MIRACLE PLAY
by
Callen Harty
©1998, Callen Harty
PROLOGUE: CLASSROOM SCENE
(A school bell rings as lights come up on classroom)
TEACHER:
Hello, class, and welcome to the St. Matthew’s School drama club. Before we start, there are a few things I need to let you know about, and then we’ll open it up to questions. Okay?
STUDENT ONE:
Your class.
TEACHER:
Okay. First of all, because this is a club, you don’t have to raise your hand if you want to go to the bathroom. But . . . but you should give your full attention while we’re working, so now would be a good time to go.
STUDENT TWO (raising hand):
Can I go to the bathroom?
TEACHER:
Yes, but you don’t have to raise your hand. Unless you have a question.
STUDENT TWO (raising hand):
I did have a question. Can I go to the bathroom?
TEACHER:
No need . . . yes, you may. (Student does not move) Did you have another question?
STUDENT TWO:
Yes. Where is it?
TEACHER:
Good question. It’s up against the far wall over there. Men’s is on the left. Women’s on the right.
(Student Two exits)
TEACHER:
Okay. Good. Now, there are very few rules here, but I need to let you know about them. The first is this. There is absolutely no smoking permitted anywhere in the building. Is that understood?
STUDENT THREE:
Sure, I don’t smoke anyway.
TEACHER:
No parking bikes against the trees outside. It could damage them. So, if you did that, this would be a good time to move them, before we get started. No picture taking or tape recorders are allowed. You just need to pay close attention.
STUDENT FOUR:
What play are we going to do?
TEACHER:
We’re going to do one called Miracle Play.
STUDENT THREE:
What’s a miracle play?
TEACHER:
Well, a miracle play is a play that is based on the lives of the saints. They were done a lot in the middle ages.
STUDENT THREE:
So what saints’ lives are we going to do?
TEACHER:
Well, we can do any of them that we want to do.
STUDENT FOUR:
Is there a patron saint of rock and roll?
TEACHER:
Not specifically, but there is a patron saint of music. Her name was Cecilia, and she sang so beautifully that an angel came down from Heaven to listen to her.
STUDENT FOUR:
Cool. Can we do her?
TEACHER:
Sure. Let’s get started.
(Lights to black)
CECILIA
(Lights up on a karaoke club; someone is singing a karaoke version of Will You Love Me Tomorrow; Cecilia is seated by herself; Angel & Angel’s Friend are seated across the room)
ANGEL:
She was at the 70’s Revival Night last week.
CECILIA (to herself):
This is really bad. I can do better than that. When’s my turn? When’s my turn? Hum-dum-de-dum.
ANGEL:
She’s beautiful.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
I’ve heard better.
ANGEL:
No, I mean the one across the room there. By herself . . .
CECILIA:
When’s my turn? When’s my turn?
ANGEL:
. . . singing to herself. Isn’t that sweet?
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
She’s crazy.
ANGEL:
She’s practicing.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
She’s singing to herself.
ANGEL:
Singing.
CECILIA:
Hum-dum-de-dum. (Singing to herself) I am opera woman.
ANGEL:
I wrote a poem about her.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
No. You’re not writing poems.
ANGEL:
Okay. I found a poem about her. It’s found poetry.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
Worse yet—you’re reading poems. Nobody reads poems. Poetry is dead.
CECILIA:
Hum-dum-de-dum. My turn will come. Mr. Emcee, when is it me?
(The singer finishes)
EMCEE:
Let’s have a hand for that heart-felt song.
CECILIA:
When will my turn come along? Please Mr. Emcee, please.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
Nobody does poetry. It’s yesterday.
ANGEL:
The Beats are in. The Beats go on.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
Now you’re doing 50’s Revival Night?
EMCEE:
And the beat goes on. Let’s have a warm welcome for our next singer . . .
ANGEL & EMCEE:
Cecilia.
(Angel applauds furiously; everyone else gives a tepid hand; Cecilia takes the stage)
CECILIA:
Thank you.
EMCEE:
So, Cecilia, we haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Where have you been?
CECILIA:
Practicing . . .
EMCEE (seriously):
Good.
CECILIA (singing, badly):
. . . the long and winding notes.
EMCEE (sarcastically):
Oh, good. What are you singing tonight?
CECILIA:
I Will Always Love You, by Whitney Houston, and I dedicate my performance to the glory of God and His Song, our Savior, the Lord, Jesus Christ.
EMCEE:
I’m sure He’ll appreciate that.
CECILIA:
I’m singing it to Him. Sort of like Roberta Flack singing The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face to her cat.
EMCEE:
I see.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
Her . . . cat . . . did she say?
CECILIA:
That’s what made it so good. She loved her little pussy and sang to it.
EMCEE:
Okay.
ANGEL:
That’s beautiful, dude.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
What did she . . . ? Never mind.
CECILIA (a capella):
The first time ever I saw your face, I felt the . . .
EMCEE:
Okay! Let’s get going.
(Music starts; Cecilia starts to sing, again badly; crowd starts booing; music stops; Angel moves toward the stage)
ANGEL:
Fuck ya all!
CECILIA:
Kick ‘em in the balls!
ANGEL (to the crowd):
Kiss my ass!
EMCEE:
I think I’ll pass.
ANGEL’S FRIEND:
Now that’s poetry. The way I like it.
ANGEL (reciting amidst general booing, hissing, etc.):
“At last divine Cecilia came . . .”
MAN IN CROWD:
About time.
ANGEL:
“ . . . Inventress of the Vocal Frame . . .”
WOMAN IN CROWD:
What the fuck is he sayin’?
ANGEL:
“The sweet enthusiast, from her Sacred Store . . .”
MAN IN CROWD:
“ . . . where we’d heard the music years before,” yeah, yeah, we know.
ANGEL (looking down):
“ . . . enlarg’d the former narrow Bounds . . .”
MAN IN CROWD:
Bye, bye, Miss.
ANGEL:
“ . . . And added Length to solemn Sounds . . .”
WOMAN IN CROWD:
Get off the stage!!
ANGEL:
Fuck it. (Starts to sing; as he sings, Cecilia joins in, singing I Will Always Love You over his song) “Cecilia, you’re breaking my heart/You’re shaking my confidence daily/Cecilia, I’m down on my knees/I’m begging you please to come home.”
(Cecilia grabs his hand and they race out of the room; audience applauds)
EMCEE (does an improvisational line about the singing, then continues):
Well, folks, that about wraps it up for our karaoke session for tonight. Hope you all had a good time. Right now I’d like to turn the dance floor over to our DJ, who tells me that a number of you have requested that famous dance song that’s been sweeping the nation, the Saint Vitus.
(The remaining people in the club jerk, jump, and hop to stage center, then exit; Mother enters opposite as the last of them exits)
MOTHER:
Where is that girl? She’s going to miss her own funeral.
(Cecilia enters with Angel; he is holding flowers)
CECILIA:
Hi, Mom.
MOTHER:
You’re late.
CECILIA:
For . . . ?
MOTHER:
Your wedding.
ANGEL:
Your wedding?
MOTHER:
You’re late. Fortunately, so is the priest.
CECILIA:
Mother, I can’t get married today. I met the most wonderful angel today.
ANGEL (stepping toward Mother):
Hi, I’m . . .
MOTHER:
Fear to tread, boy. Stay right there.
ANGEL:
. . . Angel.
MOTHER:
Cecilia, this is very nice, but it is not acceptable. Valerian is waiting for you. It’s your big day. So you have an angel, Val is a saint.
CECILIA:
But I can’t break a promise. I promised my body to Angel.
MOTHER (Emcee enters during this):
And your soul to God when you were confirmed. You don’t have to break promises, dear. Give your body to this angel. We do have to take angels seriously. And give your soul to God. He is God, it’s His anyway. But give your love to Val, like you promised. And your obedience to me. Honor they father and mother.
EMCEE:
Fifth commandment—always a good one when you’re losing an argument. Hello, I’m Father McCloud.
CECILIA:
Father? But you . . . you’re . . . you’re the emcee.
EMCEE:
No, not the emcee. M-C. As in capital M. Capital C. For McCloud. Father McCloud. (Hands her a business card) See? M-C. Priest. Entertainer. Psychic. Accountant. See?
CECILIA:
I see ‘em.
EMCEE:
See? I can do anything. Heck, I can juggle the books for next year’s first confession party. Let’s get started. (To Angel) Is this the lucky man?
MOTHER:
Oh, no, he’s not a man. He’s an angel.
EMCEE:
How nice to see you again.
MOTHER:
Blessed are you, Father. (Turning) Val!!! She’s here! Father’s here!
VAL (entering with Ty):
It’s about time. My life begins today. Good afternoon, all.
CECILIA:
Hi, Val.
VAL (looking at Angel):
Who’s he?
MOTHER:
Oh, nobody. He’s an angel. He just blew in the door today.
ANGEL:
And boy are my lungs tired.
MOTHER:
And this is Father McCloud.
VAL:
M-C, yes. This is the best man, by brother, Ty.
MOTHER:
You know him?
VAL:
Yes, the embezzlement investigation. He saved my butt that day.
EMCEE:
Okay, let’s do it. I have a bar mitzvah to get to right away.
ANGEL:
You’re a rabbi, too?
EMCEE:
No. Entertainment. The orchestra.
MOTHER:
You’re in an orchestra, how nice. Who do you play with?
