informis/textfiles
1
0
Fork 0
Code Issues Pull Requests Packages Projects Releases Wiki Activity
textfiles/magazines/FOL/fol0403.txt
root@procul 278a90f7ce Initial commit
2021-04-15 13:31:59 -05:00

1103 lines
38 KiB
Plaintext
Raw Blame History

This is your latest copy of FICTION-ONLINE.
================================================
FICTION-ONLINE
An Internet Literary Magazine
Volume 4, Number 3
May-June, 1997
EDITOR'S NOTE:
FICTION-ONLINE is a literary magazine publishing
electronically through e-mail and the Internet on a bimonthly basis.
The contents include short stories, play scripts or excerpts, excerpts
of novels or serialized novels, and poems. Some contributors to the
magazine are members of the Northwest Fiction Group of
Washington, DC, a group affiliated with Washington Independent
Writers. However, the magazine is an independent entity and solicits
and publishes material from the public.
To subscribe or unsubscribe or for more information, please e-mail
a brief request to
ngwazi@clark.net
To submit manuscripts for consideration, please e-mail to the
same address, with the ms in ASCII format, if possible included as
part of the message itself, rather than as an attachment.
Back issues of the magazine may be obtained by e-mail from
the editor or by anonymous ftp (or gopher) from
ftp.etext.org
where issues are filed in the directory /pub/Zines/Fiction_Online.
This same directory may also be located with your browser at the
corresponding website
http://www.etext.org
The FICTION-ONLINE home page, courtesy of the Writer's
Center, Bethesda, Maryland, may be accessed at the following URL:
http://www.writer.org/folmag/topfollm.htm
COPYRIGHT NOTICE: The copyright for each piece of
material published is retained by its author. Each subscriber is
licensed to possess one electronic copy and to make one hard copy for
personal reading use only. All other rights, including rights to copy
or publish in whole or in part in any form or medium, to give readings
or to stage performances or filmings or video recording, or for any
other use not explicitly licensed, are reserved.
William Ramsay, Editor
=================================================
CONTENTS
Editor's Note
Contributors
"Burn through me," a poem
Sydney Anderson
"Garden Work," a poem
Jean Bower
"The Men," an excerpt (chapter 2) from
the novel "Ay, Chucho!"
William Ramsay
"Lust," a scene (#7) from the play, "Act of God"
Otho Eskin
=================================================
CONTRIBUTORS
SYDNEY ANDERSON is a Pasadena, California architect and
writer. She recntly won the Scars Publication book contest with her
epistolary story, "Autumn Reason."
JEAN BOWER is a Washington attorney, founder of a program for
legal assistance in child neglect cases, and a poet.
.
OTHO ESKIN, former diplomat and consultant on international
affairs, has published short stories and has had numerous plays read
and produced in Washington, notably "Act of God." His play "Duet"
has been produced at the Elizabethan Theater at the Folger Library in
Washington, and is being performed with some regularity in theaters
in the United States, Europe, and Australia.
WILLIAM RAMSAY is a physicist and consultant on Third World
energy problems. He is also a writer and the coordinator of the
Northwest Fiction Group. His play, "Perry's Roots." recently
received a reading at the Writers Center in Bethesda, Maryland.
=================================================
burn through me
by Sydney Anderson
now that i've seen you
i don't even care
if you're with her
because now that i've seen you
i know you don't love her
and i know it for a fact
because you look at me
and burn through me
that way we did at the start
and if after so many years
we still feel that burn
imagine how many years we have
together
to feel alive
====================================
GARDEN
by Jean Bower
-- to Betty Just
I take my place
In the cold heart of spring,
kneel on wet grass
and separate the stones
from earth, one by one,
as in the garden
just outside of paradise,
Eve first found stones
and knelt to touch them,
one by one,
discovering her joy.
In this early light --
dark house behind me
silent, its ghosts
still sleeping off
the night before
on their weekend passes --
Earth, stone, grass,
spring, and I tune up
to play Eve's dance.
