush)

BARITONE: Good-bye, son, and don’t forget us. Ah! I shouldn’t forget the parting phrase. (Assumes a pose) Take care of yourself!

          (The Spectator leaves the stage and resumes his seat, all flushed up)

A VOICE IN THE AUDIENCE: That one is an actor also!

ANOTHER SPECTATOR: They are all part of the cast.

BARITONE (To the audience): The performance is not over. If you enjoyed it, come back tomorrow. It will be altogether different. Because it is not we that choose the cast. We are all the time discontent with the cast. Time elapses fast, (Declaiming) “fugit irreparabile tempus”, and we are in a big, big hurry. Ah! I should not forget that: you’ve supposed to applaud: an actor (Points to the Spectator) made his exit. Thank you. And now look at my face! There. Do it attentively: nothing is more true than a man’s face… because no one believes it. This a cue from a play. I don’t know which one, maybe the one we’re playing tonight… And now, ladies and gentleman, please join us on the stage. Come on. One step and you’re in a different world… (Waits) No one wish to come up?

                   (According to circumstances, a moment of improvisation with the spectators may take place, or not, led however by the Baritone, the Young Man and the Young Woman. When it’s over, at the point when no one in the audience wishes to walk up to the stage, or if there in no desire for the game, the Baritone shall take the lead)

BARITONE: Doesn’t anyone wish to join us? Very well then. We move on. (He turns his back to the audience and, with ceremonious gestures, invites his other colleagues on to the stage) Please, step in. you’re welcome.

                    (He, She, the Hostess take on the stage, watching the people in the audience. They are watching intently, with interest. They are observing every movement, every response. An atmosphere of mutual lying in wait is created. The Spectator can stand it no more)

THE SPECTATOR: This is not a zoo! We are the audience. This is not fair.

ANOTHER MAN IN THE AUDIENCE: What’s this? Are you making experiments here? Psychotherapy research?

BARITONE (Speaking in a staccato, ferm tone, as if from big distance): This evening has a halo of its own. This is what we despise the bond between us have opened the most noble part of their being, the human eye.

SHE (To the Baritone): You were supposed to be dead.

BARITONE: What?

SHE: You heard me. You’re dead.

BARITONE: No I am not. Not tonight. And…generally speaking I’ve decided not or die any more! So soon! So often! I get home too early and I’m overwhelmed by thoughts. You see, my dear ones, that’s why people like happy endings. Everybody’s happy…at least for two hours. And this is no little thing!

THE YOUNG WOMAN: But, if we do not pick up the play from the death scene, what are we supposed to play? You don’t die and we… exist no more!

BARITONE: Did you enjoy the heart attack scene? The happy ending and all?

HE: I did. I have to confess I was envious of you.

THE YOUNG MAN: There is no point in continuing. (To the audience) What do you say? It’s your call.

THE SPECTATOR (From his seat): I liked that!

BARITONE (Lively): So did I. So did I. because you, my dear fellow actors, were awesome. And you… were extraordinary, my sweet-bitter quince tree!

THE SPECTATOR: Continue!

OTHER VOICES: Continue!

HOSTESS: Then, let’s continue. (To the Baritone) From the heart attack scene; what do you say? Are you afraid?

BARITONE: I’m not doing that scene twice! I don’t like it… hell, no!

SHE: The audience ruled. We asked them and they ruled.

BARITONE: All right then. Don’t’ worry. (Collapses to the floor)

          (The other actors, taken by surprise, get confused once more)

THE SPECTATOR (From his seat): Holy Moses! What if this time it’s for real?

HOSTESS (With professional calm, remakes the scene): What’s the matter? What’s happened? Did you hurt yourself?

THE YOUNG WOMAN (Enters her role, bends her head backwards and speaks in the average, staccato tone of the character): I shouldn’t have come here. I bring the evil. I bring… (Senses the ridiculousness of the situation and reverts for real life) No. I don’t like this line. Or the play for that matter. I don’t like anything any more. Neither what we’re living, nor what we’re acting…I’m not saying this…I’ll have it no more.

SHE: I’m going to managing board tomorrow. This is outrageous! You started by behaving like clowns and now you refuse to do what you’re supposed to do. You entered too late from the very beginning; you let me do the crying scene until I felt I was going to blow it. I refuse to act next to amateurs! He, who is supposed to die, should die. That’s it. That’s the part damn it!

HOSTESS (Next to the Baritone, goes on with her cues): I’m not going to let you die. I’m right here, my love, my only love. (Shouts to Him): Call for an ambulance! Get a doctor!

HE: It’s no use.

HOSTESS: Go! What are you waiting for?

HE: The play has changed. It’s no use. What do you want us to do here? Acquired behavior? Applied gesture? System? The world teems with textbooks of conversation, nutrition, sexual education, the art of living, the art of speaking… the art of speaking! This is ridiculous! Everybody knows it all and wishes to tell what they know. Loud and clear. Anywhere. To anyone. Didn’t you see? “Let me tell you”, “Listen to me...,” “As far as I’m concerned, I think… I know…” (Nastily) “Shut the hell up, I’m talking now!” You can hear that all the time. But what is there left to understand? That’s what I’m asking you. What? You want me to call the ambulance. I will. You all need it. (Exits at a quick step, obviously glad that he can withdraw)

HOSTESS (To the Baritone who is still stiff): Stand up. You’re right. It’s no use. The immortal Houdini has done his act. He stays young and steals whatever he likes. Scenes, story, show… hearts. Come on! What are you waiting for? Actors know how to snatch what they want from life; that’s what you said. Rise to your feet, hear me? The show’s over. Curtain down! No one’s going to die tonight! The show’s over. The pitcher only goes twice to the well…Come on! Up, up! Don’t be stubborn, you mule!

