1
A peal of joyous bells. Enter Richard Premier.
RICHARD: And so have I now reached the very point I wished to attain. The kingdom is in my hands. Alcides Premier, my rival, is dead. The Roberge family has been put back in its place. It has lost all power since the assassination of Madame Roberge who just got too big for her britches. Judith Roberge has gone mad. Her two children are no longer a threat to me: Annie Williams will soon give herself to Robert Houle and Roy runs my finances. Only my mother, Catherine Ragone, might cause me umbrage. But the loss of Robert Houle will be a far crueller blow than anything I can muster. If she survives that, we'll reassess. (A new peal of bells.) Now is the day of my real triumph. The baptism of my daughter. O Nature, how wisely you've behaved in allowing for this daughter to be born out of my mating with Marie-Jeanne Laberge. My heir, my child who this very day will take the name Claire Premier! A daughter! That's what I wanted you to give me, O Nature, you great bawd! No sons! They're garbage. They grow too soon, their teeth too sharp, while daughters take longer to emancipate themselves. And all along their path you, Nature (thanks again!), have setup so many laws and ancestral habits, so many obstacles to keep them in check, that they get caught up in the strings of their own attachments. And the time they waste benefits he who's in power. And yet I won't rest. A great plan has taken hold of me. The universe opens itself before me, and I'll conquer it all, subdue this unknown world to my every whim and fancy. My own country has grown too small and worn out, like a pocket handkerchief. I'll launch upon the oceans my fleet of caravels, I'll send over my soldiers, my merchants, my scholars and my priests to explore these barbarian lands and sow the seeds of great harvests to come. I am not of those who waste away sipping beer or watching over their progeny in the neighbourhood of the Arsenal at the corner of Belle-Isle Boulevard and Bourbonnais street. No sirree bob. Alexander shows me the way, Hannibal, Ceasar, Napoleon wave me on, as does my father, François Premier, who ruled over all of Azerbaijan. Watch out World. Watch yourself, partner! Here I come.
He exits
2
A lamasery in Tibet. The bonze walks slowly in his lamasery chanting an inspired «OM». Enter a disciple.
THE DISCIPLE: Master, I have travelled long to come to you. I ate no pork. I let my hair grow long — which is very displeasing for me who would have his pate as smooth as his knee. I have practiced the 12th position, the 23rd and the 56th which is the most difficult because it hurts the toes. I have fasted for 41 days — one more than Christ — and become as thin as a fish bone. I whipped myself with nettles. I've gotten in the habit of doing my morning workout on hot coals. I've done everything. Everything. Followed all the holy books. But I've found no peace. What must I do?
THE BONZE: My child, what is your favourite dish?
THE DISCIPLE: Spinach with butter.
THE BONZE: Add some garlic croutons and you'll find peace.
THE DISCIPLE: Master, I understand.
THE BONZE: Aren't you lucky.
Exeunt, both chanting a most inspired «OM»
3
Royal fanfares. Enter King Richard followed by his entire court.
RICHARD: What say the oracles? What say the oracles? (Silence.) Everybody shuts up. As usual. (Silence.) The fleet is ready to sail, but the weather isn't favourable. What a shame! Not an ounce of wind. What does it mean? Speak up! (Silence.) For three months now the sails have hung from the masts like the limp dicks of senescent chimpanzees and no one seems to care. (Silence.) Fetch me Lou Birkanian. Pull her off her canasta. She knows, she does. She knows. Quick! Execute!
ROBERT HOULE: Yes, boss. (Exit.)
FILIPPO RAGONE: Yeh!
RICHARD: And shut the maw of that decrepit geezer. He's getting on my nerves. (Filippo Ragone escapes in his wheelchair which he manipulates with great dexterity.) That's it. Let him disappear. Let him get run over in traffic. (Filippo Ragone keeps his distance but will return.) So no one cares, no one is moved. I have to take the whole kit and caboodle on my shoulders? Why? Because your kinda pleased, that's the thing. You make your little daily bread. And Monday brings on Tuesday, and Tuesday Wednesday, just like that through thick or thin, through to the end of the week, through to the end of your stupid boring lives. No great plans! No ideals! You well-cleft, spright, popliteal Nijinskys of what use your symmetrical limbs, your afternoon constitutionals, your morning jogs through carbon monoxide? Just so that you can kick up your heels and get the rocker going? Is that it? Does it suffice? You think everything going fine? That things are pretty good? Things aren't so bad. Huh? Well, look here you bunch of bipeds. (He puts up his lame foot on a stool.) This is where our crusade begins. This lame foot will kick-start our great endeavour. Everything is set. Our ships are on target. The countdown is on. The routes are calculated. Phenomenal forces are concentrated in our hangars ready to be unleashed when I press the button. And were waiting on one thing, one thing only. The wind. What a joke! (Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury in full regalia.) But here comes our good cousin of Canterbury. He brings the answer of the Delphic oracle. What says the Pythia, cardinal?
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY: Filiam patrem occidere convenit.
RICHARD: Goddamn Hebrew! What's it mean, archbishoprick!
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY: My liege, the oracle is ambiguous.
RICHARD: None of your chicanery! Just translate!
The cadaver of Alcide Premier opens it’s eyes. Marie-Jeanne let out a cry. The singers stop… Marie-Jeanne rushes at them as if to protect herself.
RICHARD: Speak!
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY: The first: “it is suitable that the daughter kill the father”. Everyone looks to Filippo Ragone. Richard roars with laughter. Catherine moves toward her father.
RICHARD: Magnifico! At last a noble pretext to rid us of the moron. My dear mother, it is time to sharpen your kitchen knives. Magnifico! How perceptive are the gods. They understand that no new conquest is possible without doing away with the old. To work, Catherine Ragone. Resolve your Œdipal thing. We'll do it solemnly, on the cathedral steps. Will you do it, mother? Will you do it? Will you put wind in our sails?
CATHERINE RAGONE: I'll do it, Richard.
FILIPPO RAGONE: Yeh! (He escapes as fast as he can.)
RICHARD: No need to go after him. The Mounties will catch up with him at the bottom of the hill. And now you can all go pack up your bags. The ritual sacrifice will unlock the winds and tomorrow our expedition, I'm sure of it, will ride full sail over the ocean of our desire (Enter Lou Birkanian.) Don't bother, Lou Birkanian. You can go home. The oracle has spoken.
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY: But Sire, you haven't heard the second interpretation.
RICHARD: No matter. The first one will do.
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY: Listen …
RICHARD: Nope. I won't hear nothing more. Anon.
LOU BIRKANIAN: What says the oracle?
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY: Filiam patrem occidere convenit. Which can also mean: “it is suitable that the father kill the daughter”.
RICHARD: What are you saying? How dare you…?
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY: My liege, it has nothing to do with me. It's the grammar. The accusative. The infinitive. I can't do anything about it. That's the astonishing thing about this oracular tongue, it always confuses subject and object.
RICHARD: Are you pulling my leg, baldy?
LOU BIRKANIAN: “It is suitable that the father kill the daughter.”
RICHARD: What do you think, Lou Birkanian?
LOU BIRKANIAN: Richard, do you really want to hear me speak? Are you really sure?
RICHARD: Talk, Lou.
LOU BIRKANIAN: One day, on Lake Urmia, a small boat was making its way north toward Chapur. Aboard was a man, his old father and his daughter. A tempest arose suddenly as often happens on lakes enclosed between mountains. The man, his father and his daughter rowed as hard as they could for shore. But then the great god Zarathustra emerged out of the water. He said to them: “It is I that provoked the storm so don't think you can come out of it unscathed. Here's the deal I'll make with you: I'll appease the tempest when two of you will have agreed to throw the third overboard.” Then the god disappeared under the waves, Squabblings arose from the bark. “He's old” said the man and his daughter pointing to the old man; “he's a tyrant” said the old man and the daughter of the man; “she's a girl” said the two men. A fight ensued, the boat capsized and the three of them downed. The storm subsided. The face of Zarathustra emerged majestically out of the waters of Lake Urmia. He was smiling. He had doubly attained his goal: to annihilate those humans he disliked while having them bear sole responsibility for their own deaths.
RICHARD: Of the three onboard, who was the strongest?
LOU BIRKANIAN: The man, of course.
RICHARD: Everybody out!
Exit the court, safe for Marie-Jeanne Larose. Richard goes round in circles.
MARIE-JEANNE: Take care, Richard. Spare your daughter. Do not sacrifice your child.
RICHARD: (yelling) Madam, we can make some more!
He exits, followed by Marie-Jeanne wringing her hands.
4
A beach in Malaysia. Enter a young doctor in shorts and a young Chinese woman, Madam Ho. They push a cart, an emergency dispensary with a few instruments and stacks of white towels.
THE DOCTOR: We'll set up here, Madam Ho. Have them wait all in a row with their left arm uncovered.
MADAME HO: (laughs) They're always naked. So they won't have no trouble uncovering their left arm.
THE DOCTOR: Always joking, Madam Ho.
MADAME HO: My father sold porcelain in Singapore. (She laughs.)
THE DOCTOR: I don't see the connection.
MADAME HO: (laughs) There's none. That's what I find funny.
THE DOCTOR: Madam Ho, have you been vaccinated?
MADAME HO: I don't need. My father lived in Tand-jung-pam. I'm not scared.
THE DOCTOR: I'll vaccinate you first. Call the refugees, Madam Ho.
He sterilizes needles and sets up doses, while Madame Ho calls the refugees.
MADAME HO: Ahoog. A ka ta Booang. Tsie. Vuh. Now. Tin. Cou-ee yell … (Enter the refugees. Madame Ho sets them all up in a line.) Ta tu ton ku bon-youn. Pouli-tokiing. The doctor will start vaccinating. Suddenly tam-tams and gunshots are heard. Screams. The refugees are thrown into a panic and run about aimlessly.
THE DOCTOR: What's happening?
MADAME HO: A. yoko. kiang. A. yoko. kiang.
THE DOCTOR: (taking hold of Madame Ho) Madam Ho, tell me what's happening.
MADAME HO: Pirates, Mister Doctor. Pirates. They steal, they rape. They kill. We must escape.
Enter the pirates. They look really mean.
THE DOCTOR: It is too late, Madam Ho. Talk to them.
Madame Ho moves forward. The thieves talk loudly, make obscene jokes, laugh while slapping their thighs.
MADAME HO: A koo ka yo. Tao-tzang-te-boïng. Kata-oon. Se-ba-ni-ye. Kri-konoo-katina-katina-oo-nuh. Tzang-te-boïng. (While she speaks the pirates at first grow quieter, then move back, then run out screaming, terrified.) There you go, Mister Doctor. I don't think they'll come back. She kneels down, takes a candle out of her pocket, lights it and thanks the gods. She then blows out the candle, puts it away and laughs.
MADAME HO: They are gone, Mister Doctor. You can thank Madame Ho.
THE DOCTOR: What did you say to them, Madam Ho?