===============================================
THE MEN
by William Ramsay
(Note: this is an excerpt, Chapter 2 of the novel "<22>Ay, Chucho!" )
"I want to finish this chapter, and then I've got my poker game with
the girls, Chucho." My mother smoothed back her Chinese-orange
hairdo at the temples and inserted a long violet-tipped fingernail to prop
open her place in her Danielle Steel novel.
"I won't keep you, _mamacita_, but you ought to know about my
business problems."
"Not that again!" Her voice rose to a musical wail. "I've got my
own business to worry about." Mama and her often dubious real estate
finagles. "And if it's about money again, like I told you, I just can't
spare a _thing_ right now. I have some big investment opportunities in
the mill." She frowned at a large photo of my father on the far wall, his
spectacled face looking plain and bland against the pink and aquamarine
wallpaper of her living room.
I figured it was all too likely that the "big investment
opportunities" had to do with poker, dog races -- and financing her
cocaine habit. "It's serious, _mamacita_."
She waved my troubles away with her hands as if they were some
noxious odor. "I won't do anything without Paco's advice, he has good
business sense."
My mother was the only person in the world that would think
that Paco Santos had any kind of sense about anything except gold
chains and white powders. "Oh, Mama, Paco's a big part of the
_problem_."
"_Ay_, _Chucho_! Can't you men settle this among yourselves?
How I wish your father were here, how I miss him!" She spoke as if she
were praising a particularly juicy filet mignon at her favorite downtown
restaurant, the Firehouse Five.
"And what would Papa think about all the cocaine business?"
She frowned, pursed her full lips. "Everything changes, _hijo_
_mio_. This is a new country, a new time." She looked at me, daring
me to disagree with her and show what an ungrateful serpent's tooth of
a child I was. "And it's never more than a little for fun -- don't
exaggerate." She hoisted herself up, carefully keeping her rear end
tucked in, and gazed into the wall mirror, moving her mouth back and
forth, wiping a smudge of lipstick off her front teeth with a rapid rub
from the purple-plated fingertips. "Trying new things keeps me young."
My mother was all of forty-five going on nineteen.
Meanwhile, I was trying to keep from getting old -- or rather
dead -- before my time -- and to secure the prospect of _some_ kind of
old age for myself. In a sudden moment of fantasy I imagined myself
like Jimmy Cagney in "Angels With Dirty Faces," robbing armored cars,
banks -- or nowadays maybe convenience stores. But even if I had the
nerve for the criminal life, I was afraid I was the type who'd get caught
on my first try. Or, worse, with my luck, the bank or Seven-Eleven
would turn out to be owned by a friend of the Association -- "The Men."
It was Amelia who really initiated the whole crazy idea that led to my
meeting with Fidel -- and a lot of other uneasy events. Of course, if I
could have seen into the future, I would have just laughed at her and her
schemes. As it was, at the time I did come close to laughing, I certainly
let slip a snicker or two.
"Chucho, we should talk about your father," said Amelia the next
evening.
"You may want to talk about him, I don't see why the shit I should."
We were in her apartment on the bay, looking out as the light faded over
the high rises fringing Collins Avenue on the Beach.
"Getting him out of Cuba would solve all your difficulties."
"So would getting a one-way ride on the space shuttle."
"No, Jesus, maybe there's a way."
"I'll shoot a few missiles at a few of the hotels in Vedado and maybe
knock off Fidel while he's helpless in the arms of one of his Consuelos
or Conchitas."
"Oh, don't give up so easily!" She punched me playfully on my
shoulder. "Whatever happened to the Harrison Ford inside you?"
I smiled and stroked my big bushy mustache. "It's Errol Flynn if
anybody, and I haven't seen much of him recently. He's probably still
out there somewhere flying the Dawn Patrol."
She punched me in the gut. "I don't know, Chucho, I think Errol
Flynn's still inside you somewhere, waiting to get out."
"You bet!" I widened my eyes. "What possibilities! I can see
myself as Robin Hood light-heartedly stringing his bow, just waiting for
his merry men to show up for the final reel." I ran my hand over her
bodice, lightly brushing over the smooth cotton.
She shivered. "I'd like to meet your father some time."