BARITONE (Opening his eyes): I won’t be demotes. Make up your mind: I can’t be both a jackass and a mule! I’d rather be a jackass; I love the purity of the breed. (Stands up graciously) Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for not insisting in your decision. Thanks to you I stayed alive. I received one more night as a gift. Thank you.

SHE: But the tonight’s audience is baffled by what they’ve seen. Are you crazy? We must do something about it!

BARITONE: You’re right, my lady. (To the audience) Dear spectators…

THE SPECTATOR: And TV viewers!

BARITONE: No! You shut up. Now you’re supposed to keep quiet. As far as I was saying, dear fellows’ spectators, I should present you the plot. So that you should know what play you saw. There. It’s like in the real life…

THE YOUNG MAN: No mysteries!

THE YOUNG WOMAN: Buckle it!

BARITONE: Life’s got mystery, magic, cruelty… and the stage’s got even more of all that, my kids! There is definitely something special about life – something that can’t be explained or compared – that it has endured for so many thousand of years. But let’s drop the small talk and get to the core of things. (Explains) At out anniversary party, all tensions accumulated between my wife and I blow up (Points to the Hostess); and so those between our friends. She and He. Like always, the catalysts are the young ones, with their self-confidence and doubts. The climax is reached…

THE SPECTATOR: Don’t disclose the subject. I’m happy with what I’ve seen; I don’t have to know what was supposed to see. Each may make of it what they please.

A MAN IN THE AUDIENCE: I would have been long gone hadn’t I been curious to see how far you could go! If the theater’s got spoiled too, what could we expect from others? Boo! Refund our money! Shame!

                   (Two, three isolated voices join him. A certain commotion is created. The Baritone is trying to hold things in check)

BARITONE: We cannot refund. The theater is like the people that want it. The play has been performed. It’s over. You enjoyed, come again. If not…we’re expecting you with open arms. Like Puck. (Recites a stanza from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream)  

          If we shadows have offended,

          Think but this, and all is mended,

          (To the actors on the stage) Dear colleagues, papa Shakespeare’s comes to our rescue. (To the audience) But keep in mind that for a certain while of our lives (Glances at his wristwatch and calculates), more exactly, for two hours and seventeen minutes, we’ve been together. And we’ve been through a lot. This is no little thing! I for one am not going to forget that. Thank you.

          (The actors walk to the forestage, the audience applauds.

          The Spectator makes for the exit door)

HOSTESS (From the stage): You, mister, come over here.

THE SPECTATOR: Over there? Again? Not in a million years. (To the audience) Dear spectators…

BARITONE (From the stage): You should be up here with us when the curtain drops. To get the applause. Come up.

THE SPECTATOR: No. Yes, you’re right…(To the audience) Dear spectators and TV viewers, hold it one more moment and…(Abruptly) get the hell out of here. Fast. Please don’t argue with me. Find the exit door and leave! Otherwise… (Points to the stage)…otherwise… don’t stare at me like that because I for one have no idea who I am any longer; I mean, I know my name but…(Snapping) Applaud, damn it, can’t you see this is the end? When a man knows no longer what’s going on, who is he or what is he, it’s the end. There is another show about to start. This is the door? (Shouting) My dear fellows, look how many doors are there…(Pointing) there… and there. We can all get out through the door of our choice. We can. We get from here into the outside. From the small world into the big one. Good night.

BARITONE: My dear friend, don’t be in such a hurry. Danger never retires after all.

THE SPECTATOR: Once I’m out of here… I can handle the outside. Take my word for it! I’ll manage. (Exits)

Translated by Ileana BARBU.

 Olga Delia Mateescu

 b.1949

Playwright, actress at the National Theater in Bucharest. In 1973 she graduated from the Drama and Film Institute in Bucharest. In 1999 she obtained a doctor’s degree in Theater History. She had more than 80 theater and film roles and roles in TV and radio productions. She published the following plays and work on dramaturgy: Capricii (Whims, 1997), Urme (Traces, 1997), Fantoma de la Coventry (The Ghost of Coventry, 1998), Statuia Libertatii (Statue of Liberty, 1999), Medeea in razboi cu timpul (Medea Battling Time, 2000), Asta seara nu moare nimeni (No one’s Going to Die Tonight, 2002), Ferma de struti (Ostrich Farm, 2002). In 2003 her novel The Manuscript was published. She won UNITER’s Best Play on the Year Prize – 1997 for Whims; the I.C. Bratianu Prize for the play Ghost of Conventry – 1997; the Prize of the Writers Union of Romania – 2003 for the volume Ostrich Farm. Other books: Şampanie în lanul de grâu (Champagne in a wheat field, 2004), short stories; Căderea (Falling, 2005) , plays

E-mail: [email protected]

 ©2005-2006 Olga Delia Mateescu