MADAME HO: (laughing more and more) Oh, lots of lies, but I will be forgiven! They believed Madame Ho. They ran away and won't come back.
THE DOCTOR: What lies?
MADAME HO: (laughing) The only thing that scares all of us, Mister Doctor. I said there was cholera on this island and that was why you came here with your needles. (The doctor suddenly looks at her.) You aren't pleased? I shouldn't have said that. I took advantage of your name. I'm sorry, Mister Doctor. But they are gone, they are gone. Why do you look so angry, Mister Doctor?
THE DOCTOR: Give me your arm, Madam Ho.
Madame Ho gets it. Suddenly terrified, she attempts to escape. The doctor catches her. A violent tussle ensues at the end of which he succeeds in vaccinating her by force. Madame Ho screams and cries.
MADAME HO: Tzang-te-boïng-ye. Tzang-te-boïng-ye. Tzang-te-boïng-ye.
THE DOCTOR: There, there. It's finished. Calm down, Madam Ho.
(She cries.)
MADAME HO: I'm scared, Mister Doctor. I'm so scared.
THE DOCTOR: The refugees escaped into the swamp. Madam Ho, we must try to get them back. Help me.
The doctor and Madame Ho push out the cart. Madame Ho calls out to the refugees.
MADAME HO: Ahong. A kata koo-ang. Tsie. Vuh-Now-tink. Crew-yell.
THE DOCTOR: Madam Ho, if they ask any questions, tell them it's for malaria.
MADAME HO: I'm scared, Mister Doctor. I'm so scared.
THE DOCTOR: You have nothing to fear now, Madam Ho.
As they push their cart off, Madame Ho calls out to the refugees.
MADAME HO: A kata koo-ang. A kata koo-ang. Tsie. Vuh-Now-tink
5
Bells sounding the death knell. On the steps of the cathedral. A royal pennant hangs limply from a pole. Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury accompanied by two choir-boys holdings censers. The entire court follows behind: Catherine Ragone and Robert Houle; the twins and Freddy Dubois; Roy Williams, alone. Rodrigo and Ferdinand holding back Marie-Jeanne Larose, gagged and struggling violently. Filippo Ragone in his wheelchair. The Archbishop of Canterbury washes his hands in a bowl held by the choirboys.
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY: Let us pray, my brothers, for the soul of our sister Claire who will soon be leaving us and who, through her sacrifice, will ensure the happy outcome of our expedition. Incipe parve puer morte cognoscere patrem.
A general murmur underlines the Latin phrase.
ALL: (mumbling) Incipe parve puer morte cognoscere patrem. Incipe, etc.
Enter Annie Williams bearing the cradle of Claire Premier. From within it, we hear a baby's wails. Annie lays down the cradle centre stage and steps back. Enter Lou Birkanian draped in an Armenian shawl.
LOU BIRKANIAN: And it comes to this. At first we say: it can't be, they won't go through with it, they'll stop somewhere along the way. But no, they don't stop, they go through with it. O race of man!
JUDITH: Noël! Noël! Marc Lemieux won't come back tonight. He left for Panama. Soldiers track down children in the country side. Why are there blood stains on the snow? The Egyptians smash the cowsheds, they set the newborns' cribs on fire. Ayayi!
LOU BIRKANIAN: Judith the madwoman raises her torches. Scream and howl, Judith! You sure have your place in this procession of the blind and the mad!
JUDITH: But I have already taken my chick away from the bloody farmyard. I entrusted him to the river of annihilation, the great Nile that runs straight to the sea. Moses was found and lifted from the marshes. He lives.
Enter Richard Premier in full dress uniform like a samurai captain, a sword by his side
LOU BIRKANIAN: Sumptuous Richard, grotesque apparition! Baseness is always committed with ceremonial pomp; be it by police, judge, priest, soldier or executioner.
JUDITH: My child is king of a Pacific isle. Coolness hems his flesh in sweet shivers, his mouth is wet, his eye shines, his heart beats slowly.
Richard draws his sword.
LOU BIRKANIAN: The act. The irreparable act. For what? For wind! The tornado of mortal desires, what they call their destiny.
JUDITH: There is nothing but gentleness in his young manly arms. Honey, milk, wine, palm oil. A tidal calm bathed in light.
Richard approaches the cradle.
LOU BIRKANIAN: The spider hopping towards its prey. Bowlegged, maimed, rickety, hobbling and twisted, that's the holy image we've come to venerate: the crippled king killing his descendant.
JUDITH: And in one fell swoop, on the beach, the soul of the great coco palms shudders, the tide turns, the tiger growls, the birds all lift, the flutes whistle, the universal tom-tom bursts like a grenade.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Sumptuous Richard, grotesque apparition! Baseness is always committed with ceremonial pomp; be it by police, judge, priest, soldier or executioner.
Richard is about to strike the crib with his sword
LOU BIRKANIAN: (howls) No!
JUDITH: (screams) The wind!
Coup de théâtre. Tumult. Sound of a hurricane. The royal pennant floats flaps in the wind. Light changes. Agitation from the entire court. Marie-Jeanne Larose frees herself from Rodrigo and Ferdinand and throws herself onto the cradle of Claire Premier. Richard is transfixed, thunderstruck. He is at the still centre of wild activity. People embrace each other laughing, crying. Everybody runs left, then right. Three gangplanks descent obliquely from above. People carry on their luggage. This chaotic activity will continue through the lines that follow.
ANNIE: The wind rises! The sea is open!
ROBERT HOULE: (on a gangplank) All aboard!
The Archbishop blesses the gangplanks. He climbs up followed by the choirboys. They disappear above. Catherine Ragone climbs up one of the gangplanks.
CATHERINE: I embark! No luggage. All that weighs me down can stay behind. You vultures can pick through my garbage. As for love. Even love is too heavy. I unload it. I have reigned my time. I won't prolong the contract. All that attracts me now lies beyond the midst of things. The hidden face of Kilimanjaro, I want it bright and warm, like summer or the flames of autumn. I'll discover new sources, new slopes, new lands. And if I slop through mud, I'll slip on me good booties. I embark!
She climbs up the gangplank. The twins climb up different planks.
SANDY: Nelson!
NELSON: Sandy! I'm leaving with you. Were on the same level as our parallels.
SANDY: Nelson, my clown, my fool, my guy!
NELSON: My image.
SANDY: My light, my reflection.
NELSON: I'm getting onboard, Sandy.
SANDY: Me too.
The disappear above.
ROY: Me, I'm staying on land. I don't got nothin' to do with all that business. I've two new start-ups: the Incorporated Meats Factory and the Investment Firm. One provides for the other according to the law of give and take and it sure gives a heck of a lot. So go right on ahead. Strut your stuff. Go wild in Mesopotamia. Me, I'm stayin' put, making my hotdogs with relish and mustard.
RODRIGO & FERDINAND: Us too, were stayin' put Boss.
ROY: Come on, m'boys.
They exit. Annie Williams, on one of the gangplanks, addresses Robert Houle on the wharf.
ANNIE: Come on, Robert. Get onboard with me. Leave all those old things behind. You won't ever be second no more. Today, everything begins. You won't be my man and I won't be your woman, but you'll make me a child. And this child will leave us behind and bear our seed all the way to Tierra del Fuego.
ROBERT HOULE: Here I come. He springs forward.
But halfway up, unable to resist, he comes back down for his two suitcases; then climbs back up the gangplank. Before exiting, he proclaims:
ROBERT HOULE: I'm free!
He catches himself in his suitcases, one of which spills its contents. Annie helps him pick up his things. They exit. Lou Birkanian goes up the gangplank holding a grocery bag, a folding chair and an umbrella.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Me, I've got nothing to do with all this. But I'll go anyway. My calves and fingertips have got the itch. This old bag of bones just can't sit still at its loom when it hears those violins play that old Carpathian rhapsody. Got to go, my Josephine, got to go. Got to see what's going on. Be there, part of the whirlwind. Otherwise, you dry up on shore and I got no taste for the strands. Ah bramoosh tay-paak karakravoy modrega slowvin.
Freddy comes forward before she exits.
FREDDY: Lou Birkanian, wait for me!
LOU BIRKANIAN: Well! Well! There's my Freddy finally making up his mind. Good God, Freddy! why you so attached to this old scull?
FREDDY: Lou Birkanian, I need you.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Now, you stop that! I could be your grand-mother.
FREDDY: You are like my grand-mother.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Now, you're exagerating, Freddy Dubois. I can say it if I like but don't you dare call me grand-mother.
FREDDY: Your words, Lou Birkanian, your stories. I can't live without your stories. I know your stories will always explain everything that happens to me.
LOU BIRKANIAN: You're a big sap, Freddy.
FREDDY: I know, Lou Birkanian, that’s the way I am.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Come on, then. I'll tell you my stories and, in exchange, you'll carry my stuff.
Freddy does so. They exit. Marie-Jeanne Larose picks up the cradle and slips it over her shoulder.
MARIE-JEANNE: Now, this is a role I hadn't foreseen. I don't know the script nor the staging. I'm improvising. My body feels the weight of another body strapped to its shoulder and everyday it weighs different. What am I getting myself into? I can't go back. The world is full of darts threatening my brood. I'm Saint-Joan. I defend the crown. I am a servant of the Lord. One day, I'll be queen. One day, I'll rule over Azerbaijan. One day. One day. Later. For now, I go up the gangplank. Alone. All alone with my [little] attachment. I feel the milk rising in my breasts. I step into liquid time.
Filippo Ragone in his wheelchair rolls toward Richard, still transfixed.
FILIPPO RAGONE: And so, my captain, you happy? Your expedition is well on its way. Though you were on the brink of committing a great crime. Huh? You sonofabitch. What would have been more "suitable" to you, as the archbishop says? Kill the daughter or kill the father? At the point you're at, the question may be worth asking and don't think you've found the answer yet. Well, kid, you better listen to the geezer, listen to the moron who reopens his mouth. And I've kept it shut for thirty-five years. The hand you've lifted against your daughter will dry up; these eyes that pity's tears have not softened will be covered in darkness; this unfeeling heart will rot in its bone cage; this sex having engendered but a victim for your folly, will fall into dust and let earthworms dance.
Richard turns suddenly and lifts his sword against Filippo Ragone.
RICHARD: Silence, you carcass!
But his sword falls from his hands and he is thrown to the ground by supernatural forces. Filippo Ragone takes out a small box of raisins.
FILIPPO RAGONE: You forgot than I am immortal. So. You called me «carcass». That's a bit much, don't you think. Carcass! Maybe one day. Later. Much later. After you. You'll show me the way, won't you? (He begins to eat his raisins.) Well, don't stay there like a dipstick. Get onboard, Christopher Columbus. Spread elsewhere your electronic mixers and your toothbrushes. Me, I'm going back on home, Rue Mentana. I'm gonna prune my vine, in my backyard. If you come back one day, I'll give you some raisins from my harvest. I like raisins.