EMCEE:
Myself. (Beat) I’m a one-man band.
VAL:
Cecilia, are you ready?
CECILIA:
But I can’t give myself to you. I’ve promised to save myself for another.
VAL:
Excuse me, this is our wedding night. Do you know what you want?
EMCEE:
Do you take this man . . . ?
CECILIA (to Val):
Yes, I do. Of course.
EMCEE:
No need to get snotty, Miss. Just answer the questions.
MOTHER:
Oh, Father, I don’t think she meant you.
EMCEE:
Oh, I see.
VAL:
M-C?
EMCEE:
Yes.
VAL:
Are we going to do this?
CECILIA (to Val):
How can you turn away? Look at me.
EMCEE:
Do you take this woman . . . ?
(Pause)
ANGEL:
I will.
EMCEE:
I wasn’t talking to you.
CECILIA (to Val):
Look at me. Do you see me?
EMCEE:
Do you take this woman?
VAL (to Cecilia):
Yes, yes. Yes, I do.
EMCEE:
I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.
ANGEL (stepping between Val and Cecilia):
Uh-uh, mine.
EMCEE (exiting):
Wedding’s over. Time to go.
MOTHER (snapping pictures):
Freeze! You three make such a nice couple. This is the happiest day of my life.
VAL:
I have to go. Business. I’ll be back.
(Val exits with Ty, Mother following behind)
CECILIA:
Finally, we are alone.
ANGEL (falls to his knees):
Yes! I’m down on my knees. I’m begging you . . . please . . . to . . . come . . . come . . .
VAL (entering):
Back. What is going on here?
ANGEL:
Oh, hello. (Standing and offering Cecilia flowers) Just delivering flowers.
CECILIA:
Hi, Val. Thanks for the flowers.
VAL:
But I didn’t . . . they’re not . . .
CECILIA:
They’re heavenly. Thank you.
VAL:
Well, hey, you’re welcome. (A church bell rings) Oops. Have to go. Optimist Club meeting. I have to go make donations to the poor.
CECILIA:
Here, take my flowers for them.
(She throws Val some of the flowers and he exits)
ANGEL:
It’s about time you’re deflowered.
CECILIA:
Yes, I saved myself for you. I even joined the Virgin Club at school. You know, the one where they use peer pressure to keep you from doing what you want to do naturally. Just for you.
ANGEL (dropping to his knees):
Cool. But now . . . now . . . how does it start?
CECILIA:
Usually with a kiss.
ANGEL:
No, I mean the song. Cecilia.
VAL (walking in and seeing them):
You’re breaking my heart. Cecilia! Listen, Bud . . .
ANGEL (standing again and grabbing more flowers):
Flower guy. For you this time. For the poor.
VAL:
Oh, thanks. Very nice. Edible?
ANGEL:
Sorry, I’m not sure.
VAL:
Well, I’d better go before they die.
ANGEL:
They’re fresh-picked.
VAL:
The poor. I want to go before they die.
ANGEL:
That’s very noble of you.
VAL:
As a rich man, it’s the least I can do. Give a few things to the poor. Accept their thanks. Feel good about myself. Work my way into Heaven. Get in good with . . .
CECILIA:
Bye, Val.
VAL:
Pardon?
CECILIA:
The poor. They’re dying. You’re talking. They’re dying.
VAL:
Oh, yes. Things to do. I’ll be back. Thanks.
(He exits)
ANGEL:
Where were we?
CECILIA:
About to start something, I believe.
ANGEL:
Yeah, right.
VAL (entering, with Ty):
Hi, Honey. We’re home.
CECILIA:
Shouldn’t it take a little longer to save people’s lives? (Pause) Maybe, say, at least an hour or so?
VAL:
Why is this man still here? Cecilia, we’re going to die. (To Angel) Hi.
CECILIA:
Die?
VAL:
Aye. I. Ty.
CECILIA:
Ty die? I?
ANGEL:
Tie-dye?
VAL (to Angel):
Bye-bye.
CECILIA:
Why?
VAL:
Why? Why bye?
CECILIA (sobbing):
Why die?
VAL:
Why cry? Fly!
ANGEL:
My fly?
VAL:
Bye!
ANGEL (exiting):
Bye.
(Killer enters)
VAL (turning):
Hi, guy.
TY (verbalized):
(Sigh)
KILLER:
Hello.
VAL:
What?
KILLER:
I said hello. You got a problem with that?
VAL:
No, it sounds nice. No problem.
CECILIA:
What are you doing here?
KILLER:
I’m here to warn you.
CECILIA:
Oh. (Pause) About what?
KILLER:
We heard the three of you have been giving money to the poor.
CECILIA:
Yes, so?
KILLER:
You’re rich.
CECILIA:
And . . . that means . . . ?
KILLER:
It means you’re disrupting the hierarchy of the aristocracy. This kind of almsgiving should be left to the shrinking middle classes. You don’t need Heaven. You can buy it now. But the only way they can get there is by doing good things like helping those who are even worse off than they are. The poor get there because the last come first, the first last, the least of you shall be the greatest, blah, blah, blah. The poor don’t need your money. They need to stay poor, so they’ll be first in line at the gate. You can do the most by keeping your money. In other words, stop giving your money away. Or else.
CECILIA:
Or else what?
KILLER:
You’ll see.
BEGGAR (at the door with a large bucket):
Would you like to buy some boiling water?
VAL (crossing):
I’ll take a dollar’s worth.
(Val hands the beggar money and is killed)
CECILIA:
But he didn’t give money away. He was paying for the water.
KILLER:
As good as giving it away.
CECILIA:
But the beggar there is trying to earn a living, not just asking for money.
BEGGAR:
Brother, can you spare a dime?
(Ty hands the beggar money and is brutally attacked)
CECILIA:
But this beggar is obviously hungry.
KILLER:
Don’t betray your class. Or lack thereof.
BEGGAR:
Alms for the poor!
CECILIA:
Here, this is for you.
(Cecilia gives the beggar money; the Killer grabs her and puts her head in the boiling water; she is still alive; he pushes her off stage; many screams and thumps are heard and then he comes back with her head, which he sets on Val’s legs, then leaves; the beggar staggers around, looking at the bodies; Angel re-enters and goes over to Cecilia’s head)
ANGEL (singing):
Oh, Cecilia, you’re breaking my heart . . . (He breaks down crying)
BEGGAR:
Did you love her?
ANGEL:
I was head over heels in love with her.
BEGGAR:
I’m sorry.
ANGEL:
And I’m still a virgin.
BEGGAR:
I’m sorry.
ANGEL:
Are you?
BEGGAR:
Sorry?
ANGEL:
A virgin?
BEGGAR:
I’m sorry.
ANGEL:
Ah, what the fuck, where’s the bedroom?
(He grabs her hand and they exit; lights to black)
LAWRENCE TRANSITION
(Lights up on classroom)
STUDENT FOUR:
Wow, that’s cool.
STUDENT ONE (raising hand):
I thought all saints were burned at the stake.
TEACHER:
Oh, no. many of them were, but many were also stone, crucified, stabbed, or beaten. Some of them died natural deaths. But even the ones who were burned alive didn’t all die at the stake. Some, like Lawrence, were put on a spit and roasted slowly, and faced up to it with humor and bravery.
STUDENT TWO:
Sounds like another story.
TEACHER:
It is. Let’s check it out.
(Lights to black)
LAWRENCE
(Lights up; Governor enters and stands; two guards enter with Pope Sixtus; Lawrence enters and hides behind a chair)
GUARD ONE:
Governor, here is Pope Fiveus for you.
POPE SIXTUS:
Sixtus.
GUARD ONE:
Sixtus.
GOVERNOR:
One, two, three . . . four, five, sixtus . . . take him to the stake . . . that will fix us.
(Lawrence begins to sob as they cross with Sixtus; a Narrator enters)
POPE SIXTUS (as he passes Lawrence):
Don’t cry, son.
NARRATOR:
Lawrence was very sad that Sixtus was going to die a glorious death and that he did not get the same privilege.
LAWRENCE:
I am very sad that you are going to die a glorious death and that I do not get the same privilege.
POPE SIXTUS:
In three days, you will follow me.
LAWRENCE:
Great! You mean . . . really?
POPE SIXTUS:
Yes, the same fate awaits you.
(Lawrence breaks down and cries harder as the guards take Pope Sixtus out)
NARRATOR:
Three days later . . .
(Guards enter and arrest Lawrence, taking him across to the Governor)
GOVERNOR:
Lawrence, you have been arrested because this is a police state. You are accused of maybe possibly in some way dealing or using drugs or associating with known, suspected, possible, potential, or falsely accused drug users or dealers or possibly friends, relatives, or associates of the same, so I order you to surrender all your belongings and the belongings and treasures of your church, which is a possible drug house of the Lord. (Governor pants, out of breath) Give it up, boy.
LAWRENCE:
You want the treasures of the church?
GOVERNOR:
Yes.
(Lawrence whistles; an Invalid and Beggar enter)
LAWRENCE (ala Henny Youngman):
Take my poor and sick—please.
GOVERNOR:
Get them out of here!
(Guards shoo away the Invalid and Beggar)
GUARD TWO:
Get out of here, you nasty poor and sick people!
NARRATOR:
Lawrence had secretly sold all the artwork and things that the governor was looking for and if there were drugs, apparently got rid of them. He then offered the governor what he claimed was the real treasure of the church. The governor did not agree with his assessment.
