Act Four, Scene One
Caribbea, evening at the surf
(Portrait of a Noble Lady sits alone on the shore looking up at the moon, rich and bright)
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Am I the dreaming one on this evening lost? From where these alien thoughts are spawn'd I know not. Fix'd still my motion remains; here I've seen the withering of all flowers. Insects in love under the grass lie, just beyond the sands; the music of nature carrying ever on. This is for me not the place. That which was the time no longer is and alive I cannot keep it. And thus, myself alive, I cannot stay.
The Moon:
Lady, upon your heart my light has touch'd and comes to me back through my eyes, to know your tenderness. Across the great atmosphere I whisper only for you this good night.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
I was missing and couldn't stop dreaming.
The Moon:
That is how it feels. 'Tis time you were with me here.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Of all these days that have past, to you I bid this farewell inside; and dear ghost, to you I bid all else.
(The tide rises. Portrait of a Noble Lady is carried out to sea. Ghost of a Court Magician arrives to discover the scene)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Water's color wavers with blur'd spangles. Ripples run softly red and seagreen true. A treasure of memories is this water cloud'd. So soon, our delicate shroud of crystalline has vanish'd, but remains, holding more than the wave's empty frames. Righteous moon, this you will ease, moving her backward and forward under your dreamclouds and give ever the peace that only in the warm night air hides. Down the streets of life she no longer travels, but see her again I will, riding the crest on the dreams of dolphins. My charming spirit, the shoreline good-bye waves.
Act Four, Scene Two
Desert
(Mr. Birthday and Christmas Scientist ride through the desert on a hovercraft)
Scientist:
Mr. Birthday, are we to the end of your book arriving?
Mr. Birthday:
That is what I fear.
Scientist:
Of the words what the condition be?
Mr. Birthday:
Plentiful they've grown, but also a bit sickly. Much a campfire is this thing of writing. With a fine lot of cord I began, though at first the warmth was little. Soon raging in brightness wonderful, there was much in the way of fire! Of course, only a finite amount of blazing can from my humble beginnings come. There is much cool ash now.
Scientist:
In friend and author, so much greatness there to you is. On both counts, I know yourself to you is understood properly and sure, though in matters of our air I must you correct. Spoke you of resignation pacific to the ever dimming of life's shimmering flash. These burnings of your life are delicate suggestions of the beautiful and pure, lying yet unspark'd in the dawning future furnace. In every commonplace of today, the secret heart of heaven hides. Even when the eye or the soul cannot it register, never does the essence flame forever leave. Travels it does, moving as the present to the future down with you all your roads; to phenomenal temples and palaces of you and within. All will burn life for that is its nature; the great will, hope, and dream. There is ever hidden in the ashes of life, a soft burning.
Mr. Birthday:
Ah, you are of great literature worthy!
Scientist:
Of my finest moments, Mr. Birthday what think you, lived in me the highest?
Mr. Birthday:
Surely I knowest not! Mmm. Would it love be?
Scientist:
Close, wordsmith! My point you've nearly hit. No, mark'd they by confidence. Love there may be, whether seeing June by snowflakes heart-shape'd or most unworldly moonlight, waking to the dew from sleepwalking angels lost, or living some kingly success unknown. But, along with these of any, all is confidence, such so potent and brief that I think it pure magic. The thrill of the haunting dusk lies in the satisfy'd confidence that
you've the power to equal that sublime excellence; that in life, there will be twilights even greater. Life's mountain peak is confidence.
Mr. Birthday:
A high point indeed; a rare height. But, where lie this rock of purity top'd? Has it a home in the lovewillow'd chains of Appalachia or does under the luminous Caribbea sun it stately keep?
Scientist:
Oh, by all my lifedreams I've travel'd and found I...
Mr. Birthday:
No! By your kindness, tell me not! Please, nothing more of it to me speak. 'T'would a book most certainly end.
Scientist:
There is to learn so much! Now in places I nothing see where once beheld fate promising. The matter is purely experimental, with answers different, perhaps, for all men. Look now to the afternoon star! See not the ghostly paradise there? To it, by this path, we now ourselves take.
Mr. Birthday:
Of what do we this dreamy place desire? Highly appreciable is this desert dream, but of substance it us very little concerns.