He exits. Richard gets back up with difficulty and without saying a word makes his way to one of the three gangplanks. He starts up. Parallel to him and hopping on one foot, as if she were playing hopscotch, Judith Roberge is making her way up another. She sings:
JUDITH: Me and my daddy gonna pick a bail of cotton
Me and my daddy gonna picka bail a day
O Lord, pick a bail ofcotton
O Lord, pick a bail a day
Me and my mama gonna picka bail of cotton
Me and my mama gonna picka bail a day
O Lord, pick a bail ofcotton
O Lord, pick a bail a day
Judith disappears within. Richard has reached the top of the inclined plane.
RICHARD: CAST OFF!
Sound of ship's horn. Exit Richard. The three gangplanks are pulled up. Canons fire.
6
Enter from the street two painters with the tools of their trade and a bucket of paint. They're wearing RONA caps. They've also brought on a little transistor radio. It works.
THE 1st PAINTER: Now, that's a nice 30 dash 14 ultramarine blue.
He pours out some of the blue in a tray. The two painters start painting the wall with their rollers. As they converse, they draw a crude map of the world. Then, with long handled brushes, add names to the map: Soudan, Tibet, Samarkand, Red Sea, Papua, Saint-Lawrence, Andes, Pacific Ocean, Isle of Aea, Alaska.
THE 2nd PAINTER: So? How's the wife?
THE 1st PAINTER: She's still sick.
THE 2nd PAINTER: You ain't too lucky these days.
THE 1st PAINTER: Nope. Goin' through a rough patch.
Silence. Work.
THE 2nd PAINTER: And Jenny.
THE 1st PAINTER: Don't get me started.
They work.
THE 2nd PAINTER: Say, Ronald, d'you ever go to the sea side?
THE 1st PAINTER: Yep, at Plattsburgh.
THE 2nd PAINTER: Plattsburgh? That ain't on the sea.
THE 1st PAINTER: Pff! Same thing.
THE 2nd PAINTER: Course not!
THE 1st PAINTER: So what's the difference? Tell me, I'm listening. What's the difference?
THE 2nd PAINTER: God, I don't know. The waves, the tide (Silence.) At the sea, there's waves, there's tides.
THE 1st PAINTER: It's water. Same thing.
THE 2nd PAINTER: God, you're thick.
THE 1st PAINTER: That's the way it is. (Silence.)
THE 2nd PAINTER: On the sea shore, you can't see the other side.
THE 1st PAINTER: Can't see the other side at Plattsburgh.
THE 2nd PAINTER: God, you're so thick.
(Silence. Work.)
THE 1st PAINTER: You ever been to Plattsburgh?
THE 2nd PAINTER: No.
THE 1st PAINTER: So you talk, but you don't even know what you're talking about.
THE 2nd PAINTER: Me, I often go to Miami.
(Silence. Work.)
THE 2nd PAINTER: You ever been to Miami?
THE 1st PAINTER: No. I go to Plattsburgh.
(Silence.)
THE 2nd PAINTER: Miami's better than Plattsburgh.
THE 1st PAINTER: How do you know?
THE 2nd PAINTER: Everybody knows that.
THE 1st PAINTER: So everybody don't know what they're talking about.
THE 2nd PAINTER: Well, you got to talk about somethin'.
(Silence. Work.)
THE 1st PAINTER: In nine weeks, it's the construction holidays.
THE 2nd PAINTER: It's gonna be nice.
THE 1st PAINTER: Yep, I'm pretty sick and tired.
THE 2nd PAINTER: Maybe I'll go to Miami.
THE 1st PAINTER: Well I know I'm going to Plattsburgh.
THE 2nd PAINTER: You may be right, you know, It's the same thing.
THE 1st PAINTER: We're done here. Come on. We're going over to 1248. Got to paint their garage.
THE 2nd PAINTER: In nine weeks, we're on vacation.
THE 1st PAINTER: In Plattsburgh.
THE 2nd PAINTER: Maybe this year I'll go to Old Orchard.
Exeunt.
7
Sound of an Andean pan flute playing. The Woman from the Andres arrives at the shore of Lake Titicaca. She is silent. She stretches, her arms up. Her stomach growls. She takes out a lump of clay from her bag and kneads it into the shape of doll. She puts the doll into the water which colours it blue. From the distance, we hear a plane approaching. The flute stops playing. The Woman from the Andes picks up the clay doll. She looks up and quickly kneads the doll back into a lump of clay. With curious haste, she picks up her things and leaves. The sound of the plane augments, then diminishes. 8 South Sudan. An open space. Sound of horns. On a sled, two servants bring a scale. On each end of its beam hangs a basket, one is silver and the other gold. Each basket is filled with the exact same number of white balls so that the scale's beam is in perfect equilibrium. Calls are heard from the wings: «Long live the emperor of Sudan». Moses enters. On his right, Wolfgang Amadeus, Duke of Austria; on his left, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons (also known as «Black belt»). Their entrance is performed with ostentatious pomp. Servants carry long pennants decorated with streamers. Flourish. The effect should be that of a great barbarian celebration. Very colourful.
MOSES: (carrying whip and ladle) Silence!
Everyone falls silent. The Queen of the Amazons, in her great coat, takes her position at centre stage. The Duke of Austria, in his great coat and feathered hat, does the same. The celebrants draw near and punctuate each of Moses' statements with a guttural roar.
MOSES: Apportion the balls! Flourish.
Attendants distribute white balls to the audience (three balls per spectator). During this operation, Moses gives his speech.
MOSES: The war that our sister Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons known as «Black belt», and our cousin Wolfgang Amadeus, Duke of Austria, have been waging against each other for the past two centuries has lasted much too long. (Roar.) The fields have been laid waste. (Roar.) The cities burn. (Roar.) The children perish. (Roar.) Life has become unbearable to all. (Roar.) Spring no longer flowers. (Roar.) Enough already!! (Triple roar.) This is why I, the envoy of the void, the child of the river, Moses, lifted from the marshes, have decided to submit one and the other to trial by fire. (Roar.) From this joust, a Queen or a King of a single united people will emerge victorious. And this compact will remain immutable for the next ten years. After which time, new jousts will take place and power be redistributed once more. But today, following their single combat and regardless of its result, Amazons and Austrians will all remove themselves from our country's soil and attempt to live in peace across the seas in Patagonia where, we are told, the sweet potato crops need pickers. (General roar. Laughter. Flourish.) This hamper holds all the points of contention that have, of yore, set Austrians and Amazons against one another. I will draw three, each in turn. And our adversaries will thereby engage in loyal combat. The assembled people, three times, will decide of the outcome by Means of the Balls. Their decisions are irreversible. The combatants have two minutes to warm up!
The Queen of the Amazons and the Duke of Austria, still in their great coats, circle each other menacingly and throw insults at one another: Fool, Asshole, Dipstick, Douchebag, Proletarian, Banker, etc. After two minutes, a foghorn sounds. Silence. Moses picks from the hamper a theme upon which the combatants must improvise in order to garner the audience's votes.
MOSES: First round! Mixed improvisation entitled: … Time: … minutes.
A balafon plays for twenty seconds during which time the Queen and Duke are stripped of their hat and great coats by attendants. Underneath, they are almost naked. When the twenty seconds are up, Moses stands. Silence.
MOSES: Go!
He sits back down. The improvisation plays itself out. A horn sounds the end of the allotted time. The Queen and the Duke are helped back into their great coats.
MOSES: The vote!
Attendants pass the gold basket through the audience collecting balls.
MOSES: First, for the Queen of Amazons! (When the gold basket is full, it is attached to one end of the scale's beam.) And now, for the Duke of Austria!
The same procedure is followed with the silver basket. Once it is attached, the balance determines the victor.
MOSES: The assembly as awarded the first round to …
Flourish. Screams and whistles. The game continues until the end of the third round.
MOSES: The finals score is … [Our sister Hippolyta or Our cousin Wolfgang Amadeus] is therefore proclaimed [Queen or King] of their two reconciled peoples. (Flourish.) And now let the Austrians and Amazons scram out of here. We've seen enough of them. Let them colonize Patagonia. Meanwhile, we'll deal with our own problems.
Moses exits followed by his servants. Hippolyta and Wolfgang leave as well. The assembly dissolves with comments: «Nice match! He should have won! I don't understand why she didn't just let him have it! That was a low blow.», etc.
ALL: Long live the emperor of Soudan!
A messenger runs on.
Drum roll. Enter Moses in a state of great exaltation.
MOSES: No! Abandon the stones, let go of all these walls, these houses, these colleges and minarets! Our wealth is ourselves. Not a single living being must be sacrificed in defence of any possession. The earth is vast and days innumerable. Flee the battlements, leave the city. Abandon the country. Be cowardly. Magnificently cowardly. Let's be men and women again without abode. Lawless and homeless, but alive. Time and space are on our side. O marvellous circumstances! The emperor of Soudan abdicates! The sceptre and the orb have expired. I'll cede them to the museum of the XIVth Olympics or, better still, I'll stick'em up my ass: that'll be more spectacular. Let us turn toward the rising sun. The desert attracts me. I'll range over wide open spaces. You can [all] come along, if you feel like it. I call to me all the trudgers, the hobos, the afro-columbophiles, the down-and-outs, the exalted, the shitters and the sublime Our cardinal point is the orient of sands and winds — our goal, the shores of the Red Sea. I will ride a white camel; hang on to its wriggling tail!
He exits.
ALL: To the Red Sea!
Exeunt.
8
The isle of Aea in the Cyclades. The sound of cockatoos and island birds. Enter Circé, the enchantress, carrying a bag and leading two piglets on leash — or two men with pigheads.
CIRCÉ: Come, come, my cuties … Come, come, my sweeties … Where are you leading me to? Herbert and Stanislaw, you're all riled up this morning. Ever since dawn, you can't keep still. Eh, my piglets? Tired of wriggling on your beddings. Who are you expecting? What's coming up? Eh? Now, don't pull so much. You wanna go to the beach? O.k! O.k! We're goin'. Woah, not so fast! All right, then, if you're in such a rush, go on ahead! I'll catch up. Slowly, at my own pace. (She releases them. The piglets exit.) They're just so fickle, and on top of it zippy as all hell! They tire me out. When I think of what they were not so long ago: Herbert was galley cook on the Nautilus and Stanislaw its radio-telegraphist. Two quiet guys until I transformed them into pigs. Now, Metamorphosis is all well and good — its my specialty, after all — and I practiced it on them so as not to lose my touch; but I can't take it no more, those two are going to kill me. The next guys I transmute, it'll be into little doggies or elephants or whatever. Pigs are too tiring. (She sees some people approaching.) Now, what's this? Here come some people. They land on my island as if it was some public park. The gall! Well, they'll see what's coming to them. I'm not called Circé for nothin': Circé the enchantress. I've got more than one dirty trick in my bag.
She rummages in her bag and draws out a teapot and some cups. She arranges them on the ground. Enter Richard Premier, with his flag, accompanied by Catherine Ragone, Robert Houle, Annie Williams, and Lou Birkanian (as well as the pigs, if they care to return).
