THE COLOR OF DUST

a play

by

Callen Harty

ã 2000 Callen Harty

SCENE ONE

[The Ghost Lady of the Plains dances across the stage to a sad song; Happy is sitting on fence, but more or less looks right through her; Max comes in]

MIKE (off stage): That bull's got moo!

HAPPY: Heya.

MAX: Hello.

HAPPY: You the new guy?

MAX: Yep.

HAPPY: Where you come from?

MAX (turning slowly and pointing behind him): Yonder.

HAPPY: Uh-uh. I meant what place.

MAX: I was serious. Back there. Over there. That way. I'm from all over. I've never been in one place longer than about five minutes. Yonder and then some. You from here?

HAPPY: Uh, yep.

MAX: Have you lived here your whole life?

(Pause)

HAPPY: Not yet.

MAX (laughs): That's good. What's your name?

HAPPY: They call me Happy.

MAX: Is that your real name, clown name or nickname?

HAPPY: Uh, yep.

MAX: You remind me of someone from Maine. You're not a Maniac are you?

HAPPY: Never been there. What's your name?

MAX: Max.

HAPPY: That your real name, clown name or nickname?

MAX (smiling): Real. Very.

HAPPY: I heard a rumor that you're a cowboy poet.

MAX: Nope.

HAPPY: No?

MAX: Nope. Bullfighter poet.

HAPPY: Shiiit. That's the way. I think I'm gonna like you.

MAX: Well, good. That makes me feel better about things.

HAPPY: You ever ride?

MAX: A couple times, in Arizona and New Mexico. I'm not really about the rodeo. I'm about experience. So I rode a couple of times, just for the hell of it. Til I got hurt.

HAPPY: Yeah, like most of us. Too hurt or too old. Me, too hurt. I got bucked from the meanest horse this side of the Mississippi. But buckin' wasn't good enough for him. After throwin' me off he turned around and whupped me upside the head with a horseshoe. What happened to you?

MAX: Shakespeare.

HAPPY: That the name of a horse?

MAX: Nope.

HAPPY: Bull?

MAX: Nope. No bull.

HAPPY: Clown? (pause) What's left?

MAX: Poet. Cowboy poet. Best damn one that ever lived. I was riding and holding on for dear life and lost myself in a poem.

HAPPY: You can't do that. I don't believe it. Ain't got no time to be thinking on a bucking bronc.

MAX: No time to think maybe, but much to ponder. I was lost in it.

HAPPY: Lost in a poem?

MAX: Honestly.

HAPPY: With time to ponder?

MAX: Yeah. Listen. I'll recite for you. Listen carefully. You'll see what I mean. Time gets suspended somehow. Listen.

(The rest of the family enters after the first couple of lines)

How heavy do I journey on the way,

When what I seek--my weary travel's end--

Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,

'Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend!'

The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,

Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,

As if by some instinct the wretch did know

His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee:

The bloody spur cannot provoke him on

That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,

Which heavily he answers with a groan,

More sharp to me than spurring to his side;

For that same groan doth put this in my mind,

My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

MIKE (off stage): That was sweeter'n a cookie in a honey pot.

HAPPY: Wow. Cool. (Toward Mike's voice) You're right. That sounded cool. (To Max) But it don't sound like no cowboy poet I ever heard.

MAX: He was at heart. The best. Just a little before his time. Who are all these people, by the way?

HAPPY: That's my best friend, Mike. Mike, Max.

MIKE (extending his hand out from behind the curtain): Pleased to meet ya, pardner.

MAX: My pleasure.

HAPPY: And this is my family. My wife, Odale. My daughter, Faith. My boy, Byron.

MAX: Hi, I'm Max, the new guy. Pleased to meet you. Hey, you're a pretty young girl, aren't you? (Silence) I said I think you're a pretty young girl. I didn't mean anything by it, more than that. (Silence, with Faith looking at him) Well, don't just stare, say something.

HAPPY: She's deaf and dumb.

BYRON: Don't say dumb.

ODALE: She don't speak but a couple groans and she only hears through finger words.

MAX: I'm sorry. I didn't know.

HAPPY: Of course you didn't. No big deal.

MAX: Well, I don't speak sign. Can you tell her I think she's pretty?

HAPPY: I don't speak it either. I let the old lady do all the talking in our family.

MAX: Fine, I didn't mean to . . . (to Odale) Well, you can tell her.

ODALE: I'd rather not, thank you. She'll get a big head about things.

MAX (half-heartedly waving to Faith): Well, hi, at least. (Waving again) Hi.

(Faith makes a small wave at him) So, it's a great place you have here. Big. Lonely.

ODALE: We like it.

MAX: Well, listen, I need some rest. I should leave you all alone.

HAPPY: The bunks are up that hill and to the left. Yours is the second one.