Scientist:
Believe it I, Mr. Birthday, 'tis the place where oppositions without arms meet. The birthplace of beginnings and the conclusion of endings. A shortcut to the mountain's top, perhaps! Now arrive'd I, continue onward to your fate, burning friend. This is mine.
(Mr. Birthday stands silently, then waves good-bye to Scientist who offers a wave in return)
Mr. Birthday:
Farewell.
(Mr. Birthday exits on hovercraft as Scientist vanishes into the oasis)
Act Four, Scene Three
Caribbea afternoon, endless
(Mayor Made of Gold stands in the highest spire of the beach castle, surveying the surf)
Mayor Made of Gold:
Great man of science, to me you've not return'd. I hope not you've yourself drown'd in life's darker waters.
'Tis a thought I find no joy in entertaining.
(Ghost of a Court Magician enters)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
(aside)
How in great expense he suffers! A price I fear we'll no longer be able to afford.
(to Mayor Made of Gold)
I've dutifully the prose of the tides read. The moon has writ there is to be no next day.
Mayor Made of Gold:
Tomorrow's vanish'd?
Ghost of the Court Magician:
The word no longer has meaning. It's application is lost.
(wind begins to steadily pick up as a storm approaches)
Mayor Made of Gold:
Damn our very nature! Perfection never had a chance! If be it the winds of my heart have change'd direction, then my petty character be blame'd. 'Tis limitations, the damnedest of all things! Break them all apart! Down with all the eastern walls; in every room, in every heart! Into what is left of us, onward. I refuse to believe that further I cannot go! All things I'd love'd vanish now! Our minds will soon create clouds to cover them over. This everday marks the end of the angels and the beginning of demons. May I find better peace with the damn'd! Only now the western part of our hearts beat. Feel only the gusts of the western wind; the direction of the new, true order. Our dreams are in all directions scatter'd, but will come together down and there solidify. Forget I, where we stood, what we were; the waters, shores, and skies of Caribbea. Oh, damn this nature! Down with the eastern walls.
(Avenging Angel enters as a raging Caribbean wind strikes)
Avenging Angel:
Poor soul, 'tis time to an exit make. Upon you rains the woe of man. Allow me to you shelter grant. The pierce of heaven's blade is painless to an amiable heart.
Mayor Made From Gold:
Lower yourself, fiery wraith, to the cooling sea and die!
Avenging Angel:
For some the end arrives with pain. I cannot pass you by.
(Avenging Angel slits the throat of Mayor Made of Gold, golden blood flowing out from the fatal wound)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Slow days, they've now arrive'd. I ask myself remove'd from these stillborn nights and days, moving to the sky's natural mansions. Come with dreams and carry me out sweet, accommodating host!
(Avenging Angel draws her gown across Ghost of a Court Magician)
Avenging Angel:
One of weary loveliness, now with you I am! For the skyline of heaven our hearts will together return, but I must first my earthly trespass realize.
Act Four, Scene Four
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia
(Mr. Birthday finishes his autobiography)
Mr. Birthday:
Of my life, this the end finally is. Lying in these pages, everything that I was and still briefly be. And so very much I've dream'd! Oh, how endless seem'd it all! How could I really put a life into words; and can anyone who these pages reads, understand all that I felt writing them? How much of my own blood here flows through?
(Winter enters)
Winter:
Mr. Birthday!
Mr. Birthday:
Greetings season, my dear friend! You've just in time arrive'd. My autobiography, friend, I've finish'd and my life with it along.
Winter:
Oh, Mr. Birthday, I don't believe it to be so.
Mr. Birthday:
Mean you how, fondest season? I've it finish'd. It's complete!
Winter:
We are not witnesses to an ending. No, even after its conclusion, your tale continues. Mr. Birthday, never is over, this story.
Mr. Birthday:
What this is then?
Winter:
Merely one of the endless dawns. Beginnings and endings ever lie among other beginnings and endings. If love leaves or arrives, eludes or us discovers, then 'tis as the shift of the sun or the nature of any thing. The tide again returns to the sea, already breaking back for the shore. A carpet of snow arrives only to melt, until it again falls. View'd from afar, these twilights and dawns run aside one another true. The differences are unobservable as the point from where a perfect ring was originally join'd.
Mr. Birthday:
(ponders the meaning of Winter's words)
With the end of my words I must farewell bid, for dear Winter, I've an angel coming. Though before her entrance, I would much enjoy, once more, the honest fall of perfum'd snow.