RICHARD: Hiya Doll ! I am Richard Premier, son of François Premier and of Catherine Ragone here present. In the name of my ancestors and in accordance with the powers conferred on me by history and my own virtue, I plant my flag upon this island. And from this moment on, it is and will remain my possession wholly and entirely until the end of times. This island and everything on it. Therefore, you are now my slave. What do I call ya?
Circé drapes flowery necklaces around their necks. Lou Birkanian keeps hers in her hand.
CIRCÉ: I am called Circé. My father was the Sun and my mother the Ocean. Won't you have a cup of tea?
RICHARD: I won't say no to a nice cup of tea at the end of the day. Nothin' like it to quench one's thirst.
CIRCÉ: Did you have a nice trip?
RICHARD: Not bad. A little turbulence going between the 6th and 7th ring of Saturn. Lost two ships with all hands in the passage between the Cyanean Rocks, the women and children too. But all in all, it's been a pretty good trip.
CIRCÉ: Are you all here?
RICHARD: My wife stayed on board with the kid. She wasn't feeling so good.
CIRCÉ: I'll be mother. Hold out your cups.
RICHARD: You're very welcoming. I appreciate savages like you.
CIRCÉ: To your health! (Richard, Catherine, Robert and Annie drink up. Lou Birkanian ostensibly throws her tea to the ground.) Ho. Ho. You're not drinking? Are you in my line of work?
LOU BIRKANIAN: I'll be your accomplice as well as your counterweight, sister. I'm lending them to you for the night. I'll come and pick them up at dawn. But don't think yourself too wily, comrade Circé. I can also handle the Arithmetic Rope.
She makes to leave. Richard stands up.
RICHARD: What does this all mean? What are you talkin' about? Where' you goin'?
He takes a few steps towards Lou Birkanian but trips on himself. She turns back to him and laughs in his face.
CATHERINE: Richard! Don't leave me.
She also begins to rave deliriously and could, for example, sing «L'air des clochettes» from Delibes' LAKMÉ.
ROBERT HOULE: I feel a leaden jacket fallen upon my shoulders.
ANNIE: I'm sleepy.
She falls asleep.
RICHARD: It's an ambush. Bush … bush … bush.
He falls and sleeps.
CATHERINE: I'm walking on water. I'm seeing pink feathers. I'm a feather. No, that's not right. I'm a seagull.
She exits. We hear the call of seagulls.
ROBERT HOULE: My feet turn into hoofs. My ears lengthen. I must graze in yonder field.
He exits at a canter, neighing.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Bravo! A good start, my dear colleague. You don't lack talent. You're gonna have fun all night long. See ya in the morning.
She exits. Circé approaches Annie Williams.
CIRCÉ: Arise, stranger! All night you'll range through the forest. In heat, you'll want to lie with every living thing you encounter. You don't know what burning desire is. You'll learn.
Annie Williams rises, casting a salacious, lecherous eye about her. There being only Circé near, Annie goes towards her, shedding her clothing while making obscene gestures. Circé laughs.
CIRCÉ: Back, Messalina! Back, Lucrezia Borgia! I'm off limits. I only open my island to you: go seek out the baobab, the Amanita phalloïdes, all the plantigrades with their smooth tails, the telegraph poles and the rhododendrons. And save up your energy. You'll need it.
Annie breathes deeply and suddenly declaims a speech once intoned by her mother, Judith Roberge.
ANNIE: This is the Amazon swamp that ate my prince. The savages arrive, they are all naked. They are covered in mud. Their cocks stiff as those of horses. A wall of flesh surrounds me, closes in on me with its poisoned stings. A red hot poker plunges into my stomach and nails me to the post. I tear away my bonds and rush at the glabrous old man. Wait for me Priapus! Wait for me you cyclops, you one-eyed pirate, I am coming to you, I am coming.
She runs off. Circé approaches Richard who is still lying prone on the ground.
CIRCÉ: So it's just you and me now! Crippled king! I pour the liquor of horror on your eyes. All the world will turn itself into the flow of your deepest terrors. You can no longer hide your weakness and despair. You no longer require this prosthesis. It has held up your glories and exactions for far too long. Limp along now. Limp along with no support on this isle you would conquer, like Jacques Cartier did the Micmacs, flag in hand and looking down your nose, seeking slaves for your bed or recruits to baptise. Limp along, crippled king. (She removes his orthopaedic brace.) Meanwhile, I'll go play a little bowling with your stirrup. Stanislaw! Herbert! Now, where the hell are those two? Herbert! Stanislaw! Come, come. Tseep tseep tseep. Come my piglets! Come to mommy! Tonight we'll have us a roaring good time. Come, come. Tseep tseep tseep.
She exits with Richard's prosthesis. The sound of an immense aviary rises and then subsides into complete silence.
RICHARD: (wakening) What's happened to me? No one? Where are they all? Where is my court? Where is that woman who drew me into her kitchen with little cakes? Hey, everybody! I'm here! And I want my court about me! The king calls for his crowd of worshippers: counsellors, archbishops, spies, courtesans, soldiers, nurses, friends, minister of commerce, woman, children, mother, enemies, parasites! I order you! Silence? This isn't possible. This makes no sense. It's squaring the circle. There's no such thing as a solitary king. Hey, my people? Silence, again. Silence and night. No! The bedroom ceiling has dropped a few inches! Mommy! The floor is cracking. The crib is moving on its casters. I'm stuck behind its bars. Four inches. There's a crack in the wall. A tongue of flame comes out of it. The ceiling has dropped some more. Vapours are hardening into a dark metal sheet. The whole universe is pressing down upon it. The awful dark hole of condensed matter is crushing me. I want to hide in the earth.
He exits slithering like a snake. The pigs wander in onto the empty stage and are shooed off by Circé the enchantress.
9
Enter Bertolt Brecht with his glasses. He wears his proletarian vest and smokes his cigar. He is followed by Aristotle in his chiton and himation, scratching his belly.
BERTOLT BRECHT: My name is Bertolt Brecht. I was kinda famous back in the day. At the time, I was saying that the world was bad and had to be changed. It's what you've done. But by changing it you destroyed it. An unconvincing result. Meanwhile, in the Empyrean Heaven, I've joined my old buddy Aristotle. Toto, for short. Aristotle — who died when a vulture dropped a turtle onto his bare pate — is, as you see here, scratching his fleas. Can you stop that, please, we're in public, sacrament! Both of us, side by side and in our own way, have kept our distance. Spectators of human folly, we've witnessed — disheartened — your decadent games wherein fantasies struggle on through fake-news and abject urges in depraved performances by rootless heroes. It's a circus where barbarity triumphs with baseness bastardy, base. Well, we, the legitimates, Brecht and Aristotle, together at last, pray that you — comrades — listen to our Rabelaisian imitation (for Rabelais was always the link between us two): the Ballad of the Know-it-alls. Music, Valentine! Brechtian music.
A brechtian placard appears bearing the title: Ballad of the Know-it-alls. A brechtian descent by the two actors into the audience. Should be intoned with a french-canadian accent.
BERTOLT BRECHT and ARISTOTLE:
I know the world and all its ways
The weeks, the months, and the years
I know the chaff and the grain
Blanche Dubois and Philomène
I know the Isle of Timor
The Pampas and the plains
I know Naples and Mogador
But it's only I that I ignore
(Music)
I know of the Great Charlemagne
and of all his crimes that we've complained
To Christianise all Germany
and all the shores of Missouri.
I know of the wise old Nestor
whom all his people made merry
I know of Marx and of Salvador
But it's only I that I ignore
(Music)
I know of languages and of calculus
Of the force of winds and the flow of tides
Of cavalcades and particulus
Of time and space and of circus rides
I know the numbers we hanker for
That reign above and in Esperides
I know of Einstein and of Niels Bohr
But it's only I that I ignore
(Music)
You princes, presidents and all you chiefs
And all you greats we honour
The apple's still stuck in your teeth
That old Adam gave it all up for
In his lovely garden near the Bosphore
Still it's only I that I ignore.
(Musical epilogue)
BERTOLT BRECHT: Come on, Toto, let's go take a walk.
ARISTOTLE: Za katévéné kanis. Prokorité ligo pros.
BERTOLT BRECHT: All right! Anything you want. Just stop scratching your fleas!
They exit.
10
In the Pacific Ocean, Sandy Sparks, Nelson Trapp and Freddy Dubois are lost on a raft drifting towards New Guinea. Freddy Dubois is attempting to fish with a piece of string and a bent nail for a hook. Sandy lies sprawled on the raft.
NELSON: Catch anything?
Roy: 12-24
FREDDY: It's pretty quiet this morning.
NELSON: We'll have to eat our last shoe.
FREDDY: Don't lose hope.
NELSON: We've been drifting for eighteen days with no sight of land.
FREDDY: The Pacific's big, it's no Lac Clément.
NELSON: Well, we should at least be getting somewhere. I'm sick and tired of watching all this empty water with nothing on it. Not a ship. Not a bird.
FREDDY: Be patient!
NELSON: You know that you're getting on my nerves. You never get riled up. And that really gets on my nerves.
FREDDY: I'm keeping busy.
NELSON: I wonder what became of the others. You think they all died in the storm?
FREDDY: You ask that same question ten times a day. What d'you want me to answer? We don't know nothin', and we can't know nothin'. Not me, nor you, nor she.
NELSON: You could try to guess, at least, use your imagination … I dunno, think of something. But no. it's enough for you to just cast your line out and look at it for hours on end, even if nothing bites. God, you get on my nerves! (Sandy awakens, moaning softly. Nelson wrings a wet rag over her lips.) Gently now, don't move. The cook's preparing us dinner.
FREDDY: Hey-hey! I've caught one! Sandy! Nelson! I've caught one! I've caught one! I've won!
Freddy pulls out of the water a real writhing fish. All three of them are excited, mad with joy.
FREDDY: The knife!
NELSON: Hurry up and kill it!
SANDY: Don't hurt it!
FREDDY: The knife, quick! Give me the goddamn knife!
Nelson has found the knife. Freddy cuts off the fish's head.
SANDY: Oh my god!
FREDDY: Magnificent! Look how beautiful it is!
NELSON: We're saved!
FREDDY: This is our lucky day. Lou Birkanian always said that «Today's my lucky day».
NELSON: Do we eat it right away?
FREDDY: Yep.
SANDY: I don't know if I can.
FREDDY: You'll see how good it is.
NELSON: The Vikings only used to eat that: raw fish and goat's milk.
SANDY: We've got no goat.
FREDDY: No we don't. He laughs and cuts the fish. Each of them eats a slice of it.
NELSON: It's delicious.
FREDDY: It has kinda like a nutty flavour. SANDY: Yeah, it's special …
NELSON: Put your line back in, maybe we've hit a shoal. Use the head as bait. Freddy throws his line back in.
SANDY: Give me another piece, Freddy.
NELSON: Me too.
FREDDY: Well, I'm getting myself another slice.
NELSON: Come on, Freddy, cut it all up.
Freddy slices up the fish. All three are sitting side by side, "tripping" on the fish they're eating.