GOVERNOR:
Burn him!
NARRATOR:
Lawrence was put on a spit over a slow fire and left to burn.
(Guards put him face down on a spit; I’m On Fire, by Bruce Springsteen plays; the Guards crawl under to light the flame; they have trouble getting into place; when they do, their fingers become the burning flames and they are now the fire)
FIRE (in unison):
Duh, I am a slow fire. Duh, I do a slow burn.
(A bit of time passes as they all watch Lawrence burn)
NARRATOR:
Later.
LAWRENCE:
You may turn my body over. It is roasted enough on that side.
(The spit is rotated and his body turns face down; song changes to Great Balls of Fire; lights start to fade slowly)
LAWRENCE (as lights are reaching black):
Maybe I was a bit premature on that. Could you maybe turn me back the other way? Hello. Hello. Buns aren’t done yet. (Stage is black) Ouch.
OH, CLARE! TRANSITION
(Lights up on classroom)
STUDENT ONE:
Is there a patron saint of television?
TEACHER:
As a matter of fact there is. Her name is Clare and she was a friend of Saint Francis.
STUDENT THREE:
But he lived way back when. They didn’t have televisions then.
STUDENT FIVE:
If she was a saint she might have.
(Students all laugh)
TEACHER:
Actually, that’s not so funny or far off. Sometimes, saints are made the patron of new inventions or new jobs because of things they did in their lives that somehow relate.
STUDENT ONE:
She was a movie star.
TEACHER:
No.
STUDENT THREE:
An actress.
TEACHER:
No, nothing that close.
STUDENT TWO:
Then what?
TEACHER:
She had visions.
STUDENT FOUR:
Huh?
TEACHER:
Because she had visions, which are essentially messages from other realms, the leaders of the church thought that seemed like a good saint to make the patron of television, which is more or less messages from other places.
STUDENT TWO:
That’s stupid.
STUDENT FIVE:
I’d like to have a vision.
STUDENT THREE:
Did she have visions her whole life?
TEACHER:
No, they started after she met Saint Francis, cut off her hair, and became a nun. If you want to know more, I have a videotape we can watch.
STUDENT ONE:
Go for it.
(Lights to black)
OH, CLARE
(The theme song for the sitcom, Oh, Clare! starts in the dark; lights up on pacing Clare; she appears heavy-set—this should be done with pillows or other stuffing; her hair is all messed up, and her clothes are bedraggled; her sister, Agnes, is with her)
NARRATOR (as song is ending):
Oh, Clare! is filmed before a live studio audience.
(Canned applause as Clare paces)
CLARE:
What should I do? I just don’t know what to do.
AGNES:
What’s the matter, Clare?
CLARE:
Beatrice called and told me someone is going to ask me for a date.
(Laugh track)
AGNES:
That’s great. You haven’t had a date in about 50 years.
(Laugh track)
CLARE:
But it’s Bobby Bob. She just called to tell me he’s on his way.
(Laugh track)
AGNES:
What are you going to do?
CLARE:
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
AGNES:
Maybe you could make yourself unattractive. (Long pause; long laugh track)) Let’s call Francis.
CLARE:
Great idea. (She dials) Francis? Saints be praise, it’s you. Emergency. I need your help right away. Come on over.
(Doorbell rings; Agnes answers; Francis is at the door)
AGNES:
Francis is here, Clare.
CLARE (hanging up the phone and turning):
Thanks for coming.
(Applause as Francis enters)
FRANCIS:
Always a pleasure.
(Laugh track)
CLARE:
Francis, I need your help. Bobby Bob is going to ask me for a date. And you know I don’t know how to say no.
FRANCIS:
You don’t?
CLARE:
No. You don’t know . . .
FRANCIS:
No, I don’t.
AGNES:
Francis, she needs your help.
FRANCIS:
Maybe you should pray to Saint Jude. This is a lost cause.
(Laugh track)
CLARE (kneeling):
No, really, I need you to intercede for me. Do something.
FRANCIS:
Well, whenever I’m asked on a date, I usually say no. Yes. No. Yes. And then kick them out of the house.
(Laugh track)
AGNES:
Francis, she’s serious.
FRANCIS:
So am I. (Laugh track; to Clare) But anyway, what to do about you?
AGNES:
We don’t know. That’s why we called you.
FRANCIS:
Maybe we could make you look unattractive. (Long pause; long laugh track) No, really. Different people are attracted to different things. If Bobby Bob didn’t find you attractive he wouldn’t be asking you out for a date, right?
CLARE:
Right.
FRANCIS:
So, we just have to figure out why he finds you so attractive.
AGNES:
Final Jeopardy answer is, “Because it makes himself feel better.” Final Jeopardy question is, “Why would any man ask this woman for a date?”
(Laugh track)
FRANCIS:
I honestly don’t know what to say.
CLARE:
Well, it can’t be the hair. It’s hideous.
AGNES:
Actually, the last woman he dated looked just like you in the hair department.
CLARE:
What do you mean?
AGNES:
Like a head in the eye of a hurricane.
(Laugh track)
FRANCIS:
Okay, time to cut the hair. I’ll do it for you. (Singing) Snip, snip here, snip, snip there, and a couple of tra-la-la’s . . .
CLARE:
Stop! Cut! You are not going to do my hair. You are not a professional hair dresser.
FRANCIS:
So, you want to date Bobby Bob?
CLARE:
No, I . . . okay, when can I make an appointment?
FRANCIS:
Five minutes. I won’t let you down.
CLARE:
Good. Once I get the hair cut, I’ll be unattractive to him. I’m certainly well overweight. That should help.
AGNES:
Actually, the last woman he dated looked just like you in the weight department.
CLARE:
What do you mean?
AGNES:
Like a mansion in a mobile home court.
(Laugh track)
FRANCIS:
Time to diet. Hi. Dr. Francis, dietician, nutritionist, and friend. How may I help you?
CLARE:
Francis, I can’t lose weight. I’ve tried every diet there is.
FRANCIS:
Must not have.
(Laugh track)
CLARE:
No, I have. I cost Richard Simmons about a thousand dollars in postage. (Laugh track) Susan Powder lost 50 pounds running to the phone to talk to me. (Laugh track) But even after all that, Save The Children tried to get me to replace Sally Struthers. (Laugh track) Nothing works, and he’s on his way—I have to lose weight fast.
FRANCIS:
That’s it!
AGNES:
What?
FRANCIS:
Fast. You have to fast.
CLARE:
I have to what fast?
FRANCIS:
Lose fat fast. Fast fast.
CLARE:
Wait.
AGNES:
Weight, fat. What’s the difference?
CLARE:
No, wait.
AGNES:
Weightlessness? Then you’ll just float away from him? Is that what you want? Clare, you need to come down to earth.
(Laugh track)
CLARE:
No, wait. W-A-I-T. Wait.
AGNES:
Okay, wait what?
CLARE:
He’s coming over any time. How are we supposed to make this happen before he gets here?
FRANCIS:
Give me five minutes. Five minutes with me and you’ll be a new person. I can work miracles in three rooms—kitchen, bedroom, and beauty salon.
(Laugh track; doorbell rings)
CLARE:
Oh, no.
FRANCIS:
Let’s go.
(Clare and Francis exit; Agnes goes to the door; Bobby Bob enters)
BOBBY BOB:
Hi, Agnes.
(Laugh track and applause)
AGNES:
Hi, Bobby Bob. What’s up?
BOBBY BOB:
Just stoppin’ by. Where’s Clare?
AGNES:
In the bedroom with Francis.
BOBBY BOB:
What!?!
AGNES:
No, he’s doing her up.
BOBBY BOB:
He’s . . . I thought he was, uh, sort of, you know, gentle, if you know what I mean.
AGNES:
He’s working on her . . .
BOBBY BOB:
What!?!
AGNES:
. . . hair.
BOBBY BOB:
That’s more like it.
AGNES:
And body.
BOBBY BOB:
What!?!
AGNES:
Fixing it.
BOBBY BOB:
Oh. But I like her the way she is.
AGNES:
We know, dear. We know.
(Laugh track)
BOBBY BOB:
When’s she gonna be done?
AGNES:
How long are you staying?
(Laugh track)
BOBBY BOB:
Hey, are you makin’ fun o’ me?
AGNES:
No more than a mirror in the morning. (Laugh track) Afternoon. (Laugh track) Evening. (Long augh track)
BOBBY BOB:
I think you are. I think you think I’m dumb. Well, I’m not. I was the valerdictation in my class.
AGNES:
Oh, I’m sorry, Bobby Bob. Forgive me. You’re in a class by yourself.
(Laugh track)
BOBBY BOB:
Thank you. Well, I think I’m gonna wait for her to git done.
(Francis and Clare re-enter; Clare is now thin and has no hair)
CLARE:
Hello, Bobby Bob, so nice of you to drop by today.
BOBBY BOB:
Oh, Clare!
(Theme song starts)
NARRATOR:
We’ll be right back to Oh, Clare! after these commercial messages.
