Not much action today at the floating book shop, especially compared to yesterday. My thanks to the gentleman who purchased a booklet on Scorpios.
Here's an excerpt from a one act play I wrote at least ten years ago, possibly 20. It can be subtitled Putting Words into the Mouths of Great Dead White Men, (Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Frankin, Tolstoy, Twain, Henry Miller, Beethoven, Mozart, Thoreau, Whitman, Melville, Dickens, Darwin). Only one person bothered to rate it at the site where it's posted - an irate female gave it one star out of five. The actual title is The Last Laugh.
In a vast, infinite place of pitch darkness hangs a huge television screen, seemingly suspended in space.
George: What's new is old, Tom.
Tom: Everything changes, Georgie, and it somehow all seems the same. Is that paradox, Sam?
Sam: Ask the pair of docs.
Tom and George chuckle. Others groan.
Sam, irked: Every line can't be a gem. "Tough crowd, tough crowd," as that old comedian would say.
Leo: Sssssh!
Tom: Aw, lighten up, Leo.
Leo mutters in Russian, which the others understand perfectly.
Tom: Same to you.
George: Ignore him. He's been dead a hundred years. He's not going to change. Whoever said that character is destiny didn't know how right he was.
Tom: True, isn't it? We haven't changed, either. Is that irony, Sam?
Sam: We don't do ironing here.
More groans arise.
Leo: Somebody stop them before I go mad.
Sam: Damn, I wish I had a cigar right, even a cheap one. So many years in the grave and I still have the craving. That characteristic has certainly been a part of my destiny.
Ben: Soon they'll be arresting anyone who lights up in public. Can you imagine that - after all tobacco's done for the Republic?
Sam: Never happen, Benny.
Ben: Mark my words. They're fanatics.
Sam: Do you miss anything?
Ben: I was just thinking how wonderful a glass of the finest port'd be.
Walt, dreamily: An open field; lilacs blooming.
Tom: I can't see you, Walter, but I know it's you. I bet I can identify anybody here, if not by the sound of his voice, by what he says. Try me.
Herm: Sails billowing against the sunset.
Tom: Herm.
Hank: A shack in the woods. A cool, deep, pond.
Tom: Too easy, my friend. One of you non-Americans try.
Miller: You're all nuts. Gimme a night with the likes of an Elle or Cindy, or both.
Laughter explodes. Catcalls and whistles fill the air, drowning out those who protest.
Tom: Henry, you are priceless.
Leo: Barbarians.
Focus returns to the screen. Suddenly the atmosphere is grim.
Wolfie: I vant my MTV.
Luddy: Don't you dare, Wolfie. Stay away from the remote.
Wolfie: Ah, Luddy, you are so square.
Again silence predominates. It is broken by a whirr and smack.
Leo: Kraut dog! One more and ....
Sniggering arises.
Tom: Are you firing imaginary spitballs again, Wolfie? Siggy, you better talk to him. There must be some latent desire behind that.
Wolfie: Of course - to have fun. I didn't worry about how I might be perceived when I was alive - why should I worry about it when I'm dead?
George, amazed: How does he do that?
Tom: Cut him some slack, Lee. Every class has to have its clown or the world'd be the dullest place.
Leo's muttering ceases at the sight of carnage around the world. The mood again darkens.
Tom: You'd have no shortage of people to nurse, Walter.
Walt: But why doesn't any of it have the magnificence of our Civil War? And not a Lincoln in sight to raise spirits.
Abe: I knew Lincoln, and Lincoln was no Lincoln.
Subdued laughter ensues.
George: Always loved your delivery, Abe. I wish I'd had that. These days you'd be making millions on T.V..
Abe: You didn't do so bad.
Ben: How would you explain the carnage, Doc?
Tom: Natural selection, Charlie?
Charles: Which Charlie?
Tom, irked: Not you. If we were discussing the great novel, I'd ask you. You're Charles - he's Charlie. How many times do we have to go over this? Common sense, man.
Thomas: Did someone call me?
Tom: No, Thomas. A little miscommunication, I'm afraid.
Thomas, disappointed: Oh.
Charles: Terribly sorry. Sorry, really I am.
Miller: Damn, I hate that about the English. "Sorry," "Sorry." Do something terrible before you apologize.
Leo: Like steal two-thirds of the world from its rightful owners.
Ralphie: "We will bury you," "We will bury you." As if injustice is exclusive to a single race. And at least the English advanced civilization, not set it backward.
There is grumbling in the background.
RIP Pete Fornatale, 66, long time radio voice at progressive rock station WNEW-FM in New York.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
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