Winter:
Your heart is something I've often admire'd, Mr. Birthday. To think us you could ever leave.
(Mr. Birthday closes his eyes. He throws back his head, and raises his arms to embrace the slow fall of thick flakes of snow)
Winter:
I have in no place been where you I've not seen. In the deserts, fields, and in the twin heavens. Not only in the hearts of Caribbea and of Appalachia, but in everything pass'd into me. You've always arrive'd, just as you'll always remain. You are even I.
(Dusk extends beyond all horizons)
Act Four, Scene Five
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia, next morning
(Avenging Angel arrives to take Mr. Birthday's life)
Avenging Angel:
Life, so swift and enduring, I embrace you here. Wish'd I you'd my better be. In this deed, I find no favor on such a great, white day. No more, I must complete the delay of the morning.
(Avenging Angel enters the cabin. It is unoccupied. She walks over to the typewriter to discover but one page. "My sentiments exactly, Jonathan Sparrow" is all that is written)
Avenging Angel:
(struggling to speak)
Words...
(A butterfly enters through an open window and lands upon the hand of the Avenging Angel, standing still)
Butterfly:
Butterflies need a place to land. Your heart seem'd the place.
The End
Grand finale
"All Roads Lead To Adventure"
sung by entire cast:
All roads lead to adventure.
Every door that opens,
Every day that begins,
All roads lead to adventure.
All roads lead to adventure.
Every bridge that's burn'd,
Every page that's turn'd,
All roads lead to adventure.
All roads lead to adventure...
All roads to adventure lead.
Act Four, Scene One
Caribbea, evening at the surf
(Portrait of a Noble Lady sits alone on the shore looking up at the moon, rich and bright)
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Am I the dreaming one on this evening lost? From where these alien thoughts are spawn'd I know not. Fix'd still my motion remains; here I've seen the withering of all flowers. Insects in love under the grass lie, just beyond the sands; the music of nature carrying ever on. This is for me not the place. That which was the time no longer is and alive I cannot keep it. And thus, myself alive, I cannot stay.
The Moon:
Lady, upon your heart my light has touch'd and comes to me back through my eyes, to know your tenderness. Across the great atmosphere I whisper only for you this good night.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
I was missing and couldn't stop dreaming.
The Moon:
That is how it feels. 'Tis time you were with me here.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Of all these days that have past, to you I bid this farewell inside; and dear ghost, to you I bid all else.
(The tide rises. Portrait of a Noble Lady is carried out to sea. Ghost of a Court Magician arrives to discover the scene)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Water's color wavers with blur'd spangles. Ripples run softly red and seagreen true. A treasure of memories is this water cloud'd. So soon, our delicate shroud of crystalline has vanish'd, but remains, holding more than the wave's empty frames. Righteous moon, this you will ease, moving her backward and forward under your dreamclouds and give ever the peace that only in the warm night air hides. Down the streets of life she no longer travels, but see her again I will, riding the crest on the dreams of dolphins. My charming spirit, the shoreline good-bye waves.
Act Four, Scene Two
Desert
(Mr. Birthday and Christmas Scientist ride through the desert on a hovercraft)
Scientist:
Mr. Birthday, are we to the end of your book arriving?
Mr. Birthday:
That is what I fear.
Scientist:
Of the words what the condition be?
Mr. Birthday:
Plentiful they've grown, but also a bit sickly. Much a campfire is this thing of writing. With a fine lot of cord I began, though at first the warmth was little. Soon raging in brightness wonderful, there was much in the way of fire! Of course, only a finite amount of blazing can from my humble beginnings come. There is much cool ash now.
Scientist:
In friend and author, so much greatness there to you is. On both counts, I know yourself to you is understood properly and sure, though in matters of our air I must you correct. Spoke you of resignation pacific to the ever dimming of life's shimmering flash. These burnings of your life are delicate suggestions of the beautiful and pure, lying yet unspark'd in the dawning future furnace. In every commonplace of today, the secret heart of heaven hides. Even when the eye or the soul cannot it register, never does the essence flame forever leave. Travels it does, moving as the present to the future down with you all your roads; to phenomenal temples and palaces of you and within. All will burn life for that is its nature; the great will, hope, and dream. There is ever hidden in the ashes of life, a soft burning.
Mr. Birthday:
Ah, you are of great literature worthy!
Scientist:
Of my finest moments, Mr. Birthday what think you, lived in me the highest?