CLARE (walking down the street with two children):
For 75 cents a day, you can help feed these starving children. Yes, there’s hunger in Indiana as well as India. Welfare is going away, people are getting greedier, and children roam the streets begging for food and digging through garbage hoping to find a tossed out pizza. This girl used to cry all the time. Now she’s smiling because she’s alive, because one person cqared enough to do something about it. Can’t you care, too? Please. 75 cents a day. Look, you make millions. Can you look at this boy’s sad eyes and not give him pennies? Can you not pick up the phone and call now? If you do, you’ll be helping feed him and others. We’ll send you a picture of him, or another child who’s not as cute. It’s suitable for framing, for placing on your office desk or your family photo wall. You’ll also get our newsletter, describing what your child is eating. And finally, you’ll get a biographical sketch of your child, describing how he or she got into this terrible predicament. Please, do yourself a favor and call now. You’ll feel like you really care. Call now.
NARRATOR (over theme music):
And now back to the conclusion of Oh, Clare!
BOBBY BOB:
Clare, what happened to you?
CLARE:
What do you mean, Bobby Bob?
BOBBY BOB:
Your hair, your weight . . .
CLARE:
Isn’t it great?
FRANCIS:
You’re welcome.
BOBBY BOB:
Clare, I thought you were beautiful before, but now . . . now, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.
(Laugh track)
CLARE (to Francis)
Now what?
BOBBY BOB:
Clare, I have a question for you.
CLARE:
Bobby Bob, guess what? We’re moving, Francis and I. We got called by God.
BOBBY BOB:
Called by God?
FRANCIS:
Yes, Clare had a vision of God.
AGNES:
Of what?
FRANCIS:
Agnes, of God.
CLARE:
He said we had to leave. Right away.
BOBBY BOB:
But, where are you going?
AGNES:
Yes, where are you going?
FRANCIS:
I don’t know. Where should we go?
CLARE:
I don’t know. How about . . . uh . . . Wisconsin?
FRANCIS:
Oh, Clare, Wisconsin? Are you kidding?
(Laugh track)
CLARE:
Oh, wait, wait, I’m having a vision.
(She falls to the floor)
BOBBY BOB:
Are you all right?
CLARE (rising):
Yes, yes. I had a vision. About a Christmas mass. In San Francisco.
FRANCIS:
It’s like you have a television in your head, Clare.
(Laugh track)
CLARE:
We have to go to San Francisco.
AGNES:
San Francisco?
FRANCIS:
Sounds good to me. I’ll go with you.
BOBBY BOB:
But you can’t just up and leave.
CLARE:
I have to. It was a vision. Like a command from God. I’m moving there today. I’m becoming a nun.
(Laugh track)
FRANCIS:
And I’ll go with you.
BOBBY BOB:
But you’re a guy. You can’t become a nun.
FRANCIS:
There’s more than one sisterhood in San Francisco, believe me.
BOBBY BOB:
Huh?
(Laugh track)
CLARE:
Francis, are you ready?
AGNES:
Aren’t you going to pack?
FRANCIS:
Oh, fudge! Pack!
(Laugh track)
CLARE:
No, sell all my belongings. It’s time for me to go.
(Laugh track; she grabs Francis’ hand and they exit, leaving Agnes with Bobby Bob)
BOBBY BOB:
Agnes, I guess I’ll ask you.
AGNES:
Oh, uh . . . I . . .
BOBBY BOB:
I was in the store the other day.
AGNES:
What?
BOBBY BOB:
And I could find the prunes.
AGNES:
Prunes.
BOBBY BOB:
But I couldn’t find the dates.
(Laugh track)
AGNES:
Dates.
BOBBY BOB:
Do you know what aisle . . .
AGNES (screaming as she exits):
Clare!! Francis!! Oh, Clare!!
BOBBY BOB (sitting):
People are weird.
(Lights fade as theme song plays)
HERMIT STOMP TRANSITION
(Lights up on classroom)
STUDENT FOUR:
It seems like a bunch of the saints knew each other.
TEACHER:
Many of them were good friends.
STUDENT THREE:
I thought saints couldn’t have friends.
TEACHER:
What do you mean?
STUDENT THREE:
I thought they had to live alone, either in a little room in a monastery or out in the desert or something.
STUDENT ONE:
Yeah, being suckled by wolves.
TEACHER:
You’re thinking of hermits.
STUDENT TWO:
Aren’t all hermits saints?
STUDENT FIVE:
Saint Herman. That’s funny.
TEACHER:
No, just living alone and being close to God doesn’t guarantee sainthood.
STUDENT TWO:
All saints are hermits then?
TEACHER:
No. A hermit is someone who chooses to be alone most of the time to contemplate God. Some completely withdrew from life and some had a lot of contact with the world. Some lived in monasteries most of the time, but left on occasion to be alone. Saint Antony the Abbot is a good example. Most of the time he lived on a mountain, but he did found several monasteries that he visited often.
STUDENT FOUR:
What kind of fun could you have at a monastery?
STUDENT FIVE:
Monasteries weren’t designed for fun.
TEACHER:
That’s right. They were designed for silence and prayer. Oftentimes the people living there didn’t talk to each other except for very limited periods of time. They couldn’t dance, they couldn’t talk. They couldn’t do anything but work and pray. It was a way to keep the temptations of the world out and the focus on God.
STUDENT ONE:
I’ll bet that didn’t work very well.
TEACHER:
What do you mean?
STUDENT ONE:
Well, you’re going to get tempted.
STUDENT TWO:
Yeah, they couldn’t not sin.
TEACHER:
They did their best. But I’m sure there were times when they found themselves getting caught up in the world and gave in to it. These places kept it at a minimum.
STUDENT THREE:
Then what? What happened when they sinned?
STUDENT FIVE:
More time in Purgatory.
STUDENT FOUR:
Guilt, dude.
TEACHER:
Actually, yes, and peer pressure. Self-punishment. Let’s examine this a little closer.
(Lights fade to black)
HERMIT STOMP
(Lights up; a hermit enters, performing self-flagellation with a pom-pom; s/he walks to center stage, kneels, and begins to pray; once s/he is set, other monks/hermits enter with various tools; one has a post hold digger, which creates a rhythm that the others start to notice; one by one, the others start creating rhythms and music with their tools, as well as dancing to the rhythms, ala Stomp; it gets faster and faster, until finally it is stopped by a loud clap of thunder; all of them exit, except for the original hermit, who starts to beat her/himself again once they are all gone; lights fade to black)
NICHOLAS OF FLUE TRANSITION
(Lights up on classroom)
STUDENT THREE:
Do you have to be a virgin to be a saint?
STUDENT FIVE:
That’s the mother of God.
TEACHER:
Well, Mary was a virgin, but many of the saints were, too.
STUDENT ONE:
Why? Why would you want to give that up?
TEACHER:
Give what up?
STUDENT ONE:
You know . . . you know . . . the whole . . .
STUDENT FOUR:
Doin’ the nasty!
TEACHER:
Not all saints were virgins.
STUDENT TWO:
But why were any?
TEACHER:
Because they were trying to dedicate themselves completely to God without the earthly distractions around them.
STUDENT FIVE:
Nowadays it’s called repression.
STUDENT THREE:
But it wasn’t required?
TEACHER:
No, no. Many saints lived very human lives, often before they were called by God. Nicholas of Flue, for example, married and had ten children. He was a farmer and a soldier and, later in life became a hermit. Sometimes God calls at the most inopportune times.
STUDENT TWO:
Must’ve been what happened to my dad.
STUDENT FIVE:
Is that Saint Nick, as in Santa Claus?
TEACHER:
No, there have been many in the church named Nicholas. He just happens to have the same name. Let me tell you a little bit more about him.
(Lights to black)
NICHOLAS OF FLUE:
VOICE (in the dark):
But is it art?
(Lights up on a couple in an art museum; in the corner is a couple behind a frame, posed as American Gothic, by Grant Wood)
(The sound of gunfire is heard Nicholas of Flue stumbles onto the stage; he crosses and knocks on a door in the corner; a Farmer answers)
FARMER ONE:
What?
NICHOLAS:
What what?
FARMER ONE:
What the hell do you want?
NICHOLAS:
I’m looking for a place to stay.
FARMER ONE:
You’re not a traveling salesman, are you?
NICHOLAS:
No, I’m Nicholas of Flue. Who are you?
FARMER ONE:
Who am I? Hey, wait a minute, you’re not supposed to . . . (Yelling off stage) Who am I?
OFF STAGE VOICE:
Uh, just a second.
FARMER ONE:
Who am I? What, are you Joe Philosopher?
OFF STAGE VOICE:
Hey, you’re Farmer One!
FARMER ONE (yelling):
Thanks! (To Nicholas, as an actor) Farm . . . (Changes back to the character) Farmer One. Satisfied?
NICHOLAS:
Farmer One? I take it that means you’re not going to let me stay here.
FARMER ONE:
What makes you say that?
NICHOLAS:
What kind of a name is Farmer One? Farmer One implies there’s at least a Farmer Two, which implies I’m going to have to go on to the next house. Why am I wasting my time?
FARMER ONE:
I don’t know. Get out then. I don’t care.
(Farmer One exits; Nicholas goes to the American Gothic duo and knocks)
FARMER TWO (as he and his daughter poke their heads out of the frame):
Yeah.
NICHOLAS:
Hi. I need some help. I’m looking for a place to stay.
FARMER TWO:
You’re not a traveling salesman, are you?
NICHOLAS:
You’re not Farmer Two, are you?
FARMER TWO:
As a matter of fact, I am. How did you know?
NICHOLAS:
Never mind.