SANDY: Freddy. Nelson. We're in Phil's restaurant, we're in George's, no, we're at the Windsor Hotel.
NELSON: That's it, the Windsor Hotel!
FREDDY: The Windsor Hotel. Yes! Or, wait! Even better … we're at the Ritz Carlton!
SANDY: Feel those thick carpets, look at those lacquered tables with their crystal chandeliers, three plates for each and a whole lot of cutlery, knives and forks and spoons, all in a row. Here comes the waiter.
NELSON: He's dressed in red.
FREDDY: In that case, it's the major-domo.
SANDY: He's presenting the first course: artichokes in vinaigrette with Brussels endives.
NELSON: Stuffed avocado baked with cream …
FREDDY: Calf's head with herbs and shallots.
SANDY: Hey-hey! Don't stuff yourselves. Leave some room for the second course …
FREDDY: Now you're talkin' sense.
They chew their fish.
NELSON: So here comes the second course: oven baked fish: Seawolf with fennel or a pickerel. You lift away the soft skin and find underneath the odoriferous flesh which comes away from the backbone in nice firm pieces, delicious and moist; a béchamel sauce with capers. We'll suck on that later. And all around the plate, a garnish of watercress and boiled potatoes with melted butter and finely chopped parsley.
FREDDY: We drink a nice little dry white wine, perfectly chilled. It dances in our cups like a stream in spring. You lift it to your mouth and the lower lip first shivers as it touches the cool glass. Then it spreads in through the mouth awakening all the taste buds, they arise as so many amorous nipples with desire. The golden liquor pours itself through rocks and river banks laughing its way down the vertical funnel.
SANDY: Oh, it's so good! It gladdens my entire body from the inside out!
NELSON: And now here comes the main course: a leg of lamb with flageolet. Its fatty crust crackles with blisters of salt, pepper and thyme; its juicy cuts in which lie softened garlic. The knife slices through revealing a rainbow of variegated flesh from oily grey to brown, and from reddish-brown to vermillion; the blood mixes in with the fat and sizzles amid the roasted onions. In the mouth, it is a velvety softness that satiates. The working of the teeth and saliva release a final unctuous liquid the meat expresses before its annihilation.
SANDY: Stop it, Nelson! You'll give me indigestion.
FREDDY: And the flageolets …
SANDY: Oh no, Freddy! I can't take it.
NELSON: And for desert …
SANDY: No. I don't want any desert. They finish chewing their raw fish.
FREDDY: Now that's a meal! It's been a long time since I've had one as good as that.
NELSON: Yes, a meal worthy of first communion.
SANDY: A wedding feast.
FREDDY: Sandy. Nelson. I'd like to marry you both.
NELSON: You are married with us.
FREDDY: No. I'd like for us three to make love.
SANDY: That's not so hard. Come, my love.
She takes him in her arms.
NELSON: And I love you too, ya big galoot.
They are shaped all three together. At that very moment, we hear a dove approaching.
FREDDY: A dove! We've arrived! (They look up above. An olive branch drops from the flies. They look at it. dumbfounded. The sound of the dove diminishes and disappears.) It can't be. Like in the Bible! An olive branch! It means we're starting from scratch! The flood is over! It's the beginning of the world! Wait! It's not finished yet. Close your eyes. We have to think hard about it. Very hard! Very hard. Even harder. I'll count to ten. Don't cheat. We'll open our eyes all together: one, two, three. I want it. Four. I want it, I want it. Today's our lucky day. Five, six, seven, eight, I want it. Nine, I want it, I want it, I want it to die for. Ten.
All three open their eyes together and remain momentarily dumbstruck by what they see before crying out, as one.
ALL: Land!
The raft carries them to shore.
11
In the district of the Arsenal. Roy enters. He looks at his watch. Enter Roderigo and Ferdinand.
ROY: You're almost late.
FERDINAND: You know very well that we're never late.
ROY: And Bronsky?
FERDINAND: It's done. (He hands over a wad of cash.)
ROY: No trouble?
FERDINAND: Not much.
ROY: What's that mean?
RODERIGO: Well… we had to shake him up a bit.
ROY: Listen, you two. I won't say this again, O.K.? We don't muscle people around no more. That's finished. It's not our style. We're in the big leagues, now. Everything we do has got to be legit. So when I send you out, it's just to expedite matters. But when there's a catch, you step right back. Got it! We just pass it on to the courts. They do our dirty work, now. It may take longer but it's safer. I'm keeping you two in reserve in case things get a little out of hand, when we have to … Well … you know what I mean. No use talkin' about it.
FERDINAND: All right, boss.
RODERIGO: But you gotta understand, boss, sometimes it just comes out on its own. Like instinct.
ROY: Well, then, instinct's over. Otherwise, I'll have to let you go. We clear?
Enter the blind monk, unseen by the three men.
RODERIGO: Yes, boss.
ROY: Roderigo, you go to the depot. There's some leaks in Romero's department. Look to it. We gotta know where they’re coming from. Report back to me this evening. And you, you come with me. We'll go visit our new building, on Place Deslauriers. I can't wait to leave the Arsenal neighbourhood.
RODERIGO: Me, I like it here. It's where we've always been, ever since were little.
ROY: That's exactly why I want to leave it behind. And we're not discussing this any longer. It's decided, OK?
RODERIGO: O.K. boss.
Enter Josette Beaudry and her mother.
THE MOTHER: Stand up straight! Stop slithering around like a slug. We’ll go see your doctor, all right? But are you sure you haven’t hidden anything from me? Hey Josie, I’m talkin’ to you! What’s wrong with you? Your head’s in the clouds. (Josette stops walking. She swoons.) What now? What’s goin’ on with you? (The Mother shakes her daughter and cuffs her about the ears. The Daughter faints.) What goin’ on, my girl? Josie! HELP! Someone help me!
Roy motions to Roderigo and Ferdinand. They both go up to the girl lying prone on the ground. Ferdinand looks her over from a distance. Roderigo takes her hand.
RODERIGO: She your daughter?
THE MOTHER: Yes.
RODERIGO: Well, she’s all blue in the face. What’s she got?
THE MOTHER: I dunno. It came upon her yesterday. I thought she was indulging in some whim of her’s. Come on, my girl, talk to me? Can you just carry her over to the newspaper stand to wait for the ambulance?
The two men are about to pick up the girl. Roy holds back Ferdinand.
ROY: Let Roderigo handle it! He’s strong enough.
Roderigo takes the girl up in his arms.
THE MOTHER: What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with her? Follow me. I’ll call an ambulance.
They exit. The blind monk takes out a school bell from beneath his cassock. He rings it. Gradually, we hear ambulance sirens and church bells sounding the death knell.
FERDINAND: What’s the matter with her?
ROY: I don’t want Roderigo to get to the depot. Got it! Roderigo is finished. Take care of it. You know what I mean.
FERDINAND: Why?
ROY: He touched the girl. So I don’t want him to touch any of us. You understand?
FERDINAND: But what is it? What’s goin’ on?
ROY: It’s the plague, fool! And it’s no joke. We’ll go right away to Doc Ménard. And we’ll force him to see us first. After that, you’ll take care of Roderigo. Come on!
They exit. The blind monk crosses the stage, ringing his bell.
12
The Isle of Aea, domain of Circe the enchantress. Circé lies prone in a corner between two pigs. From time to time, she tosses balls into Richard’s orthopaedic brace. Catherine Ragone enters, horizontally suspended to a guy wire, feathers floating all about her. She never touches the ground.
CATHERINE: (calling like a seagull) Kaaï! Kaaï! Kaaï! This is the Isle of Bonne-Aventure that I fly above beating my great wings. I dive, turn and swerve drunkenly. My great adventure, my wild adventure that I dared not imagine even in my dreams. Kaaï, Kaaï, Kaaï, I am light, my body has but the weight of its feathers, distraction exalts me. Kaaï! Kaaï! Kaaï! I no longer climb over walls, there are no walls. Above me, the blue immensity draws me on. At this height, the wind caresses me more softly than lake water. Below me, the earth is become indifferent and friendly. Kaaï, Kaaï, Kaaï, I see a great tree trunk moving. Is it a crocodile, a snake, a muskrat, he whom the Indians called Ondatra? Kaaï! Kaaï! Kaaï! No, it is King Richard. Kaaï! Kaaï! My son! Kaaï! Kaaï! Stay where you are, you rascal, I float up where you can no longer reach me!
Richard Premier has indeed entered crawling or rolling in.
RICHARD: The horror! Mud to knead. Earth to eat. Dust to bite into ‘til I turn to dust myself. (He sees his mother above him and shows her his fist.) Ragone! Vultur! Your shadow overwhelms and consumes me, your screams deafen me, you would eat my liver but I won’t give you an ounce of my entrails, I’ll hold on to my guts.
CATHERINE: Kaaï! Kaaï! I hear a voice that tells me: Adieu Catherine. Goodbye mother. That’s it. I’m not mistaken. And I answer: Kaaï! Kaaï! Adieu. My happiness has lost its chains.
RICHARD: I detest your leg and your foot that insults mine own. Queen of the Halting one, of the crook-foot, Devil’s hoof!
CATHERINE: Yes, my darling, all the birds in heaven cry out with you: «Oh! The dreamy legs of Catherine Ragone.» Kaaï! Kaaï! The French can-can is frenzied. Marlene and La Goulue, Greta Garbo, Marilyn, Zizi and, yes, you [Black] Josephine, I am perfectly at home on your movie set.
RICHARD: I spit on both your hemispheres, you bowl of curdled milk, you poisoned still, you udder!
CATHERINE: I smooth my feathered breast, my ship’s beautiful hull. The sea breeze gently strokes my hackles.
RICHARD: I loathe your belly, that bag of malice, that receptacle of all bloody after-births!
CATHERINE: O my love, your voice is soft, distant music, like that of a feast we’ve left behind in pursuit of new love. What is it we hear? A joyous murmur, over there, in the field behind the flowering bower, where the bed opens wide and [our] bodies capsize. Adieu, Richard! Adieu! I’ll never see you again, I leave you [as] lightly [as feathers]. Kaaï! Kaaï! Kaaï!
She exits still suspended to her wire.
RICHARD: I curse you! I curse your presence. I curse your absence. I curse your threads, your knots, your scissors, your stiches. I curse your shadow. I curse the hole from which you expelled me. I curse the hole that awaits me.
Robert Houle enters, transformed into a horse. His mouth full of grass. Richard hollers:
RICHARD: The bulldozer! The tramway that’ll cut off my legs! The steamroller that’ll flatten me like a pancake. No. I’ve got relief, Christ all mighty, I’ll be whole. I won’t let myself be mutilated.
Annie Williams enters and throws herself on Richard.
ANNIE: Give me your mouth! She kisses him ravenously.
Richard, at first astonished by the interruption, frees himself.
RICHARD: Back, you harpy!
But Annie catches up to him and rolls on the ground with him.