BYRON: Can I go with you?

HAPPY: Don't mind him. He's always bothering the cowboys. If you don't want him tagging along, just say so

MAX: No, that's fine. You can come along.

(Max exits, with Byron following)

ODALE: Well?

HAPPY: He's not your normal cowboy, but I think he'll be okay.

ODALE: I don't trust him. He's different.

MIKE: That stranger's stranger than a three-legged calf.

FAITH (signing): He seems nice.

ODALE: Honey, you know I don't know that much of the way you talk, and Byron's not here to translate, so I don't know what to do with that, okay? (Signing the word for dinner as she speaks) Let's go make dinner. (To Happy) We're going to make dinner.

HAPPY: He seemed okay to me. Not your normal cowboy, but he seemed okay to me.

(Ghost Lady of the Plains enters and crosses the stage doing her dance; lights fade to black)

SCENE TWO

[Lights up; Happy is on the fence; Max enters, with Byron following]

HAPPY: Mornin'

MAX: Hi. How's it going?

HAPPY: Fine. Ready for lesson one?

MAX: I think so.

HAPPY (talking as he moves a barrel to center stage): Have a seat. Byron, you too. Get up on the fence, boy. Yo, Mike, you got that steed ready?

MIKE: He's so ready he was chewing hay before sunrise.

(Max and Byron sit on the fence)

BYRON: Hey, "good fences make good neighbors."

HAPPY: What the heck does that mean?

MIKE: It's Frost.

HAPPY: Feels fine to me. It was a little chilly earlier.

BYRON: It's a poet, Dad.

HAPPY: Poet. What'd'you know about poetry?

BYRON: Max taught me. Robert Frost, from New England. "Good fences make good neighbors." And there's a better one. "Two roads diverged in the woods." What's diverged mean again?

MAX: It means split off.

BYRON: "And I--I took the one less traveled . . . "

HAPPY: Quiet, Byron. Look, Max, I know you mean well, and you've traveled all over the world and I've only lived here, and you're all man as far as I can tell, climbing mountains and everything else, but men don't read or write poetry here. It ain't a right thing to do.

MAX: It's about experience, man. Why limit yourself to the prairie?

HAPPY: Well, because that's where we are.

BYRON: "And that has made all the difference."

HAPPY: That horse ready?

MIKE: As ready as a cat in heat.

HAPPY: Let 'im go!

(A horse runs onto the stage and goes right for Happy; he runs around the barrel and the horse gets past it too; he jumps onto the fence and the horse goes by; he jumps down and gets back in front of it and leads it back off stage; he re-enters)

MAX: Wow, you're faster than I would have expected.

HAPPY: That was your first lesson. Fear. You gotta have respect and fear and in all honesty be a coward.

MAX: So you just run away?

MIKE: Oooh, yeah! Fast as you can. Run like a dog that just winked at a skunk's butt.

HAPPY: It ain't quite that simple.

(Faith enters)

FAITH (signing, to Byron): Mom wants you in the house.

BYRON (signing and speaking): Tell her I'll be right there.

HAPPY: What'd she say?

BRYON: She said Mom wants me.

(Pause)

HAPPY: Then go.

BYRON: Ah, Dad, can't I wait?

HAPPY: No. Your Mom wants you, you go, you hear?

BYRON: All right. (To Max) Bye, Max. I'll see you later.

MAX: 'Bye.

(Byron and Faith exit)

HAPPY: You're a good man, I can see that. I'm just afraid you might be giving him things that we can't continue to give him when you're gone.

MAX: If you think about it, you probably are too.

HAPPY: Just be careful, all right?

MAX: Right. I will. I'll be careful. Life is poetry, though. And I think he likes it.

HAPPY: Yeah, I'm afraid he does.

MAX: And I think you do. You seemed to like the Shakespeare.

HAPPY: Yeah, that's different. Cowboy poetry's different. It's part of the whole western thing, you know. Because it's about here.

MAX: Really, poetry's just another way of looking at things, or talking about them. It's just another perspective.

HAPPY: We're not exactly used to other ways of looking at things around here. We see cowboys, horses, and bulls. Men and animals. An age-old battle of man mastering nature. Except now it's sport. Because we don't have to for real, but we still have to. It's in us.

MAX: You know what I see when that bull comes kicking out of the chute? I don't see some cowboy struggling to hold on. I don't see some big bull going crazy to push him off. I don't see sport. I see dust. That's all I see. I see the dust that we come from and the dust that we go to being kicked up and swirled around so fine in front of me. I am humbled by the color of dust. It's so clear I can see its color, even though I really have no words to describe it. I can see it now, still. Vividly. It's in my head. It's pure, and it's clean, and it's a gift from God as sure as anything.