FARMER TWO:
So you’re not that traveling salesman we’ve heard so much about?
NICHOLAS:
No, I’m a soldier. Just out battling today.
FARMER TWO:
Okay, you can stay. But you gotta promise me two things.
NICHOLAS:
What?
FARMER TWO:
That you’ll stay away from my daughter and in the morning milk my cows.
NICHOLAS:
Milk your cows?
FARMER TWO:
You know how to milk cows, don’t you? You just put your hands together and pull. Like this.
(Farmer Two makes the motion of milking a cow)
NICHOLAS:
Well, actually, when I’m not soldiering I’m a farmer. So, yes, I do. In fact, I love it. I love everything about farms and farming.
FARMER TWO:
That would include farmers’ daughters, wouldn’t it?
NICHOLAS:
Well, I did say everything. I guess that would . . .
FARMER TWO:
Get lost, soldier boy.
(Farmer Two and his daughter retreat back into the painting; Nicholas crosses to last corner and knocks)
LAST FARMER:
Yeah, what?
NICHOLAS:
Don’t tell me, Farmer Three. (Pause) Right?
LAST FARMER:
Wrong. I’m Last Farmer. What can I do for you?
NICHOLAS:
I’m looking for a woma . . . I mean . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m looking for a place to stay.
LAST FARMER:
Okay, you got it.
(Pause)
NICHOLAS:
And?
LAST FARMER:
And what?
NICHOLAS:
Is there nothing you want to make me promise? Nothing you want me to do or not to do?
LAST FARMER:
Uh . . . Well, I guess, uh . . . I guess don’t wet the bed.
NICHOLAS:
You don’t have a daughter?
LAST FARMER:
As a matter of fact, I do. Forgive me, I forgot to introduce her. Dorothy, come here!
NICHOLAS:
You don’t want me to stay away from her?
LAST FARMER:
Oh, heck no. She’s going to be an old maid if I keep her hidden. Listen, if you want her, take her away. Doesn’t do a damn thing around here anyway. Except whine about not having a man. I’ve been hoping for someone like you to come along.
DOROTHY (sexily, as she enters):
Hello, boy, wandering?
NICHOLAS:
Not ‘ny more. I’m comin’ home.
(Last Farmer exits as Nicholas puts his arms around Dorothy; they fall down, roll around, then suddenly stop)
DOROTHY:
Nicholas, my darling, I have to tell you I’m pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m going to be a father! This is great! Yahoo!
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop)
DOROTHY:
My darling, I have to tell you I’m pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m going to be a father! This is great!
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop)
DOROTHY:
Darling, I have to tell you I’m pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m going to be a father! This is . . .
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop)
DOROTHY:
I have to tell you I’m pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m going to be a father! This . . .
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop; she is breathing heavily)
DOROTHY:
. . . Have to tell you I’m pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m going to be a father!
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop; he looks at her as if to ask why they stopped)
. . . to tell you I’m pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m going to be a . . . !
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop)
DOROTHY:
. . . tell . . . you . . . I’m . . . pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m going to be . . .
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop)
DOROTHY:
You! I’m pregnant!
NICHOLAS:
I’m going to . . .
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop)
DOROTHY:
I’m pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m going.
(They roll around again, then suddenly stop)
DOROTHY:
Pregnant.
NICHOLAS:
I’m . . .
DOROTHY (sobbing):
Pregnant.
NICHOLAS (standing):
I’m going.
DOROTHY:
What?
NICHOLAS:
God is calling me. I have to go live by myself for a while.
DOROTHY:
Nicholas, we have ten children.
NICHOLAS:
Yes, that’s nice. They’re nice. Good thing. Won’t give you trouble that way.
DOROTHY:
What am I to do?
NICHOLAS:
God is calling me. I can’t ignore him. Goodbye.
(Nicholas kisses her cheek and exits; Farmer One and Last Farmer enter laughing; they are drinking beer)
FARMER ONE:
Good jokes are funny because there’s truth in them.
LAST FARMER (seeing Dorothy):
Honey, why are you crying?
DOROTHY:
My husband, he’s such a saint. He left me alone with ten children so he could go be alone for a while.
FARMER TWO (still in the frame with his daughter in an American Gothic pose):
I told you.
LAST FARMER (crossing):
What?
FARMER TWO:
You never leave traveling salesmen, soldiers, sailors, whatever, with your daughter. It’s an old story, but a true one.
(Last Farmer hands Farmer Two a beer)
LAST FARMER:
Now I know.
DOROTHY:
You guys will have to put that in the next edition of your almanac.
FARMER ONE:
Yes, a lesson learned is a bush saved for your thoughts.
DOROTHY:
I need to be alone, too. Goodbye.
(Dorothy, Farmer One and Last Farmer exit; Farmer Two’s daughter very slowly turns her head longingly at the beer, then turns slowly toward her father)
FARMER TWO’S DAUGHTER:
I would grant thee a beer.
(Farmer Two slowly turns away; then, they both turn back and become the painting again as the lights fade to black)
SECOND VOICE (in the darkness):
Art is a dead window washer.
GUTHLAC OF CROWLAND TRANSITION
(Lights up on classroom)
STUDENT FIVE:
All these saints sound crazy to me.
STUDENT FOUR:
Yeah, toasted.
TEACHER:
Well, some, like Lawrence, enjoyed taunting their tormentors and making them think about what they were doing. Others, because of their closeness ot God or because of special gifts, had terrible visions of things. It was almost like they were crazy.
STUDENT ONE:
Like . . ?
TEACHER:
Pardon?
STUDENT ONE:
Like, it sounded like you were about to tell another story.
TEACHER:
I was thinking of Guthlac of Crowland, who was led to the gates of hell and saw the terrible things there.
STUDENT FOUR:
Now this one I want to hear more about.
TEACHER:
Okay, then, here’s more.
(Lights to black)
GUTHLAC OF CROWLAND
(Lights up, very dim, on Guthlac, sitting on the ground with his ears covered; the sound of crows is heard and slowly fades away; he jumps up and runs to a window)
GUTHLAC (screaming):
Crows, crows, go away, come back again . . . Saturday! (One crow is heard) Crow, crow, go, go, leave me alone! You’re a dark and evil and nasty one! (Another caw) Fly, fly! Go back to hell! You dirty bird! You sing too well! (Another caw; Guthlac continues more quietly now) You are the ghost at the gate of hell. You were the host when I ate too well. (A man enters and watches for a moment) You are the bird with the blackened soul. You were the word when my slackened soul . . . cried out! Hideout. Outcry. Doubt why. Life is . . . (Guthlac sees the man) Shit! My song is dead.
BARTHOLOMEW:
Good morning. And who are we this morning?
GUTHLAC:
Fine.
BARTHOLOMEW:
No, I said who, not how. Who are we this morning?
GUTHLAC:
If you don’t know who you are, then you should be in a mental institution.
BARTHOLOMEW:
I am. And I know who I am.
GUTHLAC:
Then why do you ask who we are, you fool?
BARTHOLOMEW:
It’s a figure of speech—the royal we.
GUTHLAC:
We royal tiny monarchs of our own little souls.
BARTHOLOMEW:
You’re crazy.
GUTHLAC:
You’re the doctor.
BARTHOLOMEW:
No, I’m Bartholomew, the nurses’ aide. And who are you today?
GUTHLAC:
As always, I am Guthlac of Crowland.
BARTHOLOMEW:
Yesterday you were . . .
GUTHLAC:
There is no yesterday! I have been and always will be nothing more than dust in God’s hand. Yesterday, today, and for all eternity. Dust in the hand of God.
BARTHOLOMEW:
But yesterday you told me . . .
GUTHLAC:
What I said was true at the moment. What I say now is true now. Time dies as the crow flies.
BARTHOLOMEW:
I brought something for you.
GUTHLAC:
What?
BARTHOLOMEW:
You know.
GUTHLAC:
No, I don’t.
BARTHOLOMEW:
You know what time it is.
GUTHLAC (frightened):
No! No! You can’t . . . don’t do that . . . please.
BARTHOLOMEW (sticking him forcefully with a needle):
It’s for your own good.
GUTHLAC:
To be visited by devils?! This is good for me?
BARTHOLOMEW:
Calm down. It’ll be all right. You’ll feel better. Relax.
GUTHLAC:
No. It happens every time.
(Four devils enter; one is laughing very demonically; one is wailing; one is crying; the other is silent; they all fall silent after a bit)
DEVIL ONE:
I am the devil of the east.
GUTHLAC:
You are an evil beast.
DEVIL ONE:
Do wrong, do wrong, do wrong.
GUTHLAC (attacking):
You have stayed here too long!
DEVIL ONE:
Do wrong, do wrong, do wrong.
GUTHLAC:
You are killing the song!
BARTHOLOMEW (grabbing Guthlac):
Whoa, whoa! There’s no one there. Settle down.
GUTHLAC:
It’s that shot you gave me. It opens the gates of hell into my head.
DEVIL TWO:
I am the devil of the west.
GUTHLAC (breaking away from Bartholomew):
No! I like you even less.
BARTHOLOMEW:
I’m trying to help you.
DEVIL TWO:
Commit sin, commit sin, commit sin.
GUTHLAC:
I will not listen again.
BARTHOLOMEW:
Your choice.
DEVIL THREE:
The devil of the north.
GUTHLAC:
From here you must go forth.
BARTHOLOMEW:
I can’t.