ANNIE: My body aches. I want yours against me. To drown out the burning with Crazy glue! Crazy glue on our necks, crazy glue everywhere. Crazy glue, glue!
RICHARD: Let go of me!
ANNIE: My breasts are erect sexes that’ll put out your eyes!
RICHARD: Unhand me bitch!
ANNIE: My tongue is so dry, I can’t stand it. My tongue must lick off your sweat. You are my fruit punch, my mineral water, my ginger ale.
RICHARD: Go away!
ANNIE: My legs and belly are holding you in. Fuck me. Break my legs. Burst my belly. Fuck me into the ground.
RICHARD: I’ll kill ya! I’ll kill ya!
ANNIE: Kill me! The crater is red hot. The lava is flowing. The earth is splitting. Everything shakes. and cracks asunder. (She sticks her hand down Richard’s pants.) And you’ve got a boner! (Richard howls:)
RICHARD: OW! The beartrap has closed onto my lame foot. The meatgrinder minces my hands. Razors tear me apart. The grim reaper cuts off my stalk, my leaves and spreads my seed upon the ground. Legions of cursed archangels divebomb me. The devil’s stukas. Hieronymus Bosch, Albrecht Dürer, you hadn’t thought of this. It’s the modern technique. I am anachronistic! Where are the emergency exits? I want to live! I want to live!
He succeeds in freeing himself and flees, catching his feet in his dangerously ragged pants. Annie grasps at her sex.
ANNIE: Aaaaaaaaaaaaah! My life gnaws on me!
She discovers Robert Houle-the horse and, after several tries, succeeds in mounting him.
ANNIE: Giddyup! Giddyup! Take me wherever you want but don’t stop your cavalcades. Giddyup! Ra! Ra! Take me round the island. The night is long! Ah … if desire could only be extinguished. Giddyup! Ra! Ra! Keep going. Don’t you goddamn stop! Gallop away! Kick out! The scent of rut smells like death! Ra! Ra! Ra! Keep going no matter what! Spit fire! Charge!
The stallion carries away Annie Williams. Circé rises.
CIRCÉ: Well, all my charms are workin’ perfectly. Though I don’t know if it pleases me much. In any case, we must reach the dawn. Come on, me pretties.
Circé exits presumably followed by her pigs.
13
Drums and trumpets. On the shore of the Red Sea. Moses enters, followed by his barbarous people. He carries in a large totem-like walking stick.
MOSES: Leave me be! I must contemplate awhile. (The people back away. Moses solus) Here I am before the Red Sea, the insurmountable barrier. It has always been my goal though I refused to recognize it. I who was born of nothing, nihil, I that the great Nile bore. I, Moses, bastard child of distraction and desire, inventor of senseless games, lover of derision, sculptor of universal forms, negator of primal ideas. I, the Nomad, whom the long march of my tribes has finally led here, to this place. So, now’s the time to choose: Either turn back? I don’t like returning from whence I came. Or settle here? Graze the goats and sand buffalos? Tend to kitchen gardens? Dig up holes for water, oil, latrines? That’s not my style. So, what then? Dissolve this assembly of people that follow me in a great break-up. Each for one’s self alone, in a final wilding! To Shake it all up! To Let the sirocco sow its seeds wherever, spreading what luck and solitude it can? Why not? Isn’t that how I’ve lived? How I’ve gown up? So why not them as well? Why not me once more? Alone. After all, what do I care for this bunch of followers, always playing catch-up? Unless … (He turns to face the sea.) That’s temptation for you. All that you desire. All or nothing. (He breaks out in laughter.) Ha! Ha! Ha! It’s a lottery. A cosmic bingo. To dig into the impossible rift and defy the very cohesion of the world. Yes, nature abhors fullness. So why not slip into its holes? Rapataplan! Rapataplan! Tut! Tut! I defy H20. I play marbles with NaCL [Sodium Chloride] and H2SO4 [Sulfuric Acid]. I have my way with C 2H 4 [Ethylene] and 302 in 2CO2 [2Carbon Dioxide] and 2H20. I take down my CH3COOH [Acetic Acid]. I dissolve purified alum AL2O3 [Aluminium Oxide] in molten Cryolite Na3AIF6. I reverse the electric current. I ride between the cathode and the anode. (He rides his totem pole like a hobby horse.) Alizarin sodic sulfonate, dimethylglyoxime, permanganate, hexachloride, alkaline earth metals. (He walks into the sea.) The sea is cut down the middle. I walk between two great walls of solidified waves. It’s the Grand Canyon of Colorado, the great fjord’s crevasse wherein I enter in advance of the Tartar hordes. Thus, I begin the long march towards the suspended gardens, the eternal snows, the plateau that touches the sky, the great plains of the West are behind us. Look to the seas we will cross. Forward, my people! Follow me!
14
The Isle of Aea. Enter a strange beast composed of four bodies: below is Richard; midriff is Robert Houle carrying Annie Williams, clenched onto his hips in a state of undress; and, above, Catherine Ragon still calling like a seagull. Enter Circé, dragging Richard’s orthopaedic brace behind her. Lou Birkanian also enters but at some distance from the others.
CIRCÉ: So that’s all I get: a hodgepodge bag of skulduggery, a bunch of inbreds. I never could have thought possible such a total lack of imagination. They could have taken little a advantage of the situation and come up with something better to do than Sunday dinner. Like … I dunno … graze on the pastures of the sacred mountain, make love to great Zeus disguised as butterflies, fly over to Tahiti across the trade winds, dive into the waters of Lethe and have themselves washed clean of all regret and bitterness! But nope, they just stack themselves up together like empty milk crates. And it’s almost dawn, for what it’s worth. And all my charms are all o’erthrown. (The gathering is now collapsed on the ground.) And what strength I have is most faint. So they’re now inclined to sleep. When they awake, they’ll take up again their masks and their tasks. Will they be amazed? Astonished by what they’ll call their dreams? I’m not so sure they’ll even remember. Memories, dreams, thoughts, desires … what’s the difference? And what if all these ideal constructions, all this spirited agitation, were but the fleeting dream of a plant, of a stone, of a planet, themselves dreamt by an insubstantial shadow leaving not a rack behind? Wooh, dawn doesn’t suit me at all! It’s the time of disenchantment, or so it seems. I’d better lay low and go to sleep. This light is just too harsh for me. Goodbye, night. Hello, sleep.
She exits silently, leaving Richard’s brace behind. Dawn rises. Lou Birkanian approaches.
LOU BIRKANIAN: The one enters when the other exits, according to the great chain of fortune tellers. But, for now, I’m mostly playing the nurse and guardian watching over a sick patient. How will they suffer through the day? How will they eat their gruel? Drink up their tomato juice fortified with vitamin C? Hour after hour. Day after day. No thought of the future, all in the past. Taking care of now. Today and today and today.
Catherine Ragone awakens.
CATHERINE: Good morning, Lou Birkanian.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Good morning, Catherine. Sleep well?
CATHERINE: Yes. (She sees the others.) What are they doing?
LOU BIRKANIAN: Like you, they’re waking up.
Annie Williams awakens.
ANNIE: Good morning, Catherine. Good morning, Lou.
LOU BIRKANIAN: ‘morning.
CATHERINE: ‘morning.
ANNIE: I’m a little chilly. Must have uncovered myself while sleeping.
Lou Birkanian gives Annie her great shawl. Robert Houle awakens.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Here, put this on.
ROBERT HOULE: I don’t know where I am … I hurt all over. I had a strange dream.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Shhh!
RICHARD [awakening suddenly]: Mother!
CATHERINE: Strap on your brace, Richard. (She hands him his orthopaedic brace and helps him to strap it on.)
LOU BIRKANIAN: We’d better get going. The boat’s ready to leave.
CATHERINE: So where we off to, Richard?
RICHARD: I don’t quite know, yet. I’m a little mixed up. We’ll see on board.
ANNIE: So, were goin’?
ROBERT HOULE: Let’s go.
RICHARD: So those advertisements were all lies. This island isn’t so strange. And what happened to that native girl who greeted us?
ANNIE: She must have been part of the nightshift.
LOU BIRKANIAN: She went to bed. Real nice girl, don’t you think?
RICHARD: Well, she was just doing her job.
LOU BIRKANIAN: She did it well. That’s always appreciated.
RICHARD: Yes.
ROBERT HOULE: So, were goin’?
RICHARD: Yep, let’s go.
Exeunt all five.
15
A Pacific island near Samsara in New Guinea. Freddy, Sandy and Nelson are playing bowls with coconuts and a round stone.
FREDDY: It’s my turn to throw.
NELSON: Don’t cheat!
FREDDY: I never cheat!
SANDY: Yeah, right …
FREDDY: Stop making fun of me, you two! You know I never cheat.
SANDY: Throw.
FREDDY: If you think I’m cheating, we’ll stop right here.
NELSON: Throw your coconut.
Sandy: Nelson! You are too far away from me.
SANDY: You’re so touchy …
FREDDY: No, but …
NELSON: Just throw!
They are playing a real game of bowls while saying the lines below.
FREDDY: The old white guy who lives on the hill, he’s gonna die.
NELSON: What’s wrong with him?
FREDDY: He’s got syphilis. And it’s not a pleasant sight. He can no longer speak.
NELSON: Why’d you go?
FREDDY: His wife called for me this morning. I don’t know why?
NELSON: Who is this guy?
FREDDY: You know, people here don’t talk much. From what I understand, he came here a long time ago. He built himself a hut and lived like a native. He’s had many children.
NELSON: So that’s how he caught syphilis?
FREDDY: It’s likely.
NELSON: How’s his wife?
FREDDY: She looks pretty bad. She doesn’t want her man to die. She called the sorcerer over, from Samara. They danced all night. Sometimes these people scare me. I was a bit worried when I left.
SANDY: Well, they’ve got their customs. We’ve got ours. So let’s keep our noses clean.
They play on.
FREDDY: Sometimes, I wish Lou Birkanian was here.
NELSON: Here we go again with «Lou Birkanian»!
SANDY: Stop being such a baby!
FREDDY: Cut it out! Lou Birkanian, she knew everything.
NELSON: What is it you need to know so bad? What are we lacking?
SANDY: Aren’t we happy?
FREDDY: Yes, we’re happy. (Long pause.) We should get back. Here, night falls so quick.
NELSON: We’re fine. We’ll light our way with torches. It’s so nice out.
FREDDY: We should go back. It’s time.
SANDY: God! You’re so boring, Freddy Dubois!
NELSON: We should fill up on happiness. It’s the only thing worth doing. It’s the only thing that’s important.
Suddenly, a scene of unbelievable violence. Screams, drums, savagery. The wife of the old white man, her hair matted with mud and carrying a torch, enters quickly followed by the masked sorcerer.
THE WIFE: Moororea. Boona. Marc. Morobey
Three Kanaks throw themselves upon Nelson and kill him. Blood spurts out. One of the Kanaks drags Nelson’s body out; the other two hold Freddy back. Sandy screams. She falls upon the sorcerer, who knocks her out with his club. Sandy falls to the ground. A Kanak exits running.