Mr. Birthday:
Surely I knowest not! Mmm. Would it love be?
Scientist:
Close, wordsmith! My point you've nearly hit. No, mark'd they by confidence. Love there may be, whether seeing June by snowflakes heart-shape'd or most unworldly moonlight, waking to the dew from sleepwalking angels lost, or living some kingly success unknown. But, along with these of any, all is confidence, such so potent and brief that I think it pure magic. The thrill of the haunting dusk lies in the satisfy'd confidence that
you've the power to equal that sublime excellence; that in life, there will be twilights even greater. Life's mountain peak is confidence.
Mr. Birthday:
A high point indeed; a rare height. But, where lie this rock of purity top'd? Has it a home in the lovewillow'd chains of Appalachia or does under the luminous Caribbea sun it stately keep?
Scientist:
Oh, by all my lifedreams I've travel'd and found I...
Mr. Birthday:
No! By your kindness, tell me not! Please, nothing more of it to me speak. 'T'would a book most certainly end.
Scientist:
There is to learn so much! Now in places I nothing see where once beheld fate promising. The matter is purely experimental, with answers different, perhaps, for all men. Look now to the afternoon star! See not the ghostly paradise there? To it, by this path, we now ourselves take.
Mr. Birthday:
Of what do we this dreamy place desire? Highly appreciable is this desert dream, but of substance it us very little concerns.
Scientist:
Believe it I, Mr. Birthday, 'tis the place where oppositions without arms meet. The birthplace of beginnings and the conclusion of endings. A shortcut to the mountain's top, perhaps! Now arrive'd I, continue onward to your fate, burning friend. This is mine.
(Mr. Birthday stands silently, then waves good-bye to Scientist who offers a wave in return)
Mr. Birthday:
Farewell.
(Mr. Birthday exits on hovercraft as Scientist vanishes into the oasis)
Act Four, Scene Three
Caribbea afternoon, endless
(Mayor Made of Gold stands in the highest spire of the beach castle, surveying the surf)
Mayor Made of Gold:
Great man of science, to me you've not return'd. I hope not you've yourself drown'd in life's darker waters.
'Tis a thought I find no joy in entertaining.
(Ghost of a Court Magician enters)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
(aside)
How in great expense he suffers! A price I fear we'll no longer be able to afford.
(to Mayor Made of Gold)
I've dutifully the prose of the tides read. The moon has writ there is to be no next day.
Mayor Made of Gold:
Tomorrow's vanish'd?
Ghost of the Court Magician:
The word no longer has meaning. It's application is lost.
(wind begins to steadily pick up as a storm approaches)
Mayor Made of Gold:
Damn our very nature! Perfection never had a chance! If be it the winds of my heart have change'd direction, then my petty character be blame'd. 'Tis limitations, the damnedest of all things! Break them all apart! Down with all the eastern walls; in every room, in every heart! Into what is left of us, onward. I refuse to believe that further I cannot go! All things I'd love'd vanish now! Our minds will soon create clouds to cover them over. This everday marks the end of the angels and the beginning of demons. May I find better peace with the damn'd! Only now the western part of our hearts beat. Feel only the gusts of the western wind; the direction of the new, true order. Our dreams are in all directions scatter'd, but will come together down and there solidify. Forget I, where we stood, what we were; the waters, shores, and skies of Caribbea. Oh, damn this nature! Down with the eastern walls.
(Avenging Angel enters as a raging Caribbean wind strikes)
Avenging Angel:
Poor soul, 'tis time to an exit make. Upon you rains the woe of man. Allow me to you shelter grant. The pierce of heaven's blade is painless to an amiable heart.
Mayor Made From Gold:
Lower yourself, fiery wraith, to the cooling sea and die!
Avenging Angel:
For some the end arrives with pain. I cannot pass you by.
(Avenging Angel slits the throat of Mayor Made of Gold, golden blood flowing out from the fatal wound)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Slow days, they've now arrive'd. I ask myself remove'd from these stillborn nights and days, moving to the sky's natural mansions. Come with dreams and carry me out sweet, accommodating host!
(Avenging Angel draws her gown across Ghost of a Court Magician)
Avenging Angel:
One of weary loveliness, now with you I am! For the skyline of heaven our hearts will together return, but I must first my earthly trespass realize.