DEVIL THREE:
Do it, do it, do it.
GUTHLAC:
Screw it! Screw it! Screw it!
DEVIL FOUR:
The devil of the south.
GUTHLAC:
The words stay in my mouth.
DEVIL FOUR:
Murder, murder, kill him.
GUTHLAC:
I . . . yes . . . heard her . . . kill him.
(He turns on Bartholomew; pulls his belt off and moves toward him)
BARTHOLOMEW:
What are you talking about? What are you doing? (Getting scared) Get back.
GUTHLAC:
It’s for your own good.
DEVIL ONE:
Do wrong.
DEVIL THREE:
Do it.
GUTHLAC (grabbing Bartholomew):
In the name of God . . .
DEVIL TWO:
Commit sin.
DEVIL FOUR:
Kill him.
GUTHLAC (wrapping the belt around Bartholomew’s neck):
. . . I exorcise the demons . . .
DEVIL ONE:
Do wrong.
DEVIL THREE:
Do it.
GUTHLAC (struggling):
. . . that you have brought me . . .
DEVIL TWO:
Commit sin.
DEVIL FOUR:
Kill him.
GUTHLAC (as Bartholomew drops):
. . . and now you are a freeman. (The devils all scatter and exit, making the sounds they made on entrance; Guthlac drops to his knees; the sound of a crow is heard in the distance) I kill you and bless you in the name of God, the maker of your body, the maker of the crow, the maker that is God . . . He . . . is . . . the maker of the crow.
(Guthlac lets out an agonizing scream as the sound of many crows gets louder and the lights fade to black)
COSMAS AND DAMIAN TRANSITION:
(Lights up; transition between Guthlac of Crowland and Cosmas and Damian should be improvised; lights down after improvisation)
COSMAS AND DAMIAN
(Lights up on a free clinic on the east side of a medium-sized Midwestern city)
NURSE:
Dr. Cosmas, Dr. Damian is here.
COSMAS:
Thank you.
DAMIAN:
Cosmas, brother, isn’t this great? Did you ever think we’d do it, that we have our own free clinic?
COSMAS:
I didn’t think we’d ever be able to afford anything, even free.
DAMIAN:
It’s not free; it’s costing us. Dearly.
COSMAS:
How can it be free and cost us at the same time?
DAMIAN:
We have to pay rent, licensing, taxes, all that.
NURSE:
Wages.
DAMIAN:
But we’re giving our service away for free.
COSMAS:
That’s nice of us. Did we both decide that? I don’t remember.
DAMIAN:
Yes.
COSMAS:
How do we make money? How do we live?
DAMIAN:
We don’t. We are poor and we will stay poor. In a financial sense. But we are rich in spirit. We have a wealth of love.
COSMAS:
And no money. How do we eat?
DAMIAN:
With our fingers.
COSMAS:
I’m serious. I want to be generous, but I need to live.
DAMIAN:
We depend on the kindness of friends. Grants. Giveaways. Donations. An occasional winning lottery ticket.
NURSE:
That would be a miracle.
COSMAS:
Yes, and we’re not miracle workers.
DAMIAN:
I think with our love we are capable of anything. Even miracles. Let’s open for business.
(Damian unlocks the door and a man enters, pushing a woman in a wheelchair)
WOMAN IN WHEELCHAIR:
I am in a wheelchair.
NURSE:
And I’m suffering from P. M. S. What’s your point?
DAMIAN:
Arise! (The woman jumps up out of her chair and her companion passes out into the chair; to Woman) Get out of here now!
(She races out, pushing the man in the wheelchair)
COSMAS (looking out after them):
A miracle. Damian, you were right.
NURSE (to Damian):
That was no miracle.
DAMIAN (to Nurse):
A miracle perceived is a miracle believed.
NURSE (to Damian):
That woman could walk when she came in. She didn’t say she was paralyzed. She said she was in a wheelchair.
DAMIAN (to Nurse):
And she was, and now she is not.
NURSE (to Damian):
Because you knew she was trying to scam S. S. I.
DAMIAN (to Nurse):
If Cosmas wants and needs to believe, then I will not steal his dreams.
COSMAS:
What are you two talking about?
DAMIAN (turning to Cosmas):
Nothing.
NURSE:
Just so you both know, I’m looking for another job.
COSMAS:
This is your first day.
NURSE:
And if I don’t get paid, I’ll be outta here. I’m not staying for charity. Just so you know.
DAMIAN:
I believe that once word gets out about the miraculous work we do here, the patients and the money will start pouring in.
NURSE:
Right.
(A man with sunglasses enters; during the following Cosmas is trying to get his attention, not realizing the man is blind)
BLIND MAN:
Hello. Anyone here?
NURSE:
Can’t you see we’re busy?
BLIND MAN:
Actually, I’m blind.
NURSE:
Look here, Mister.
BLIND MAN:
I can’t.
NURSE:
I see.
BLIND MAN:
Well, I don’t. Stop tormenting me.
DAMIAN:
Nurse! Nurse, we’ll handle this.
NURSE:
Geez, a woman can’t even talk around here without getting yelled at. I’m looking for another job.
(Blind Man turns to go as Cosmas is turning; they crash into each other)
BLIND MAN:
Oh, my god! It’s a miracle!
NURSE:
What, did the Cubs win the World Series?
BLIND MAN:
I can see, I think. I think I can see. (He starts feeling Cosmas’ face, then starts talking very child-like as he touches different things) Nose. Ears. Eyes. Eyes. Yes, I see. Mouth. And lips. Chin. Neck. Shoulders. Chest. Stomach. Waist.
COSMAS (interrupting):
Okay! Okay! Enough anatomy for today. Thank you. Thank you. Come back tomorrow. Come back tomorrow for Dick and Jane and the little piggies. Thank you. Okay, goodbye. (Blind Man exits, starting to sing Amazing Grace as he leaves) Damian, my brother, you were right. God is with us. There are miracles happening here. And we haven’t even started using the aromatherapy, acuforks, channeling, charkas, or geolove.
NURSE:
Geolove?
DAMIAN:
Earth love. You love it. It loves you. And a healing energy goes forth.
NURSE:
I think I put in my two weeks about thirteen days ago.
COSMAS:
We weren’t open then.
(A Customer comes to the door)
CUSTOMER:
Do you do exorcisms?
NURSE:
Eat shit.
CUSTOMER:
Well, okay, I guess, if that’s what it takes.
(Customer exits)
COSMAS:
Wait! (Turning back to Nurse) That wasn’t very nice. We could have helped him.
NURSE:
You do exorcisms?
DAMIAN:
Yes, we could have cleansed his soul.
NURSE:
I’m a license, registered nurse. What am I doing here?
CUSTOMER (re-entering):
Human or animal?
DAMIAN:
Wait. We can help you.
CUSTOMER:
Thank you. I’ve been plagued by demons for so long.
(Damian and Cosmas take out a rosary and holy water sprinkler and start mumbling prayers, while circling around, hovering over, crouching by, etc.)
DAMIAN:
Okay, go home, say ten Hail Marys, ten Our Fathers, and an Act of Contrition. You should be healed.
CUSTOMER:
Thank you, man. I’ll spread the word about you guys.
(Customer exits; as he does so a Man enters with a Woman in his arms)
MAN:
Help! Help me. My wife, she’s dead.
NURSE:
We don’t do sex therapy here. (To Damian) Or do we?
COSMAS (to Damian):
I told you not to go through a temp agency.
(Damian leans over Woman, giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation)
WOMAN (rousing):
I, I was walking. I was walking down a tunnel into a bright light. I think it was into the hands of God. There were relatives and friends. All white, bright light. Lite Brite. It was a place full of love. Where am I?
MAN:
Darling, the good doctors here brought you back to life.
WOMAN:
What?!? I was in Heaven, you bastard! I was with God! And you bring me back to this? To . . . to . . .
MAN:
Now, dear, calm down, you’ve had a traumatic experience.
WOMAN:
No, coming back to this shithole is a traumatic experience! Being pulled from Heaven and plunked onto the floor of some asshole doctor is traumatic. Waking up to your no-good, rotten face is traumatic. Being brought back to this horrible . . .
MAN:
All right! I get the idea. Doctor, can you do anything? Is it too late for her to die?
COSMAS:
Sorry. Hippocratic oath, you know.
MAN:
Damn. Thanks anyway. (As he starts to exit) Honey, are you coming?
WOMAN:
Yes, damn it all. Damn it all.
COSMAS:
No charge. Thank you. Come back again.
(They exit)
NURSE:
Wonder what she was like at birth. Probably didn’t want to leave the warm ocean behind her.
(A One-Legged Man enters)
ONE-LEGGED MAN:
Hello.
NURSE:
What the hell do you want?
DAMIAN:
Good afternoon, sir. I’m sorry. Meet Clara Barton, the battle axe of the angel field. It’s her last day today.
ONE-LEGGED MAN:
As you can see, I am a one-legged man. I have only one leg.
NURSE:
Thank you for that useful elaboration.
DAMIAN:
The biddy with the lamp.
NURSE:
One more and I’m out of here.
DAMIAN:
Unfortunately, I’m out. (To One-Legged Man) Now, what can we do for you?
ONE-LEGGED MAN:
I’d like a leg.
DAMIAN:
Cosmas, have we any legs?
COSMAS:
Among us, seven, I think.