"That seems very unlikely. You'll probably have to make do with just
little old me," I said, lightly stroking her light-brown hair with one
finger, finding her nipple underneath the puce-colored blouse with the
other, and pressing it firmly, gently. After a few moments, her smile
faded and her face became stiff, her eyes half-closing.
"Oh, Jesse," she said and sighed. In the heat of passion, she often
calls me by my _gringo_ name. Well, we are living in America, you
know.
This time I made her keep her hands where they belonged.
The next days were a nightmare. By this time, I felt completely
stymied. Mr. Holbrook at Electronics Warehousers, Inc. gave me what
I could detect as a grim smile even over the phone. I reminded him of
our last fishing trip, where he caught a hell of a big marlin, and I
promised to give him a ride in my Cessna over Easter -- well, it wasn't
really my Cessna, but I've got a license and a gang of flight hours, and
my cousin Eduardo always let me use his plane. But good old fatso
Holbrook sighed and told me he couldn't. All accounts receivable over
120 days were handled by the New York office, no extensions, and so,
Jesse baby, payment had really better be coming pretty soon.
I figured I could always leave town. But it had to be someplace
really distant if the Association wasn't going to track me down and put
me away. In fact a couple of days later it appeared that I might have to
leave not just the town, but the country too. A big fat envelope arrived
from the Internal Revenue Service -- "Withholding Tax in Arrears."
Well, you know, in business you're always having to collect payroll taxes
from your employees -- I had six - - and then you have to send them in
every few weeks to the bank, the "Federal Depository." So how was I
supposed to be able to take care of that kind of thing with all my other
problems? _Ay-ay-ay_, as Caesar Romero used to say, hand clasped to
forehead at the unfairness of it all. Then too, there was an outstanding
claim by the feds that I hadn't reported as income some payments on
cellular phone systems that I counted a "deposits." I mean, it's a fine
legal point, I think -- but try telling that to the damned I.R.S.!
"No Way Out," if you saw that Kevin Costner movie. Trapped in the
Pentagonal mazes of Little Havana, that was me.
The next Saturday, I took Amelia up in the Cessna, and we flew
down to Key Largo. As we passed over the swampy area between the
mainland and the key, she said, "I've talked to Paco about it."
"About what?"
"Oh, what else, my stupid little Chucho. Getting your father out."
"What!" That's all I needed. Even if I were going to try to get my
father out -- which was a crazy idea -- I didn't want Paco and his pals at
the Association to know about it. The Men would never let me out of
their clutches to go on a wild expedition to Havana.
"He thought it was interesting."
Just then the plane hit a small air pocket and we shot up and then
dropped down abruptly and then halfway back up again. I jiggled us
into a new trim and then eased up on the stick. "He did?"
Amelia hadn't moved a muscle during the bump -- no unreal danger
ever scared her. "Yes, he wants to call you about it tonight."
"Fuck him."
"Jesus! -- I mean Chucho!" she said, trying to avoid the appearance
of blasphemy. (My first name is confusing sometimes, even for
Cubans.) "Hey, look at the sun coming from between the clouds."
"Great," I said.
"A good omen," she said. And she smiled -- damn her.
Paco did call later, after we'd returned to Miami from a nice relaxing
day in Key Largo and a smooth ride in the plane coming back. You
could hear in Paco's hoarse voice that he had been living up his
thirty-seven years two or three at a time. He told me he had arranged a
meeting.
"Meeting? Who with?" I wanted to say 'with whom," but I was
afraid it would only bug Paco -- he thinks grammar is for _maricones_.
"I'll pick you up at ten. Before dinner." Then he coughed. I
read mystery into the cough, but maybe only because I knew Paco loved
mystery. All I could really tell was that he was still an old-fashioned
Cuban, dining after ten, for God's sake.
Paco pulled up to my place off Collins Avenue at exactly 10:27. I
myself am precise, punctual. But I had scoffed down some goat cheese
and crackers because I knew that some people, like Paco, aren't.
"Why do you live out here with all these people?" he said, meaning
WASPs and Jews and assorted non-Cubans. He pulled his Miata away
from the curb with a ripping sound of tires that edged into a squeal.
Paco is a bigoted bastard -- and he has other reptilian habits that go
along with his puffy cheeks and slimy-looking pencil mustache. We
drove over the MacArthur Causeway and out the expressway to Coral
Gables.