Act Four, Scene Four
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia
(Mr. Birthday finishes his autobiography)
Mr. Birthday:
Of my life, this the end finally is. Lying in these pages, everything that I was and still briefly be. And so very much I've dream'd! Oh, how endless seem'd it all! How could I really put a life into words; and can anyone who these pages reads, understand all that I felt writing them? How much of my own blood here flows through?
(Winter enters)
Winter:
Mr. Birthday!
Mr. Birthday:
Greetings season, my dear friend! You've just in time arrive'd. My autobiography, friend, I've finish'd and my life with it along.
Winter:
Oh, Mr. Birthday, I don't believe it to be so.
Mr. Birthday:
Mean you how, fondest season? I've it finish'd. It's complete!
Winter:
We are not witnesses to an ending. No, even after its conclusion, your tale continues. Mr. Birthday, never is over, this story.
Mr. Birthday:
What this is then?
Winter:
Merely one of the endless dawns. Beginnings and endings ever lie among other beginnings and endings. If love leaves or arrives, eludes or us discovers, then 'tis as the shift of the sun or the nature of any thing. The tide again returns to the sea, already breaking back for the shore. A carpet of snow arrives only to melt, until it again falls. View'd from afar, these twilights and dawns run aside one another true. The differences are unobservable as the point from where a perfect ring was originally join'd.
Mr. Birthday:
(ponders the meaning of Winter's words)
With the end of my words I must farewell bid, for dear Winter, I've an angel coming. Though before her entrance, I would much enjoy, once more, the honest fall of perfum'd snow.
Winter:
Your heart is something I've often admire'd, Mr. Birthday. To think us you could ever leave.
(Mr. Birthday closes his eyes. He throws back his head, and raises his arms to embrace the slow fall of thick flakes of snow)
Winter:
I have in no place been where you I've not seen. In the deserts, fields, and in the twin heavens. Not only in the hearts of Caribbea and of Appalachia, but in everything pass'd into me. You've always arrive'd, just as you'll always remain. You are even I.
(Dusk extends beyond all horizons)
Act Four, Scene Five
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia, next morning
(Avenging Angel arrives to take Mr. Birthday's life)
Avenging Angel:
Life, so swift and enduring, I embrace you here. Wish'd I you'd my better be. In this deed, I find no favor on such a great, white day. No more, I must complete the delay of the morning.
(Avenging Angel enters the cabin. It is unoccupied. She walks over to the typewriter to discover but one page. "My sentiments exactly, Jonathan Sparrow" is all that is written)
Avenging Angel:
(struggling to speak)
Words...
(A butterfly enters through an open window and lands upon the hand of the Avenging Angel, standing still)
Butterfly:
Butterflies need a place to land. Your heart seem'd the place.
The End
Grand finale
"All Roads Lead To Adventure"
sung by entire cast:
All roads lead to adventure.
Every door that opens,
Every day that begins,
All roads lead to adventure.
All roads lead to adventure.
Every bridge that's burn'd,
Every page that's turn'd,
All roads lead to adventure.
All roads lead to adventure...
All roads to adventure lead.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
The Moon:
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
The Moon:
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
(The tide rises. Portrait of a Noble Lady is carried out to sea. Ghost of a Court Magician arrives to discover the scene)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Caribbea, evening at the surf
(Portrait of a Noble Lady sits alone on the shore looking up at the moon, rich and bright)
Am I the dreaming one on this evening lost? From where these alien thoughts are spawn'd I know not. Fix'd still my motion remains; here I've seen the withering of all flowers. Insects in love under the grass lie, just beyond the sands; the music of nature carrying ever on. This is for me not the place. That which was the time no longer is and alive I cannot keep it. And thus, myself alive, I cannot stay.
Lady, upon your heart my light has touch'd and comes to me back through my eyes, to know your tenderness. Across the great atmosphere I whisper only for you this good night.
I was missing and couldn't stop dreaming.
That is how it feels. 'Tis time you were with me here.
Of all these days that have past, to you I bid this farewell inside; and dear ghost, to you I bid all else.