THE WIFE: A man for a man.
THE SORCERER: Ramok!
THE WIFE: I take the blood.
THE SORCERER: Mappi!
THE WIFE: For my man. Prince Marco will not die.
THE SORCERER: Akahamatotopa. Kikori.
THE WIFE, to Freddy: Go away! You two should leave. Twins are cursed! You are a curse!
A Kanak bring on a great bowl of blood. The wife dips her fingers in it and flicks drops of blood everywhere. The sorcerer stands still. Another Kanak drags in Nelson body, which has been bled.
THE WIFE: I give back the body. I keep the blood for Prince Marco. My man, he live.
SORCERER: Lea.
The Kanak exit running. Sandy awakens.
SANDY: Where’s Nelson? (She sees Nelson’s body and remains a long while mouth agape. Then yawns.) I don’t understand. (She falls onto Nelson’s body.) I don’t want to live. (Freddy lies down next to her and takes her in his arms).
FREDDY: Sandy-Nelson, I love you.
SANDY: I should cry. But I can’t.
FREDDY: Don’t listen to what I’m about to say, my love. It’s a tale of Lou Birkanian. I will repeat it to you as a kind of music, so as to be closer to you. You don’t have to listen. (He holds her tight against himself. This grouping of three must remain absolutely still during Freddy’s entire narration. Night falls.) A long time ago, a very long time ago, in the Caucasus Mountains, lived a man everyone called the Dahlia Man because he grew in his little garden the most beautiful dahlias of the land. One summer morning, the Sultan of Baku came to see him: « Dahlia Man, he said, I was told of your wisdom and can see for myself how they spoke true, all those who praised your garden. You have the most beautiful flowers of my entire land. Tell me, wherefrom comes this talent, you creator of beauty». The Dahlia Man answered: «My prince, every day I sprinkle my flowers with the ashes of my father and that of my grand-father and that of their fathers and grandfathers. I feed my garden with the ashes of my dead ancestors». The Sultan burst out laughing: «You are also a great liar, dear gardener, said he, for you are of the Zoroastrian faith and lay your dead in the towers of silence for the vultures to eat. You are hiding your secret from me». Then the Dahlia Man bent down and picked up a clump of earth which he broke up between his fingers and then proceeded to meticulously sprinkle over each flower saying: «This is my father and my grand-father and the father and grand-father of my father’s.» The flowers hear me, my Prince, they answer me in colours. They are nourished by my words and by time. This is the reason they are so much alive.» The Sultan of Baku made the Dahlia Man the gardener of his own palace garden. And often, he would ask for his advice in matters of state.
SANDY: I’m crying, Freddy.
They kiss each other. A long moment of emotion.
FREDDY: Come. We’ll buryhim in our garden, behind the palm trees.
Freddy takes up Nelson’s body. They exit. A Kanak child comes to play with the coconuts, then takes them away with him.
16
In the Desert of Sogdia near Samarkand. The wind blows over the steppes. Richard enters carrying luggage.
RICHARD: Come on, ladies, pick-up the pace please! Goddamnit! I never should have burdened myself with them idle-rich bitches! Those three are harder to move along than my entire army!
MARIE-JEANNE and CATHERINE, off: Coming …
RICHARD: «Coming.» For days on end, I hear that same refrain. And I just trudge along. My will blunted. My enthusiasm curbed. A strong man is a solitary man. Women are always a burden. One of these mornings, I’m just going to leave them behind. And if they croak in the desert, it’s not my problem. (Laughter of women, off.) And on top of everything, they waste time joking around. But this is no time for a burlesque show. Hey, you comin’?
CATHERINE (off): It won’t take long.
RICHARD: It is taking long! Goddamnit! I want to get to Samarkand by nightfall.
Enter Catherine Ragone and Marie-Jeanne Larose carrying the crib of Claire Premier. They are in very good humour and make light of Richard’s impatience. Judith Roberge follows behind but takes no part in their playful scene.
MARIE-JEANNE: Hello, my dear. And how are you this fine day? My sincerest apologies for having kept you waiting but I had to deal with the help.
CATHERINE, joining in: There was no taxi on Notre-Dame street and we had quite a time clearing a path through the crowd.
MARIE-JEANNE: But, come to think of it, where are we now? Still in the Desert of Sogdia, are we? Well, it doesn’t lack charm but the landscape’s a bit monotonous, don’t you think?
RICHARD: We have to hurry.
CATHERINE: Great Gods, why so rushed? We have all the time in the world.
RICHARD: Stop clowning around, Ok! I want to get to Samarkand before nightfall.
CATHERINE: Samarkand? Oh yes, that lovely little fishing village in the Caribbean. I went there last year with my friend Ghyslaine. (Catherine and Marie-Jeanne burst out laughing.)
RICHARD: You find that funny? It makes you laugh? It’s easy to joke around up there on your balconies while the worker is struggling below. Me, I know where I’m going. So, you’d better just follow along or else make your own way. I am sick and tired of having to stop every half-hour to wait for you ladies to catch up with my expedition. Well, my expedition can’t wait anymore. I have defeated the forces of Darius III Codomannus at Grannicus and Issus. I founded Alexandria with its Great Library and its brothels on stilts. I have crossed the Tigris and the Euphrates and vanquished the Persians at Arbela. I made Babylon itself the capital of my empire. And if we’ve been weeks in this desert of Sogbia, rich in antelopes and wild hares (that I, myself, have slain with my blowpipe for your breakfast, ladies), if we walk on further and further East, bolstered by the great plan that inhabits me, it is to conquer the steps of the Himalayas, plunder the temples of Tibet brimming with gold, and come down the other side loaded with riches in the valleys of the Yangtze, the Huang-He, and the Saskatchewan. But all that escapes you. You just twaddle along, while I bear it all on my shoulders. So tonight, I say, we will enter Samrkand.
MARIE-JEANNE: Wow! That’s quite a speech. Well, excuse us, sire, but we were discussing, the Duchess and I — in fact, she’s my step-mother, aren’t you mommy — and giving each other advice on the side on how best to transport all of your merchandise. It’s what’s called logistics in the language of your generals.
She picks up the crib wherein Claire Premier soundly sleeps and performs a rigorous and brilliant clown act, while Catherine Ragone is having the time of her life.
MARIE-JEANNE: So we figured one could do it in the regular manner: dangling the object about with the arm straight out. Either on the left or the right. One kilometer on the left and another on the right. It’s possible. It can be done. Though it does wear out the outer seam of one’s shoes. Which is to be expected. Because, lookit. Right, left … (She demonstrates.) A variation would be to bend the arm. The forearm passes underneath the object which then rests against the hip. But after a while the backbone is all bent out of shape and with all that perspiration, well, you risk losing your grip and end up dropping the thingamabob. Oops! (She almost drops the crib.) Then there’s the Congolese way. (She places the crib on her head.) Thus called because the … Congolese … prefer it. Now, this spreads the weight far more equally, but it does flatten the cranium, squeeze the brain and makes one stupid, as proven by the ethnologists of the 3rd Reich. The Kangaroo way (She places the crib on her belly.) which is not to be sneezed at since it’s totally natural and enables those happy plantigrades to leapfrog across the Australian outback. Or you could do it like Atlas (On the nape of the neck) but it’s a real pain in the … neck. (On the back.) There’ also à la Quasimodo. On the hump. Like the gargoyle? Notre Dame de Paris? Get it? (He doesn’t. She places the crib on her arched bum.) How about like in Martinique, resting it on the buttocks? Then again, we can’t expect everyone to have an ass like a lunch cart. But there’s still other ways too: the Elephant, the Sultan, the Shepherdess, the tramway, the Shanghai and the Hungarian wooer. And I’m leaving the best out. In short, my good Richard, the Queen Mother and I — brilliant as usual — we took it upon ourselves to dismantle your gun carriages to make up our own. (She unfolds a portable stroller.) And while so doing, we’ve invented the stroller. (Catherine Ragone applauds.) Samarkand, here we come! (They exit laughing. The child squeals with delight.)
RICHARD: Couldn’t they have thought of that earlier? He loads himself up with the luggage and exits.
JUDITH: Me, I’m getting off here. I’ll go up North. Moses is calling. Moses is waiting for me in Alaska.
She exits singing.
17
In the city. Sirens blaring. Sound of cars passing. Heavy atmosphere. Everyone we see is wearing a gas-mask. Pre-recorded orders ring out from all sides. Groups of three or four or five persons diligently obey the orders. They walk, run, or scatter as required. At the start, this tableau should seem a theatrical étude of rush-hour traffic in a big modern city. The only incongruity is that, from time to time, a man or woman rips off their gas-mask and falls to the ground screaming. Ferdinand, a machine-gun across his belly, watches over the crowd.
FERDINAND: Halt! Here comes the Doge. The Prince Regent.
Roy enters. Everyone stays in place but turns towards him. A microphone descends from the rafters. Roy takes it and addresses the crowd, reading from a piece of paper he’s taken out of his pocket.
ROY: Bylaw 182 as approved this morning by parliament: «In order to be more efficient, all grocery stores, financial firms, and municipal funeral homes will be gathered into a single organism managed by the city’s Doge and Prince Regent». (He puts away the paper.) ‘nuff said. Movin’ along … A masked man rushes at Roy with a dagger. Ferdinand strikes him dead with a burst of his machine gun. Roy remains unperturbed.
ROY: Look who it is.
Ferdinand removes the dead man’s mask.
FERDINAND: Holy shit! It’s Achilles Lavoie, my old boss.
ROY: See how right you were to come over to me. (He pulls out another paper from his pocket and takes the mike.) Bylaw 183, which will be introduced to parliament this evening: «Due to the insecurity pervading our fair city, sorely tested by the plague, all police services will be placed in the hands of our Prince Regent, the Doge of the City.» (He puts the paper away.) That’s it. Clear out! (To Ferdinand.) Take the load to the depot and see what can be salvaged for hot-dogs. I put you in charge of sorting it all out. I’ll see you anon, at the Ministry.
Exit
FERDINAND: Sure thing, Boss!
The apocalyptic noises augment. Enter the Death cart pulled along by a little tractor. Its driver has the head of a crocodile. On the cart itself, already full of dead bodies, stands a man all in black (he wears a full-body diving suit, with flippers and a mask, a harpoon gun in hand). Under the surveillance of Ferdinand, helpers load the bodies lying upon the stage onto the cart, while Verdi’s Requiem blasts out. Incense is lit; its smoke spreads onto the stage. The cart goes off. All the masked beings follow. Once again, the blind monk crosses the stage. He tolls his bell, but it has lost its clapper.
18
Estuary of the Saint-Lawrence. Annie Williams and Robert Houle are leaning on a ship’s rail sailing up the river. We hear its engine.
ANNIE: It’s nice out. The air is cool. I like it.
ROBERT HOULE: It’s the sea air.
ANNIE: We’re going back home.
ROBERT HOULE: Yes. We’re the first. Going up river.