The meet was in one of the low Spanish-style houses that seem to go
on forever, on a large lot near enough to the Country Club to see the
blackness of the greens in the moonlit sky. Going in by a narrow,
half-subterranean side door, just as if we were the gardener or
somebody, we ended up suddenly in a small chamber, abruptly facing
three men. One sat at the table and screwed up his face at us, the
indirect lights glinting off his bald spot. He was obviously a Man --
initial cap. -- in his own right. The other two stood in the shadows
against the wall, and were evidently not "Men" -- insofar as I understood
these things -- but only "men" who belonged to the Man: sort of
auxiliary quasi-Men. I shook hands with Senor Gomez -- which I
figured in this case might well be the Spanish equivalent of "Jones" or
"Smith."
"Have you eaten?" said Senor Gomez, and my heart rose up into the
empty space in my chest where hunger always lodges, at least for me.
"Yes, we're O.K.," said Uncle Paco -- the fink! Gomez looked to be
good for a fancy snack -- the goat cheese was now only a memory.
Gomez picked up a sandwich from a nearby plate and began eating
it. As he ate, he began to turn even uglier looking. I don't know how he
did it. Finally he stopped chewing, swallowed, and cleared his throat,
sounding like a scow scraping its side against a dock. "Has Santos
explained our conditions?"
"No," I said, dying from fear and hunger.
"Yes," said Uncle Paco.
"Hey, wait a minute!" I said. One of the two quasi-Men shuffled his
feet, Gomez looked suddenly even less human, as if he had been born of
woman at some time lost to the memory of man, and I felt a shiver run
down through my lumbar region.
"You want me to brief him?" said Paco.
Gomez nodded, chewing into what looked like delicious roast beef
sandwich. "Yeah." Then he turned his eyes toward me and lifted the
hoods on them about half an inch. "Jesus, we're depending on you to get
him out." He was calling me by my first name and using the familiar
"tu" form of address. "You mean my father?"
"Pillo. Your father too. Just see that you don't disappoint us."
He wiped his lips with a tissue.
"Well yes, but I..." Pillo who? I thought.
"I'll brief you," said Uncle Paco, his eyes closed into slits.
Gomez stood up, the two quasi-Men came forward, their sleeves
bulging over muscles that weren't quasi at all, and Paco took me by the
arm. The interview was over.
On the way home, my empty stomach was churning, and not just
with hunger. I was mad, at fate, at Gomez, at Paco. Then Paco told me
that the "Movement" -- the paramilitary arm of the Association --
wanted me to get Pillo, one of their people who was also in La Cabana,
out at the same time as my father.
"Shit on the Association!"
Paco smiled. It was a nasty smile, as if he had been taking lessons
from Gomez. "Hey, you know they'll show their appreciation of your
efforts, Chucho."
"Who is this guy Pillo?"
"Jorge Pillo, he's quite a dude, killed a bunch of Fidelista officers
when he was a counterrevolutionary guerrilla way back when in the
Sierra Escambray." He frowned as if he were thinking, a process with
him that I usually though possible but unlikely. "In the slammer in La
Cabana now."
"Hey, wait a minute." Getting my mild-mannered, harmless
physician- politician father out was one thing, getting a wild-eyed
guerrilla leader freed was entirely different.
"They're really doing you a favor. Expenses -- within limits -- and
you can use their contacts." He raised one eyebrow. "C.I.A." he
whispered.
"Yes, but..."
"No, really, they're like this with the Company." He raised his
large, manicured fingers, tightly crossed.
"Come on, Paco!"
"And the interest on your debt won't run while you're working on
this."
"The interest! What about the debt itself?"
Paco bridled, pulling his chin back and looking at me fiercely --
instead of at the semi that was trying to pass us in a narrow gap in the
traffic on Le Jeune.
"Watch out!" I said.
Paco glanced at the semi and speeded up slightly instead of slowing.
A whistling squeal of air brakes. "Hey," he said, "your father will be
rich once he gets to New York, right?"
"Yeah, sure." When and if, I thought.