DAMIAN:
I mean in stock.
COSMAS:
I’m not sure.
DAMIAN:
One moment. I’ll be right back. Cosmas, regale him with stories or something.
(Damian exits; there is an awkward silence)
COSMAS:
I’m not very good with stories.
ONE-LEGGED MAN:
That’s fine, don’t worry.
COSMAS:
How did you lose your leg?
ONE-LEGGED MAN:
In a poker game.
COSMAS:
High stakes.
ONE-LEGGED MAN:
No, nickel ante, but the loser got sore and blew my leg off.
NURSE:
I’d kick his ass.
DAMIAN (re-entering):
Back. We have one leg in stock, from a man who died just his morning and donated all his body parts to science and doctors. It is, however, African-American.
ONE-LEGGED MAN:
I don’t care. It’s a leg.
DAMIAN:
All right, come on back. I’ll attach it to your stump.
(They exit; blackout; lights immediately back up)
COSMAS (looking at watch):
Four hours. They should be done soon.
(Damian and One-Legged Man enter; at the same time, two white-sheeted characters enter opposite)
FIRST KLANSMAN:
We heard you was attaching Negro parts to white folk.
SECOND KLANSMAN:
Better not be true.
NURSE:
Fuck me.
DAMIAN:
Yes, actually, we just gave this man a new leg.
FIRST KLANSMAN:
He’s white.
NURSE:
Well, most of him.
FIRST KLANSMAN:
You people are sick.
SECOND KLANSMAN:
Ya’ll deserve to die.
(The Klansman grab Cosman and Damian and drag them off, then re-enter)
FIRST KLANSMAN:
That’ll show ya. We threw them into the lake.
(Cosmas and Damian re-enter)
SECOND KLANSMAN:
Hey, we drowned you. We chained ya and throwed ya into the lake.
COSMAS:
Thank God for that Red Cross swim class, hey brother?
DAMIAN:
And a healthy admiration for Harry Houdini.
FIRST KLANSMAN:
Burn the place!
(The Klansmen light a fire and watch as it travels out of the building)
SECOND KLANSMAN:
Hey, it’s not burnin’ in here!
FIRST KLANSMAN:
No, it’s goin’ . . . to . . . the . . . pickup truck. Oh, shit!
(A loud explosion is heard)
SECOND KLANSMAN:
Stone ‘em!
(They start picking up stones and throwing them, but the Cosmas and Damian block the stones with their hands and the stones bounce back and hit the Klansmen)
FIRST KLANSMAN:
Ouch.
SECOND KLANSMAN:
Ouch.
FIRST KLANSMAN:
Ouch.
SECOND KLANSMAN:
Ouch.
FIRST KLANSMAN:
Okay. Enough.
(First Klansman steps out and comes back in with a shotgun, blowing everyone but the Nurse away, including the Second Klansman; the final round ricochets and kills the shooter)
NURSE:
Wow, this is my day. I survived all that shit. It’s a miracle. Looks like the day is done.
(Blackout)
DECANONIZATION TRANSITION
(Lights up on classroom)
STUDENT THREE:
Weren’t some of the saints decommissioned?
TEACHER:
It’s not decommissioned. It’s decanonized. St. Christopher is probably the most famous.
STUDENT ONE:
So he’s not a saint anymore.
TEACHER:
He’s not on the church calendar, but he is honored locally, and that’s okay.
STUDENT TWO:
Why would they desaint him? Or anyone?
TEACHER:
Back in the 1960’s, they took a closer look and realized many of the saints were mythical, that there was no evidence they actually existed. For others, there was no real evidence that they had performed the miracles they were credited with performing. So the church said we can’t say with certainty that they were saints.
STUDENT FOUR:
Wow, do they lose their place in Heaven?
TEACHER:
We don’t know what their place in Heaven was.
STUDENT FIVE:
I got fired from a job waiting tables once. It sounds like the same thing.
STUDENT THREE:
A little more serious, I think. Who else got it, besides Christopher?
TEACHER:
Like I said, Christopher was the most well-known, but there was also Saint Vitus, Catherine of Alexandria, Genesius, who was the patron saint of actors.
STUDENT ONE:
So who are we supposed to turn to now?
TEACHER:
No one. There are no saints between you and the director.
STUDENT TWO:
Jesus.
TEACHER:
He stays out of the theater.
STUDENT FOUR:
Everyone’s a critic.
STUDENT THREE:
I want to know more about these ex-saints.
TEACHER:
Okay, then, let’s explore it a little further.
(Lights to black)
(Lights up as Christopher enters; there is a man standing guard at a bridge)
BRIDGEKEEPER:
Halt!
Who approaches the River of Death
Must answer me
These questions three
Ere the other side he see!
CHRISTOPHER:
Ask me the questions, Bridgekeeper. I am not afraid.
BRIDGEKEEPER:
What . . . is your name?
CHRISTOPHER:
My name is Cynocephalus.
BRIDGEKEEPER:
Sounds like a Japanese STD.
CHRISTOPHER:
It is a name that should be feared.
BRIDGEKEEPER:
Cynocephalus. What . . . is your quest?
CHRISTOPHER:
To get to the other side.
BRIDGEKEEPER:
Of the river of death?
CHRISTOPHER:
It’s more a stream.
BRIDGEKEEPER:
For a giant.
CHRISTOPHER:
Like me.
BRIDGEKEEPER:
What . . . is the air speed velocity of a nuclear missle?
CHRISTOPHER:
What do you mean? An African or European missle?
BRIDGEKEEPER:
That’s cheating. You can’t use the bridge. No one can use the bridge.
CHRISTOPHER:
Then I will carry the tourists across upon my back.
BRIDGEKEEPER (exiting as a tourist enters opposite):
Unfair competition! Lawsuit! Help! Lawyers, please!
CHRISTOPHER:
Now I can use the bridge.
BRIDGEKEEPER (popping back in for a moment):
Actually, it’s washed out.
TOURIST:
Hello! Anyone there? I need to get across.
CHRISTOPHER:
Two bits and I will carry you.
TOURIST:
You don’t look like a ferry.
CHRISTOPHER:
Four bits.
TOURIST:
You said two.
CHRISTOPHER:
Now it’s four.
TOURIST:
That’s highway robbery.
CHRISTOPHER:
It’s not a highway.
TOURIST:
Then it’s piracy.
CHRISTOPHER:
Capitalism.
TOURIST:
All right, take me away.
(Christopher carries the Tourist across and comes back to see Jesus waiting there)
CHRISTOPHER:
Hello, little boy.
JESUS:
Take me ‘cross.
CHRISTOPHER:
You’re just a little boy. What do you want on the other side of the river?
JESUS:
Land.
CHRISTOPHER:
I’ll take you but I can’t charge you. You’re too small.
(Christopher picks up Jesus and carries him on his back; it gets harder as he goes)
JESUS:
This is fun.
CHRISTOPHER:
My God, you are heavy for a little one. I feel as though I am carrying the burden of the entire world upon my shoulders.
JESUS:
You are. What’s your name?
CHRISTOPHER:
Cynocephalus. What’s yours?
JESUS:
Jesus or Christ. I go by either or both. Cynocephalus is a dumb name. I want to call you Christopher.
CHRISTOPHER:
That’s great. I could be called Christ for short.
JESUS:
That one’s taken.
CHRISTOPHER:
Chris, then.
JESUS:
Chris it is.
CHRISTOPHER:
But wait. Christopher means Christ bearer. That would mean . . . You are he?
JESUS:
Yes.
CHRISTOPHER:
Right.
JESUS:
Do you not believe?
CHRISTOPHER:
Whatever you say, kid.
JESUS:
Because of your faith I will make thee a saint.
CHRISTOPHER:
Can you do that?
JESUS:
Of course I can. And you will be the patron saint of travelers, from now until the end of the road of time.
GENESIUS (entering):
Stop! Stop! Stop!
CHRISTOPHER:
What are you doing?
GENESIUS:
I’m stopping the production. The script is horrid. The acting sucks. You need a professional like me.
JESUS:
And you are?
GENESIUS:
Genesius, God’s own actor.
CHRISTOPHER:
Right. You’re interrupting our little scene. Time to go crawl back into the little green room from which you came.
GENESIUS:
It was going nowhere.
JESUS:
And neither is he, obviously.
GENESIUS (declaiming):
Now is the winter of our discontent.
CHRISTOPHER:
Wait. That wasn’t written before you died. You can’t know it. It didn’t exist ‘til after you.
GENESIUS:
To be or not to be
That is the question.
JESUS:
Get the fuck outta here. This is our scene.
CATHERINE:
No, it’s mine.
CHRISTOPHER:
Who are you now?
CATHERINE:
I am Catherine of Alexandria, daughter of King Costus.
GENESIUS:
And that makes you an expert on acting.
CATHERINE:
I am well-educated in the liberal arts. I know that this is no good. You need to give the scene over to me, a virgin martyr who gives up milk and blood.
JESUS:
A virgin martyr. That’s never happened before. How original.
CHRISTOPHER:
You guys, I was here first. This was supposed to be the story of Christopher and you’ve made it something else. Leave Jesus and I alone, please.
POPE PAUL VI (entering, with a machine gun):
No, the whole scene is mine. I’ve got you where I want you.
CATHERINE:
Who do you think you are?
POPE PAUL VI:
I am Pope Paul VI, the Supreme Pontiff of the holy Roman Catholic church.