ANNIE: We’ve left behind the Isle-of-Birds and the Shoal-of-Orphans. We’re approaching Black-Bear-Landing.
ROBERT HOULE: Look over there on the left. That’s Cape Rosebush. The waves are whitening its breakers.
ANNIE: Robert, what’s that over there? Maybe there’s been a shipwreck. A capsized boat with smoking exhaust pipes.
ROBERT HOULE: No, silly. That’s a whale!
ANNIE: A whale! Wow!
ROBERT HOULE: All around us, porpoises, grey seals, wolf and flying fish.
ANNIE: The big salmon are swimming up with us to spawn in their native rivers.
ROBERT HOULE: I see … I see the Pessamit and the Innu on both sides of Baiedes-Rochers, waving great branches in welcome.
ANNIE: I see the Maliseet and the Algonquins gathered together to celebrate their victory over the Iroquois. Among them is a tall man with a plumed hat. He’s holding a musket. «On Monday, the twenty-third day of the said month, we departed from Québec the place where the river widens sometimes to a league and a half or two leagues or more. And the further we went the more beautiful seemed the surrounding country. We found plentiful vines, pears, hazels, cherries, red and green currants and hundreds of little roots the size of nuts tasting of truffles, very good roasted and boiled. There be also plentiful game such as elk, deer, bear, fretful propertine, hare, fox, beaver, otter, muskrat and still others I know not of but that are good to eat and feed the savages». (Sound of the ship’s engine.)
ROBERT HOULE: The islands! Look at all the islands. Each has its own secret. Blind-Man’s Isle, Cursèd Isle, Goose Island, Isle-of-the-East — that’s where the women dance naked under the full moon — Isle-of-theAiling-Child, Bell Island, the great Isle-of-the-Dead.
ANNIE: And all the little rivers that flow into the big one, each carrying its own particular alluvium: the red earth from the garden of aunt Marguerite, the great log lost to the lumberjacks of the SaintMaurice, the love letter written on the mountainside that couldn’t find its way home.
The ship’s engine sounds different, louder.
ROBERT HOULE: Our caravel quickens. Its masts bending. Its hull lengthening. We’re on another journey, my love. The sails turn into wings and the wings stretch into thin steel beams. Lindbergh, Blériot. The Wright brothers. Together with you we are going up the great river of Icarus.
ANNIE: Already another leave-taking aims for the great beyond. Cape Kennedy. Houston. Hold on to your britches. 6-5-4-3-2-1. Lift off. OW! The crush of inertia. Dreadful pain. Will the head explode? Will the body burst like a grenade? Will the blood spurt out from every orifice? No. We’re making it through. We’ve made it through. The heart starts up again. The blood flows. The eyes open. The swelling subsides. Perfect peace. The conqueror is silent. In stillness ascending, great Achilles rises like a comet through curved space.
The sound of the ship’s engine ceases. The following lines are delivered in silence.
ROBERT HOULE: We’ve reached our goal.
ANNIE: … for the time being.
ROBERT HOULE: Untouched. Innocent. Lunar whiteness. Absolute purity.
A long silence.
ANNIE: Hey! Robert! Come back down to earth! We’ve only just passed Terrebonne. We’ll soon see the mountain.
The ship’s engine starts up again. They are both taken momentarily aback, hesitant and frightened.
ROBERT HOULE: What is that cloud of sulphur and lead?
ANNIE: Where’s my city?
ROBERT HOULE: Where are the trees of the old neighbourhood?
ANNIE: I see nothing but plague and death.
The ship’s engine grows louder and takes them off stage.
19
In Alaska. Judith Roberge enters on a sled drawn by two Inuit. They are in the midst of a blizzard. The Inuit are searching for their way. They wear great bearskin coats. The dying Judith is delirious. She becomes progressively more still.
JUDITH: It’s been two days since we’ve left Anchorage behind and, thanks be to the Gods, the weather has been clement. It’s as if we were in the Bahamas! (She plays with snowflakes.) The sunshine is so plentiful that it gives off all these little stars. Millions of stars to make me a coat soft as the Milky Way. I feel a warmth within me that I’ve never felt before. Doubtless, it’s star fire going up my arms and legs and leading me off to sleep.
Enter a bear. A clown number follows between the bear and the Inuit, while the blizzard redoubles in force. The Inuit finally succeed in escaping (not without first having taken each other for the bear). The bear approaches Judith and sniffs at her.
JUDITH: Hello, Orlando. You still at work? Why, it’s three o’clock in the morning. The Café Spartacus is closed. You just threw out the last client. Knocked over the tables and all. O this neon light hurts my eyes. Come and have one last beer with me, wontcha? It was a fine set tonight, don’t you think? I was pretty good, uh? The patrons were pleased. They gave me a standing O. I’m tired. Why didn’t Marc Lemieux come and pick me up? You think he’s waiting for me at home? O come on over here, Orlando Beauchemin. Give us a kiss! You know, you’ve always been my favourite bouncer. Come on now, Armand, be nice and give us a kiss. I really need it tonight. (The bear gives her a kiss and exits pensively.) Now, I’ve got to get back home. Ho! You over there, get this troika going. Come on, now. That feels nice. All snuggled up under the bear skins. All nestled under the fur. And prost! a little shot of caribou! Aah, now that warms the cockles of me heart. Soon the house will be all lit up with the Christmas tree covered in garlands and ornaments. The gifts all wrapped up with red ribbons curled up at the end. Coachman! Coachman! Hey coachman! Come on over here! I can’t drive this thing all by myself. (Moses enters in a phosphorescent light carrying his totem stick and a whip. He proceeds to yoke himself to the sled, then snaps his whip.) 4287 Belle-Isle Boulevard, corner of Lajeunesse. Don’t go too fast, now, Moses my dear. My child. That’s nice. I’m warm. I’m happy.
She keeps her eyes wide open. The whip snaps. Moses pulls the sled and leads his dead mother off.
20
In the land of the Incas. Sound of the Andean Pan flute. Lights are low. Enter the Woman of the Andes. She spreads a large cloth on the ground. Inside it are many eclectic objects: an Inca mask, a root, a round stone, a coffee grinder, a mortar and pestle, a sundial, a conch shell, a garter with artificial red flower, a little clay statuette, etc. She places the objects all around her on the cloth.
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: Lou Birkanian! Lou Birkanian! I know you’re hiding somewhere near. Come out of your hole. We have to talk, you and I.
Enter Lou Birkanian, wearing her Armenian shawl. She walks slowly. She spreads her shawl upon the ground and picks up a feather (or a snow flake from the previous scene) and deposits it at the centre of her shawl.
LOU BIRKANIAN: What do you want?
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: I told you: to have a talk.
LOU BIRKANIAN: You want us to compete? Do battle with our stories? Find out which of us is best at spinning tales? OK. Let’s play.
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: For years, I’ve been keeping track of you, for centuries. You go very far, you devil you. Sometimes, I wonder if you don’t go too far.
LOU BIRKANIAN: We never go far enough.
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: Well, here we are you and I, at the ends of the earth. Two old women lost on the last high plateau of the Andes, before an insurmountable rockface. Two old women waiting for the sunrise.
LOU BIRKANIAN: I looked for you. I wanted to end the night with you.
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: The night will soon be over. It won’t be long now.
She points to a spot on the horizon.
LOU BIRKANIAN: I like it when the day comes up. At night, it’s always yesterday. But come morning, it’s today. (A moment of silence.)
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: So, are you proud of yourself? You satisfied?
LOU BIRKANIAN: What do you mean?
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: You bewitched them all, enchanted them from the start. No? Admit it, witch. Admit it, Melusine. In fact, they all followed you, with your spells, your words, your images, your fairy tales and your Azerbaijan where you’ve never set foot.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Don’t say that!
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: What does it matter? They boarded the ship you built for them. They went on a «trip», as you used to say. A big trip.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Each to their own.
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: Yeah. Maybe so. But don’t count on it. And what if all this was only make believe and melted into air, into thin air… Are you so sure, Lou Birkanian, that any of them, even yourself here waiting with me for the sun to rise, are you so sure that any of you has actually left the neighbourhood of the Arsenal between Belle-Isle Boulevard, Bourbonnais and Lajeunesse street, and La Liberté Avenue? All those kings and princesses, bishops and enchantresses, heros and heroines? What are their real titles? Who are they really?
LOU BIRKANIAN: O they exist alright. They’ve discovered the world.
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: Well now they’ve returned. Look at them. Returning to the fold. (We see all the characters cross the stage, one after the other.) Catherine Ragone, the Queen Mother, daughter of Filippo Ragone, known as "the Moron". What is she bringing back from Acapulco? The awkward memory of a few wanton moments? … Sandy Sparks and Freddy Dubois, those survivors of the Pacific, must now walk on only one leg, since they’ve buried the other one — that poor bloodless corpse — under the palm trees in Papua-New Guinea. They’ll carry that their entire lives. And all of Nelson’s blood won’t even have helped Marc Lemieux from dying of syphilis, Good old Marc, Prince Marc, his father … And here comes Marie-Jeanne who is learning to bear the weight of the world … And in the dead city, Robert and Annie wander about in the fog, like two orphans searching for their lost garden … While Moses returns from Alaska, cutting his way through the middle of oceans … And here, at last, comes Richard, your God son, dragging his foot more than ever, a pathetic Napoleon back from Egypt with nothing to show for it but a sunburn caught on the pyramids. So these are your people?
LOU BIRKANIAN: They’re well worth yours.
The Woman of the Andes rises suddenly, the Inca mask in hand. While she speaks, the sun rises.
THE WOMAN OF THE ANDES: No! My people are the stones of Machu Pichu. I am the daughter of Manco Capac, hero of the golden rod, child of the sun. I am eternal. My body stretches from Lake Moracaibo to Tiera del Fuego; my head touches the sky; my belly surrounded by eternal snows conceals the sacred lake whose name makes you all laugh — and with good cause! — Titicaca. But don’t laugh just yet. Your conquistadors, Almagro, Pizarro, Diego de Mendès, the coward who killed my father. Do you know what their names mean in my language? Dog spit, Asshole, Rotten Bean Soup. So let’s laugh then, each on our own, with our own music. I am the Woman of the Andes. My children do not die. In the morning, I see them rise up from the deep gorges, climb to the peaks and throw their rope bridges across the precipices. I see them. They come in long thin columns clinging to mountain faces. They breathe like the bellows of forges; the crevasses echo their breath and it becomes a tornado pushing them up; from piton to peak, from ridge to foothill, they spring out of the combes, the switch-backs, the ravines, the shadowy fault-lines, impervious to vertigo and the thin air, they rise, they hoist an catapult themselves up to the fiery throne of the great Inca, the eternal sun! (The sun is now full blast onto the two women.) Leave, Lou Birkanian, you have nothing more to do here.
She spreads her arms to welcome the sun. Lou Birkanian folds up her Armenian shawl over the feather.
LOU BIRKANIAN: Goodbye, Woman of the Andes. I’m going back home. To Azerbaijan!
Exit. Blackout.
The End