Paco nodded his head, rubbed the back of it with his right hand. His
rings glinted in the patterns of the street lights sweeping up over the
Miata as it zoomed onto the expressway. "You're lucky, Chucho. The
Men have been very understanding."
Sending an ordinary young businessman in to pull some kind of
jailbreak that they themselves had evidently never been able to manage
-- some 'understanding'! "Fuck 'understanding'!" I said.
"Oh hell, Chucho, sometimes a guy's got to show a little initiative."
"Look who's talking."
"Me?" Paco looked like a little boy wrongly accused of smacking
his sister. "Chucho, Chucho, you always put me down, you don't know
the real me."
I knew the real him all right, his idea of initiative was thinking up
new ploys to con woman like my mother into buying him linen sports
jackets and keeping his bar bill paid up at the American Club. "Why
don't you just shut up, Paco?"
Paco shook his head violently, as if saying "poor loser!" He speeded
up again, and I lay my head back against the headrest and closed my
eyes, half- hoping a car crash would put me out of my misery. I felt like
a loser, all right. I wondered about plane connections from Havana to
Moscow, Tehran, or perhaps Outer Mongolia. Maybe I could squirrel
myself under a pile of yak hides in some yurt in a part of the Gobi
Desert where no one had even heard of Calle Ocho, Fidel Castro, or the
Martyrs of the Playa Giron. "Martyrs" -- yes. I was beginning to
appreciate how a person could get so desperate that he could just close
his eyes, cross his fingers, and throw himself into the jaws of the lion.
And I had the awful feeling that Fidel Castro Ruz might be playing the
lion part in my own personal nightmare.
So you see, it wasn't my doing. I didn't just drift into the dark
currents of the Miami underworld that slip-slopped away through secret
drains into the Sargasso Sea of pseudo-Stalinist Cuba. I was pushed.
The Association plucked me, gasping, out of their gangland gill net and
tossed me into dark waters of deception and intrigue. And there in the
watery depths lurked guess who: the Big Fish of the Caribbean, that's
who -- Fidel.
==================================================
LUST
by Otho Eskin
(Note: This is scene 6 from the full-length play "Act of God")
Cast of Characters
JOHN An unemployed actor weak, shallow
and self-absorbed.
SATAN
MAGGIE Young, beautiful, vulnerable and
radiantly innocent.
AT RISE: The spotlight rises on SATAN, dressed in a tuxedo with
a red bow tie and cummerbund. The apartment is as it
was in the previous scene except that there is a plate of
chocolate chip cookies on a table.
SATAN
Now you may be asking yourselves what's happening to the rest of
the universe while John and I are locked up in this beastly apartment?
Has all sin and misery disappeared from the face of the earth? Are New
York cab drivers polite? Has the US Post Office improved its service?
I'll give you one guess. I've had to learn to delegate. I've got
people out there doing my work dedicated people with a real sense of
mission: head waiters in expensive restaurants, women's fashion designers,
theater critics, oil company executives all my servants. They're out
there this very minute causing trouble and spreading misery everywhere.
Nevertheless, things can't go on much longer like this. Without my
personal involvement, peace and love are beginning to break out. I'm
going to put a stop to this right now.
(Stage lights go up and JOHN enters.)
JOHN
I'm not really comfortable about this business.
SATAN
You'll be surprised at how quick you'll get used to doing evil. Before
you know it, it'll second nature.
JOHN
I'm not sure this will work. Maggie's not like the rest of us. She won't
commit a sin.
SATAN
Maybe not the old-fashioned kind like gluttony or pride and those
others. But there are many new and trendy sins I can offer
intolerance, prejudice, apathy. There's always a new sin du jour.
JOHN
She'll never succumb.
SATAN
All you have to do is seduce her. Leave the rest to me.
JOHN
I've never been able to get further than holding hands.
SATAN
You've been using the wrong approach. I've put some champagne in the
refrigerator...
JOHN
Maggie doesn't drink alcohol.
(SATAN throws up his hands in disgust.)
SATAN
We've got to create the right environment.
(SATAN goes to the stereo set and
searches through cassettes and CD's.)
SATAN
Do you have Bolero?