Water's color wavers with blur'd spangles. Ripples run softly red and seagreen true. A treasure of memories is this water cloud'd. So soon, our delicate shroud of crystalline has vanish'd, but remains, holding more than the wave's empty frames. Righteous moon, this you will ease, moving her backward and forward under your dreamclouds and give ever the peace that only in the warm night air hides. Down the streets of life she no longer travels, but see her again I will, riding the crest on the dreams of dolphins. My charming spirit, the shoreline good-bye waves. Act Four, Scene Two
Scientist:
Mr. Birthday:
Scientist:
Mr. Birthday:
Scientist:
Mr. Birthday:
Scientist:
Mr. Birthday:
Scientist:
Mr. Birthday:
Scientist:
Scientist:
Mr. Birthday:
Scientist:
(Mr. Birthday stands silently, then waves good-bye to Scientist who offers a wave in return)
Mr. Birthday:
(Mr. Birthday exits on hovercraft as Scientist vanishes into the oasis)
Desert
(Mr. Birthday and Christmas Scientist ride through the desert on a hovercraft)
Mr. Birthday, are we to the end of your book arriving?
That is what I fear.
Of the words what the condition be?
Plentiful they've grown, but also a bit sickly. Much a campfire is this thing of writing. With a fine lot of cord I began, though at first the warmth was little. Soon raging in brightness wonderful, there was much in the way of fire! Of course, only a finite amount of blazing can from my humble beginnings come. There is much cool ash now.
In friend and author, so much greatness there to you is. On both counts, I know yourself to you is understood properly and sure, though in matters of our air I must you correct. Spoke you of resignation pacific to the ever dimming of life's shimmering flash. These burnings of your life are delicate suggestions of the beautiful and pure, lying yet unspark'd in the dawning future furnace. In every commonplace of today, the secret heart of heaven hides. Even when the eye or the soul cannot it register, never does the essence flame forever leave. Travels it does, moving as the present to the future down with you all your roads; to phenomenal temples and palaces of you and within. All will burn life for that is its nature; the great will, hope, and dream. There is ever hidden in the ashes of life, a soft burning.
Ah, you are of great literature worthy!
Of my finest moments, Mr. Birthday what think you, lived in me the highest?
Surely I knowest not! Mmm. Would it love be?
Close, wordsmith! My point you've nearly hit. No, mark'd they by confidence. Love there may be, whether seeing June by snowflakes heart-shape'd or most unworldly moonlight, waking to the dew from sleepwalking angels lost, or living some kingly success unknown. But, along with these of any, all is confidence, such so potent and brief that I think it pure magic. The thrill of the haunting dusk lies in the satisfy'd confidence that
you've the power to equal that sublime excellence; that in life, there will be twilights even greater. Life's mountain peak is confidence.
A high point indeed; a rare height. But, where lie this rock of purity top'd? Has it a home in the lovewillow'd chains of Appalachia or does under the luminous Caribbea sun it stately keep?
Oh, by all my lifedreams I've travel'd and found I...
Mr. Birthday:
No! By your kindness, tell me not! Please, nothing more of it to me speak. 'T'would a book most certainly end.
There is to learn so much! Now in places I nothing see where once beheld fate promising. The matter is purely experimental, with answers different, perhaps, for all men. Look now to the afternoon star! See not the ghostly paradise there? To it, by this path, we now ourselves take.
Of what do we this dreamy place desire? Highly appreciable is this desert dream, but of substance it us very little concerns.
Believe it I, Mr. Birthday, 'tis the place where oppositions without arms meet. The birthplace of beginnings and the conclusion of endings. A shortcut to the mountain's top, perhaps! Now arrive'd I, continue onward to your fate, burning friend. This is mine.
Farewell.Act Four, Scene Three
Mayor Made of Gold:
(Ghost of a Court Magician enters)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
(to Mayor Made of Gold)
I've dutifully the prose of the tides read. The moon has writ there is to be no next day.
Mayor Made of Gold:
Ghost of the Court Magician:
(wind begins to steadily pick up as a storm approaches)
Mayor Made of Gold:
(Avenging Angel enters as a raging Caribbean wind strikes)
Avenging Angel:
Mayor Made From Gold:
Avenging Angel:
(Avenging Angel slits the throat of Mayor Made of Gold, golden blood flowing out from the fatal wound)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
(Avenging Angel draws her gown across Ghost of a Court Magician)
Avenging Angel:
Caribbea afternoon, endless
(Mayor Made of Gold stands in the highest spire of the beach castle, surveying the surf)
Great man of science, to me you've not return'd. I hope not you've yourself drown'd in life's darker waters.
'Tis a thought I find no joy in entertaining.
(aside)
How in great expense he suffers! A price I fear we'll no longer be able to afford.
