Mr. Burns and Other Plays. Anne Washburn

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СКАЧАТЬ And persuasive. But you can, ultimately, if you are determined, you can say:

       take this particular cup from my lips, I won’t do it. And He will pass on.

       What are the consequences of this. Well I don’t pretend to know. My features look the same, my skin, I don’t see it in my eyes; the world sounds as it always has, I dream as before, I don’t smell . . . unusual.

       It may be that now, none of my prayers are answered. I don’t know. I haven’t dared to pray.

       What I know is that He is Resistible, and that those who become prophets, agonize though they might, have on some level made a decision.

      B: But what is it like to be a prophet?

      HANANIAH: It’s a delight.

      E: You can’t ask that question!

      HANANIAH: No I don’t mind. It’s a delight. I’ll suddenly find myself speaking. The only part I mind is the waiting, and wondering when I’ll speak next.

       But it’s like: at a party when the tray comes around and you take something wonderful from it. And then you think: when will the tray come around again? And what will be on it?

       But it’s like a good party. Where there’s an endless supply of trays. And the waiters are efficient.

      B: Are the waiters angels?!

      E: You can’t ask that!

      HANANIAH: Why not?

      E: What are the waiters?

      HANANIAH (Laughs): I don’t see them. I don’t know. I don’t know much, honestly. I only know what I know after I’ve said it.

       A serene—for Hananiah—pause in which no one says anything.

      THE NON-PROPHET: Do you know, I had dinner with the Devil once. I was in an inn, and he was in the inn, and the inn was full, so we ate dinner at the same table.

       He didn’t say a word, he was exhausted. I ordered beef, he ordered lamb.

      F: How did you know it was the Devil?

      THE NON-PROPHET: After dinner they brought round a brandy and, he had eaten a lot very quickly, and he revived a little and he made a sort of half play for my soul. I think, just, nothing serious; out of habit.

       Hananiah and the girls have been listening in to this conversation.

       Hananiah smiles in a quicksilver meaningful sort of way.

      HANANIAH (To the girls): These are strange times to be alive.

      THE NON-PROPHET (Whipping around to speak to him directly): I’ll say.

       They look at each other for a moment.

       The sound of breakage. Everyone freezes, then turns toward:

      BARUCH: The light glitters off the freshly sharded off of the

       infinitely ferocious glitters of spanking fresh; the light

       shimmers on the newly deadly glass.

      C: That bottle’s all in jags now—watch out!

       Revealed: Jeremiah, holding a freshly broken bottle.

      JEREMIAH:

       And I will take from them the voice of mirth

       and the voice of gladness,

       the voice of the bridegroom, and the

       voice of the bride for the land shall be desolate

       The whole city shall flee for the noise of the horsemen

       and bowmen; they shall go into thickets

       and climb up upon the rocks

       Destruction upon destruction is cried

       for the whole land is spoiled

       and I will make this city

       desolate

       and an hissing;

       Everyone that passes thereby shall be astonished

       Thus saith the Lord of Hosts:

       Indicates the bottle:

       “Even so will I break this people, and this city.”

       Exits calmly upstage to silence.

       Frog sounds begin.

      CHAPTER 2

       The Dark, and many frogs. There are many different types of frogs. There is one frog with a low deep occasional bellow. There are more frogs with a businesslike mid-range twang, and there are many many little peepers with a high yammering chirrup. It’s a racket.

       Two flashlight beams joggle forward, stop.

       Emily and PT have paused to listen to the frogs.

      EMILY: And people leave the city to get away from the noise.

      PT: Where’s the moon?

      EMILY: What do you think the decibel level is? Bet it’s worse than Times Square.

      PT: No I mean it, where’s the moon?

      EMILY: It isn’t up yet.

      PT: Or is it new.

      EMILY: Um, it might be new. I’m trying to think . . .

      PT: Because if it’s new, it’s not coming up tonight at all, or, it’s already up, but it’s invisible.

      EMILY: I’m trying to remember the last time I saw it.

      PT: Don’t you think that’s creepy?

      EMILY: It’s coming back.

      PT: No no, that’s my point: It isn’t gone. It’s right above us, right now, but it’s invisible. Don’t you think that’s creepy? This big old dark invisible moon hanging over our heads.

       Beat.

      EMILY: No. I don’t. Hang on though okay, this is driving me a bit nuts:

       Lets loose with a prolonged operatic vocal extravagance.

       Stunned silence from the frogs.

       An exploratory chirrup.

       Silence.

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