(The doorbell rings)
JOHN
That must be Maggie now.
SATAN
It's party time.
JOHN
I don't know what to do.
SATAN
Let me handle this. I'll talk to her.
JOHN
I thought she couldn't hear you.
SATAN
She can't. Not yet. She'll think you're doing the talking. It'll be your
voice she hears not mine.
JOHN
What makes you think you can do better than me?
SATAN
Because I'm more subtle than you. Let her in.
(JOHN opens the door.)
JOHN
Maggie, come in.
(MAGGIE enters.)
MAGGIE
I'm not sure I should have come, John. After our last meeting here...
JOHN
Everything's going to be fine, Maggie, just fine.
MAGGIE
You're sure? I have been worried about you.
SATAN
There's no reason to be, my dear.
(MAGGIE, uneasy, looks around the apartment.)
MAGGIE
You alone?
SATAN
Maggie, come with me.
(In the following scene, SATAN speaks
to MAGGIE but she believes JOHN is
speaking. SATAN stands near JOHN, as
if guiding him. JOHN takes MAGGIE's
arm and leads her to the window.)
SATAN
Has anybody ever told you, you look especially lovely by starlight?
(The sound of a slow waltz can be heard,
JOHN takes MAGGIE in his arms and
they begin to dance. SATAN follows
them, moving his hands and arms almost
as if he were a puppet-master controlling
them. Finally the music subsides and
JOHN and MAGGIE stand in each other's
arms. SATAN stands at JOHN's side.)
SATAN
Maggie, you have given me a gift beyond all reckoning.
MAGGIE
A gift?
SATAN
Before I met you I was selfish, concerned only with myself. But I've
changed, Maggie.
(JOHN gently caresses MAGGIE's hair.)
SATAN
You have taught me to have feelings I didn't know I could have -- to see
the world differently -- the colors are brighter, the sky is bluer.
MAGGIE
I'm so happy to hear you say that.
SATAN
I'm no longer the man I once was but someone who can have real
feelings, who could -- dare I say it? -- who could love.
MAGGIE
I'm so proud of you, John.
(JOHN leads MAGGIE to the couch
where they sit close together. SATAN
stands immediately behind them.
SATAN
Without you I am doomed to drift without direction, without goal,
without hope.
MAGGIE
Oh, no!
SATAN
If you reject me now, I'll once more be the old me wicked, selfish and
lost.
MAGGIE
Don't say that.
SATAN
Your face is move lovely than the evening star, your eyes the color of
sunrise. Enchant me, mistress of my soul. Weave your magic and cast
your spell upon my heart. Maggie, I love you.
MAGGIE
I think I might be able to learn to love you too, John.
SATAN
We must give ourselves to one another freely, selflessly, without
condition. Stay with me tonight so we may hold one another until time
and space dissolve into unending love.
MAGGIE
(Doubtfully)
I don't know.
SATAN
Together we can sail across the face of the universe and scale the
pinnacles of infinity.
MAGGIE
If that's what you really want, John, ...
SATAN
Seize the moment...
(JOHN stands up and walks away,
agitated.)
MAGGIE
What is it, John?
SATAN
(To JOHN)
What the hell do you think you're doing?
JOHN
I can't go through with this.
SATAN and MAGGIE
What did you say?
JOHN
I don't want it not this way.
MAGGIE
What's wrong with you, John? I thought you loved me.
JOHN
I do, but this isn't right. It's not me you're hearing. It wouldn't
be me that you loved tonight.
MAGGIE
What are you talking about?
SATAN
You know what you've just done? You've blown it. You'll never get her
in the sack now.
(MAGGIE becomes conscious of another
presence.)
MAGGIE
He's here, isn't he?
JOHN
Yes, Maggie, he is.
(MAGGIE shivers and holds her arms
around her body as if cold.)
MAGGIE
I think I sense him too.
SATAN
Get out of here, John. I want to talk with Maggie -- alone.
JOHN
No! I refuse.
SATAN
I'm pulling rank. You have no choice,
JOHN
Maggie, I want you to leave.
MAGGIE
What's happening?
SATAN
(To JOHN)
Shoo! Shoo!