HAPPY: Are you on drugs?

[beat]

MAX (with a slight chuckle): God is a drug.

HAPPY: I don't think I get you.

MAX: It's just another way of looking at things.

HAPPY: All right, well, we'll continue tomorrow. It's almost lunch time and then I got loads of chores to do before supper time. Let's go get some grub.

(They exit; Mike hums a Slim Whitmanesque tune as the lights fade down)

SCENE THREE:

[Lights up on Byron and Faith]

BYRON (signing): . . . and then he said he went to Alaska and worked on an oil rig. Wait, wait. First he went to Fiji. It's an island that's always beautiful. I can't remember what he did there. He said he met some poet named Allen Ginsberg once, but he couldn't speak because he was so much in awe.

FAITH: That's the man who wrote Howl.

BYRON: You know that?

FAITH: I've never read it. I just know it.

BYRON: I've never really read poetry before. Or heard it. Max says it's written to be read aloud.

FAITH: I can't imagine how beautiful Shakespeare must sound, but sometimes I feel like I can hear when I read his poems and plays.

BYRON: He wrote plays too?

FAITH: Yeah, and his words make you hear, even on paper.

BYRON: Wow, that's amazing. Why didn't you share this with me before?

FAITH: I tried. But I'm a girl and you're a boy and you wouldn't listen.

BYRON: Silly me.

FAITH: Listen. You'll see what I mean. This is Juliet from Romeo and Juliet.

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb,

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Isn't that cool? Then Romeo asks how he should swear and she answers:

Do not swear at all;

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,

Which is the god of my idolatry,

And I'll believe thee.

BRYON: Wow, that is amazing.

FAITH: You're a cool brother.

BYRON: Why? Where did that come from?
FAITH: You just are. You and my books are the only two that speak to me normally. You both don't know that I can't hear.

BYRON: Max would speak to you normally. If he knew how. He speaks to me normally.

FAITH: Why doesn't Mom like him?

BYRON: I don't know. What makes you think that?

FAITH: I can feel it. She doesn't like him.

(Odale enters)

BYRON: Probably because he's so different.

FAITH: Dad trusts him.

BYRON: Yeah, and Dad's not much for strangers.

ODALE: What's the big pow-wow?

BYRON: Nothing. I was helping Faith with her homework.

ODALE: Don't lie to me, boy.

BYRON: I wasn't lying.

ODALE: I do know the signs for Mom and Dad and I did just see them being used. You got something to say to your mother you should say it directly or keep your mouth shut. (She makes a hand signal to Faith to indicate zipping her lip) That goes for both of you. What were you talking about?

BYRON: Shakespeare. And Max.

ODALE: Ain't healthy for a boy your age to be spending so much time with a strange man. Especially with a man that strange. You need to be spending more time with your father, helping out on the place and such. And tell your sister I don't even want to see her alone with him. She can't really call for help, you know.

BYRON: I know.

ODALE: You two should be up to the house. Doin' homework or housework or something. It's nearing sundown. Go on.

BYRON (signing, to Faith): To the house.

FAITH (signing, to Odale): Bye, Mom. I love you.

ODALE: Yeah, I love you too. (She motions for them to leave) Get on now.

(Byron and Faith exit; Odale stands near the fence, looking into the distance; Max enters, guitar in hand.)

MAX: Good evening.

ODALE: Hello.

MAX: Beautiful evening.

ODALE: It is.

MAX: What are you doing out here all by yourself?

ODALE: Not that it's anyone's business but I'm watching the sun set.

MAX: Do that a lot, do you?

ODALE: It's the one thing about this place that I truly love.

MAX: It's a better place than I thought at first. The sunsets are gorgeous.

(Beat)

ODALE: Why are you here?

MAX: Because I'm Edmund Hillary.

(Pause)

ODALE: If that's some kind of joke, I don't get it.

MAX: It was, but never mind.

ODALE: And you didn't answer my question.

MAX: Oh, well, I'm here to learn how to be a bullfighter.

ODALE: I don't believe you're going to stick with it.

MAX: Do I have to? I want to experience it. What more motivation do I need? I want to experience everything. It's a short life and I want to experience it all. (Long pause) You're a beautiful woman. Anyone ever tell you that?

ODALE: My children. You might have noticed I'm married and have children. And while that may not mean much anywhere else in the world, it counts for something here in the heartland. It's time for me to go.

MAX: You can't blame a man for trying.

ODALE: You will not experience everything. Life is too short. Good night.

(She exits; Max starts to play I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry)

Hear that lonesome whip-poor-will;

He sounds too blue to fly . . .

(Happy enters; Max stops playing)

HAPPY: Don't let me interrupt ya. Nothing better than a little Hank Williams, Senior on the plains at sundown. (Max starts playing again; Happy starts to sing).