Tomorrow's vanish'd?
The word no longer has meaning. It's application is lost.
Damn our very nature! Perfection never had a chance! If be it the winds of my heart have change'd direction, then my petty character be blame'd. 'Tis limitations, the damnedest of all things! Break them all apart! Down with all the eastern walls; in every room, in every heart! Into what is left of us, onward. I refuse to believe that further I cannot go! All things I'd love'd vanish now! Our minds will soon create clouds to cover them over. This everday marks the end of the angels and the beginning of demons. May I find better peace with the damn'd! Only now the western part of our hearts beat. Feel only the gusts of the western wind; the direction of the new, true order. Our dreams are in all directions scatter'd, but will come together down and there solidify. Forget I, where we stood, what we were; the waters, shores, and skies of Caribbea. Oh, damn this nature! Down with the eastern walls.
Poor soul, 'tis time to an exit make. Upon you rains the woe of man. Allow me to you shelter grant. The pierce of heaven's blade is painless to an amiable heart.
Lower yourself, fiery wraith, to the cooling sea and die!
For some the end arrives with pain. I cannot pass you by.
Slow days, they've now arrive'd. I ask myself remove'd from these stillborn nights and days, moving to the sky's natural mansions. Come with dreams and carry me out sweet, accommodating host!
One of weary loveliness, now with you I am! For the skyline of heaven our hearts will together return, but I must first my earthly trespass realize.Act Four, Scene Four
Mr. Birthday:
(Winter enters)
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
(Mr. Birthday closes his eyes. He throws back his head, and raises his arms to embrace the slow fall of thick flakes of snow)
Winter:
(Dusk extends beyond all horizons)
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia
(Mr. Birthday finishes his autobiography)
Of my life, this the end finally is. Lying in these pages, everything that I was and still briefly be. And so very much I've dream'd! Oh, how endless seem'd it all! How could I really put a life into words; and can anyone who these pages reads, understand all that I felt writing them? How much of my own blood here flows through?
Mr. Birthday!
Greetings season, my dear friend! You've just in time arrive'd. My autobiography, friend, I've finish'd and my life with it along.
Oh, Mr. Birthday, I don't believe it to be so.
Mean you how, fondest season? I've it finish'd. It's complete!
We are not witnesses to an ending. No, even after its conclusion, your tale continues. Mr. Birthday, never is over, this story.
What this is then?
Merely one of the endless dawns. Beginnings and endings ever lie among other beginnings and endings. If love leaves or arrives, eludes or us discovers, then 'tis as the shift of the sun or the nature of any thing. The tide again returns to the sea, already breaking back for the shore. A carpet of snow arrives only to melt, until it again falls. View'd from afar, these twilights and dawns run aside one another true. The differences are unobservable as the point from where a perfect ring was originally join'd.
(ponders the meaning of Winter's words)
With the end of my words I must farewell bid, for dear Winter, I've an angel coming. Though before her entrance, I would much enjoy, once more, the honest fall of perfum'd snow.
Your heart is something I've often admire'd, Mr. Birthday. To think us you could ever leave.
I have in no place been where you I've not seen. In the deserts, fields, and in the twin heavens. Not only in the hearts of Caribbea and of Appalachia, but in everything pass'd into me. You've always arrive'd, just as you'll always remain. You are even I. Act Four, Scene Five
Avenging Angel:
(Avenging Angel enters the cabin. It is unoccupied. She walks over to the typewriter to discover but one page. "My sentiments exactly, Jonathan Sparrow" is all that is written)
Avenging Angel:
(A butterfly enters through an open window and lands upon the hand of the Avenging Angel, standing still)
Butterfly:
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia, next morning
(Avenging Angel arrives to take Mr. Birthday's life)
Life, so swift and enduring, I embrace you here. Wish'd I you'd my better be. In this deed, I find no favor on such a great, white day. No more, I must complete the delay of the morning.
(struggling to speak)
Words...
Butterflies need a place to land. Your heart seem'd the place.The End
Grand finale
"All Roads Lead To Adventure"
sung by entire cast:
All roads lead to adventure.
Every door that opens,
Every day that begins,
All roads lead to adventure.
All roads lead to adventure.
Every bridge that's burn'd,
Every page that's turn'd,
All roads lead to adventure.
All roads lead to adventure...
All roads to adventure lead.