(SATAN forces JOHN into the bedroom. JOHN
tries to resist but cannot.)
JOHN
Please go, Maggie. It's not safe for you here...
(SATAN closes the door firmly on
JOHN. SATAN turns and studies
MAGGIE.)
SATAN
Can you hear me, Maggie? Can you see me?
MAGGIE
Yes. A little.
SATAN
I must apologize for that seduction scene. It was not worthy of me. It
was not worthy of you. I must be losing my touch. (Looks around the
apartment.) Do you suppose it's the seedy surroundings?
MAGGIE
You remind me of someone.
SATAN
Who?
MAGGIE
Mr. Considine who taught me piano when I was a little girl and used to
put his hand on my knee and make me cry.
SATAN
(In an unctuous voice)
You must practice harder, Maggie.
MAGGIE
You're Mrs. Phelps, the woman who lived at the end of the block who
poisoned the neighborhood dogs.
SATAN
(In a mean, woman's voice.)
Horrid little things yapping and fouling the lawn.
MAGGIE
I'm frightened.
SATAN
The only thing you should be frightened of is ignorance.
(SATAN takes the plate of chocolate chip
cookies and offers them to MAGGIE.)
SATAN
Have some chocolate chip cookies they're delicious. Made them
myself. An old family recipe.
MAGGIE
I don't think I'd better.
SATAN
There is something you long for only I can give.
MAGGIE
Nothing!
SATAN
You once said the one thing you truly wanted was truth.
MAGGIE
You're confusing me.
SATAN
Don't deny your heart.
MAGGIE
Please don't.
SATAN
Say it, Maggie, say it.
MAGGIE
I want to understand.
SATAN
Learn from me, Maggie. I will teach you to snare the vagrant wind in the
circle of your fingers, teach you to hear Leviathan's song and see the
secret of the cosmos in a raindrop. Anything you want to know, I will
tell you. Ask me, Maggie.
MAGGIE
Why was my father killed by a drunken driver? Why, one summer
evening, did my friend Norman hang himself? Why is my friend Jason
dying of AIDS?
SATAN
I'll tell you the truth about your father, about Norman and Jason.
(SATAN passes MAGGIE the plate of cookies.) I can reveal it all.
(SATAN snaps his fingers.) Just like that. Are you ready?
MAGGIE
I think so.
SATAN
Have a cookie.
(MAGGIE takes a cookie, hesitates for a
long moment, then flings it away.)
MAGGIE
No.
SATAN
Do you want to live in ignorance?
MAGGIE
I'm not strong enough for the truth. If you answered my questions, I
would change. I would no longer be me. I don't know what kind of
person I would become but it would no longer be me.
SATAN
Innocence is a lie. Do you want to spend the rest of your life living a
lie?
MAGGIE
The price you ask is too high.
(SATAN studies MAGGIE for a long
time.)
SATAN
John! Get the hell in here.
(JOHN enters.)
JOHN
Are you all right, Maggie?
MAGGIE
I'm all right.
JOHN
Have you changed?
MAGGIE
No, John, I'm just the same.
SATAN
Now listen, kids, we have a problem. John and I are condemned to stay
in this apartment for ever unless we can meet the conditions of the spell.
As I see it, we've got two choices. John, all you have to do is agree
to my terms. I can get you a job as a TV weatherman in Altoona.
MAGGIE
Don't listen to him, John.
JOHN
I've told you, I'll do business with you only if you give me a leading
role on Broadway...
MAGGIE
John, how can you even think...?
SATAN
(Turning to MAGGIE)
As for you, little lady, how about choice number two. If you're as
concerned about John as you pretend, why don't help him? Make a deal
with me and John is free to walk out of here.
JOHN
I won't let her do that. I won't let her sacrifice herself.
(SATAN winces in pain. He seems to
shrivel and take up less room. When he
speaks, his voice is weaker, more
uncertain.)
JOHN
Maggie, I'm sorry I ever got you involved in this. Please go now, before
it's too late.
MAGGIE
I can't just leave you alone with this....this thing.
SATAN
Which is it to be, my friends? Dealer's choice.
JOHN
How much does the TV job pay?
MAGGIE
Don't listen to him, John.