JESUS:
Oh, Pope, I have a confession to make. I’m not really Jesus. I’m just acting.
GENESIUS:
No, you’re not. You just think you are.
DIRECTOR (entering):
Hey, where’s Saint George? And Vitus? They were supposed to be here, too. What’s going on here?
POPE PAUL VI:
They’re dead. I killed them.
CHRISTOPHER:
You’re kidding.
JESUS:
You’re crazy, man.
POPE PAUL VI:
Yes, yes I am. Maybe someday I’ll be a saint. (He opens fire, gunning them all down)
Looniness and holiness,
Hand in hand.
Help make one a saint
And not just a man
(He exits as lights fade to black on the dead bodies)
GABRIEL TRANSITION
(Lights up on classroom)
STUDENT ONE:
Why are all the saints so old?
STUDENT TWO:
Yeah, either ancient in history or ancient in age.
TEACHER:
They’re not all old. There were a number of young ones.
STUDENT ONE:
Like who?
TEACHER:
Well, there’s Dominic Savio, who died at 15.
STUDENT TWO:
Yeah, but in ancient times everyone died young.
TEACHER:
No, he was from the mid-1800’s. Aloysius Gonzaga died at 23 in 1591. Then there was 12 year old Maria Goretti. Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows, who loved the pleasures of life as a teen, before turning to God. He died at 24.
STUDENT FIVE:
So I could be a saint?
STUDENT FOUR:
I think not.
STUDENT FIVE:
Well, there’s no age limit and Gabriel recovered from a wild youth. I want to be like him.
TEACHER:
Well, let’s see if you can.
(Lights to black)
GABRIEL OF OUR LADY OF SORROWS
(Lights up on a house in the suburbs)
BROTHER ONE:
Gabriel, Mom’s getting mad.
GABRIEL:
Yeah, why?
BROTHER ONE:
She wants the whole family to go to church this week. It hasn’t happened in ages.
GABRIEL:
Oh, well.
BROTHER ONE:
What do you mean oh, well?
(Sister enters)
GABRIEL:
I mean I’m not going. I’m reading fuckin’ Nietsche. I just finished Descartes. I think I am going to make my own life.
BROTHER ONE:
She’ll have a heart attack.
GABRIEL:
Then she makes her own death.
SISTER:
You’re shameless.
GABRIEL:
And you’re full of shame. And Catholic guilt. That’s good—Catholic guilt. Now there’s a reason for doing something.
SISTER:
You’re so selfish.
GABRIEL:
You’re so false.
SISTER:
Fuck you!
GABRIEL:
Whoa, the virgin speaks.
SISTER:
You’re 23 years old. Grow up.
BROTHER TWO (entering):
Everyone about ready?
SISTER:
Gabriel’s not going.
BROTHER TWO:
You have to go.
GABRIEL:
Have to?
BROTHER TWO:
It’s Easter Sunday. Mom will die.
GABRIEL:
I have to live. She can die, but I have to live. I don’t have to worship idols in the meantime.
SISTER:
Do you think of anything but yourself?
GABRIEL:
Maybe the next girl I’m gonna lay. What’s it to you?
SISTER:
Where is Mom?
BROTHER ONE:
Waiting in the living room.
BROTHER TWO:
Gabriel, you have to do your civic duty by going to church.
GABRIEL:
Civic duty is voting. I vote no.
BROTHER ONE:
Bro, God is cool.
GABRIEL:
You’re too young to know, little brother.
SISTER:
Well, come on. We have to go. Gabe, let’s go.
GABRIEL:
I said no.
SISTER:
She’ll be heartbroken.
GABRIEL:
There’s thirteen of us. She’ll never notice.
SISTER:
Come on.
BROTHER TWO:
Okay, when all else fails. (Pulling money from his wallet) Twenty bucks.
GABRIEL (taking the money):
Let’s go pray.
(They exit; as they do lights shift to the church, where a Young Woman enters opposite and kneels; a Priest enters and starts going through the motions of saying a Mass; other than a few scripted lines he just continuously mumbles; we occasionally hear him say “mass mass mass”, “God”, “Jesus”, “Pray”, “Amen”, and perhaps a little Latin)
PRIEST:
Easter Sunday . . .
(Gabriel’s family enters and take their places; Gabriel watches the service for a few moments, but then notices the Young Woman and beings watching her; she notices him and they keep making eye contact)
SISTER:
Pay attention.
GABRIEL:
She looks so sad.
PRIEST:
Communion.
(Priest continues to repeat “Communion”; Gabriel and Young Woman meet in the aisle and silently walk up to the Priest together)
GABRIEL & YOUNG WOMAN:
Amen.
(Gabriel and Young Woman return to their seats)
PRIEST:
The first Sunday after Easter . . .
(Gabriel is watching the Young Woman again)
SISTER (in a loud whisper):
Gabe, pay attention!
GABRIEL:
I am. I think.
SISTER:
No, I mean to the love of God.
GABRIEL:
I believe I am.
PRIEST:
Communion . . .
(Priest continues to repeat “Communion”; Gabriel and Young Woman get up, meet in the aisle and walk up to the Priest together)
GABRIEL:
I’m Gabriel.
YOUNG WOMAN:
Like the angel.
GABRIEL:
No, you are like an angel.
YOUNG WOMAN:
You’re a smooth talker.
GABRIEL:
Who are you?
(They are at the Priest)
PRIEST:
The body of Christ. (They separate and go back to their places) Second Sunday after Easter . . .
(Gabriel and Young Woman watch each other again)
BROTHER ONE:
Gabriel’s in love.
GABRIEL:
I feel Heaven calling me.
BROTHER ONE:
And?
GABRIEL:
And I could die for God now.
PRIEST:
Communion.
(Priest continues to repeat “Communion”; Gabriel and Young Woman meet in the aisle again)
GABRIEL:
I think I’m finding God.
YOUNG WOMAN:
I know I’ve found him.
GABRIEL:
He takes the shape of beauty before me.
YOUNG WOMAN:
You are a flatterer.
GABRIEL:
I want your . . .
PRIEST:
. . . body of . . .
YOUNG WOMAN:
Amen.
PRIEST:
Christ. (Slight pause) The third Sunday after Easter.
BROTHER TWO:
You’re never missing church now.
GABRIEL:
It’s a house of love.
BROTHER TWO:
That’s not the kind of love you’re supposed to find here.
GABRIEL:
I believe it is.
PRIEST:
Communion.
(Priest continues to repeat “Communion”; Gabriel and Young Woman meet in aisle again)
GABRIEL:
If God is love . . .
YOUNG WOMAN:
He is.
GABRIEL:
Then I love God.
YOUNG WOMAN:
I know you do.
GABRIEL:
And I love you.
PRIEST:
. . . Christ. (Gabriel and Young Woman return to their seats) Many Sundays after the Resurrection.
(Gabriel is coughing during the service)
SISTER:
Are you all okay?
GABRIEL:
God will take care of me. He always has.
PRIEST:
Communion.
(Priest continues to repeat “Communion”; Gabriel and Young Woman meet in aisle again)
GABRIEL:
I’m dying now.
YOUNG WOMAN:
No, you can’t.
GABRIEL:
God is calling. It’s time to meet Him.
YOUNG WOMAN:
I love you. I always will.
GABRIEL:
Remember me, somehow.
YOUNG WOMAN:
I cannot forget.
PRIEST:
The blood of Christ. (They separate and go back to their places; Gabriel slumps over) Funeral.
SISTER:
I believe our brother was a saint.
BROTHER ONE:
Yeah, and look where he came from.
BROTHER TWO:
There’s hope for all of us.
BROTHER ONE:
There is.
PRIEST:
Leaves are brightest ‘ere they die;
And so it is with you and I.
A hundred roads, a thousand turns;
A million times the heart will yearn.
But only when love comes to flower,
Only at our finest hour;
Only then can we face death;
Only when we’re at our best.
The larvae waits ‘til it can fly,
‘Til it becomes a butterfly.
Leaves are brightest ‘ere they die.
And so it is with you and I.
In youth we spurn advice from old.
We turn and watch our lives unfold.
We know that nothing will befall us.
Untimely death, it will not call us.
We hear no wisdom from beyond;
Just play with youth until it’s gone.
Soon all our yesterdays are spent,
With no idea where they went.
The larvae waits ‘til it can fly,
‘Til it becomes a butterfly.
Leaves are brightest ‘ere they die.
And so it is with you and I.
And youth, like leaves in autumn wind,
Will never know how much it’s sinned.
It only knows that love redeems
And only sees what can’t be seen—
That God is in the bitter winter cold,
In the white of snow and gray of old,
In the place we find not far apart,
In the love we find in our own hearts.
The larvae waits ‘til it can fly,
‘Til it becomes a butterfly.
Leaves are brightest ‘ere they die.
And so it is with you and I.
So it is with you and I.
CONGREGATION:
Amen.
(Lights to black)
EPILOGUE:
STUDENT FOUR:
I thought he was a saint.
TEACHER:
He was.
STUDENT FOUR:
I didn’t see any miracles.
TEACHER:
For him, and for many of the saints, the miracles didn’t occur while they were alive. There were miracles at their tombs after they died. Interventions far away. Things like that.
STUDENT FOUR:
It’s a miracle this play is done. There must be at least one saint up there watching out for us.
(Lights to black)