JOHN
I can't stay here like this forever, Maggie. I mean, how bad can Altoona
be?
SATAN
Now you're thinking. You don't have any other choices.
MAGGIE
Those aren't our only choices. Look at him, John!
(JOHN looks at SATAN, who grows increasingly
uncomfortable. The lights on SATAN fade
slightly.)
MAGGIE
He's weakening, can't you see?
JOHN
I can't see him clearly.
MAGGIE
When you told him you wouldn't let him have me, you took some of his
power away. Don't you see, John? He doesn't really exist. If we deny
him, he can't do anything to us.
JOHN
But Todd saw him. So did Childress and Townsend and Father Damien.
He's right here with us.
MAGGIE
He's not out there, he's in our hearts. But we're not helpless. We can
destroy him. All we have to do is deny the evil in our hearts and he
can do nothing to us.
SATAN
This is all very sweet, young lady, but don't kid yourselves, you can't
hurt me.
MAGGIE
John, try and rid yourself of selfishness and pride...
SATAN
Dream on, lady...
MAGGIE
Think of good things, of kindness and generosity and beauty.
JOHN
This is kind of hard.
MAGGIE
Remember the hurt you felt when he said he wanted to take me?
(MAGGIE takes JOHN's hand.) Feel that again! Try, John! Try!
SATAN
You're wasting my time. Which one of you is it going to be? Which one
will do the right thing?
MAGGIE
Harder, John! I can feel him weakening.
(Gradually the lights on SATAN fade.)
SATAN
You guys are beginning to try my patience. Stop what you're doing.
Right this minute.
MAGGIE
Can't you sense it, John? He's losing his power.
JOHN
You're right, he's beginning to fade.
SATAN
Stop it! (Becoming desperate) Don't do this. Maggie, you wouldn't do
this to me. It's too cruel.
MAGGIE
Fight him, John. Fight him.
(The lights continue to fade and SATAN can hardly
be seen.)
SATAN
Hey, John, old buddy, remember all the good times we've had together?
We had a few laughs, we had a few thrills. Tell her to stop it, Johnny.
Please stop it.
JOHN
We've won, Maggie. We've destroyed him.
MAGGIE
Not yet. Don't stop yet.
SATAN
Please don't do this. I'll give you whatever you want, just stop. You
don't understand what you're doing. You're destroying me.
MAGGIE
Concentrate, John. Be pure.
SATAN
Do you really want a world where I don't exist? A world without art and
music and organized religion. Do you want to live out your existence in
self-satisfied bliss without guilty pleasures and longing and desire and
regret. They are what give spice and meaning to your lives. (SATAN
vanishes. Only his voice can be heard.) You really want to spend eternity
in a cosmic Disneyland? It would be so boring. (Voice fades) Why don't
you reconsider this whole business? I'll behave myself, I promise. I've
learned my lesson. Honest. Stop. Please stop. Oh, this is so
embarrassing.
(There is a long silence.)
JOHN
Is he gone?
MAGGIE
I think so.
JOHN
He's disappeared, vanished.
MAGGIE
Try the door.
(JOHN goes to the front door and steps
through it into the hallway beyond.)
JOHN
I can leave! The spell is broken.
(JOHN and MAGGIE hug each other
jubilantly.)
JOHN
I'm free!
MAGGIE
We've destroyed him. He couldn't leave your apartment because of your
spell and when we stopped believing in him, he ceased to exist. Come,
John, let's go outside and see the world for the first time free of sin
and evil and death.
(Arm in arm, MAGGIE and JOHN go out
the door, leaving the door ajar. After a
brief pause, the front doorbell rings. A
man tentatively opens the door.)
NEIGHBOR
Hello? Is there anyone home? (NEIGHBOR looks around the
apartment.) I'm your downstairs neighbor and I want to speak to you
about the noise you've been making this last week. Hello! Anybody
here?
(The lights rise and SATAN can be seen
upstage wearing clothes identical to those
worn by the NEIGHBOR.)
SATAN
Allow me to introduce myself.
SLOW FADE TO BLACK
CURTAIN
============================================
============================================
Reference in New Issue View Git Blame Copy Permalink