Did you ever hear a robin weep

When leaves begin to fall?

That means he's lost the will to live.

I'm so lonesome I could cry.

Not much of a singer. Sorry.

MAX: Sounded fine.

HAPPY: Sad song, ain't it?

MAX: Very.

HAPPY: So what's a man with such an exciting life have to be so sad about?

MAX: Life is sad, don't you think? Pathetic.

(Beat)

HAPPY: Well, no, I don't. (Long pause) What're you runnin' from?

MAX: What do you mean?

HAPPY: I ain't no dummy. I can see. A man settles down, stays in one place, raises a family. Unless he's running from something.

MAX: No trouble with the law, if that's what you're wondering. I don't know. From life, I guess. I'm experienced everything but living.

HAPPY: Ever had a woman?

MAX: I guess that depends on which way you mean had. Yeah, I've had women, but no, I've never settled down with one. None of them would have me.

HAPPY (getting up to leave): Well, I don't believe my wife would either. (He crosses to the corner, then turns around; pause)

MAX: No, I don't imagine she would.

HAPPY: That was your second lesson.

MAX: What?

HAPPY: Sometimes a cowboy hides more than good looks under his hat. Good night.

MAX: Good night.

(Max starts to strum the guitar again; Byron enters)

BYRON: Hey, Max. What are you doing?

MAX: I just came by to pluck a few strings and watch the sunset.

BYRON: Cool. My Mom and I both do that a lot.

MAX: Yeah, she was out here. Your Dad, too. They just went up to the house. They're good people. I still think the place is too big and too lonely, though. There shouldn't be this much space.

BYRON: I think my Dad's right. A place this big lets you see things. I feel close to God here.

MAX: You believe in God, do you?

BYRON: Yeah, how could you not? The way the sunset wraps itself around things. I can't look at that and not believe there's a God.

MAX: Kid, you have the makings of a cowboy poet in you. I don't think I agree with you, though. To me, it's just one vast wasteland.

BYRON: One flower in a desert stands out.

MAX: That it does. That really could be a poem, boy.

BYRON: I can't write poetry.

MAX: You're a smart kid, good with words. You have a way of seeing things. You can write poetry.

BYRON: No, I mean here. Guys don't write poetry here.

MAX: You can keep it a secret.

BYRON: A place this small doesn't keep secrets.

MAX: Kid, you're writing poetry as we speak. Let it come. Put it on paper. Don't deny yourself. You know you want to. (No answer) You know it. Don't you? (No answer) You see things in a different way.

BYRON: The words I think of, they don't always rhyme.

MAX: They don't have to rhyme.

BYRON: But Shakespeare . . .

MAX: Is dead. He was great, but he lived in a different time. When everything rhymed. He'd write a sonnet, put a name on it. That was that.

BYRON: You don't have to rhyme?

MAX: You don't have to rhyme. You have to have images. You have to have rhythm. You have to use words in incredible ways. My favorite poem is two lines by Ezra Pound. The title's almost as long as the poem. In a Station of the Metro.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd.

Petals on a wet, black bough.

That's all it needs to be. Words that after you hear them you know they are the only possible words that could have been used to express that thought.

BYRON: That's cool. (Beat) You want to sleep out tonight?

MAX: What do you mean?

BYRON: Camp out, in the back yard.

MAX: Are you kidding?

BYRON: No, I want to talk more. I want to hear more of the poetry you like and more about your experiences traveling around the world.

MAX: Well, I don't think your Mom would like that. I'm not quite too sure she likes me.

BYRON: I'll go ask her.

MAX: Ask her what?

BYRON: If we can sleep out, dummy. Wait here. I'll be right back.

(Byron races off toward the house; Max watches for a moment, then leaves; the stage is empty for an uncomfortable amount of time, then Byron races back on, followed by Faith, and finds that Max has gone; the Ghost Lady of the Plains enters dancing; Byron and Faith watch her; Faith starts dancing with her; Bryon then exits; the Ghost Lady and Faith continue to dance as the lights fade to black).

SCENE FOUR:

(Lights up; Max & Happy enter from opposite sides of the stage; Happy sits)

HAPPY: Ready for your next lesson?

MAX: I guess.

HAPPY: O. K., Mike, give 'im one.

MIKE: How many Congressman does it take to screw in a light bulb?

MAX: I don't know.

MIKE: As many as'll fit.

HAPPY (laughing): That's a new one.

MIKE: Fresh as a loaf of bread in the oven.

HAPPY: See, we used to be called rodeo clowns because part of our job is to entertain folks, make them laugh.

MAX: Why is that? Isn't the rodeo enough?

MIKE: It's called stalling.

HAPPY: You see, sometimes there's problems. They might be having a hard time getting a bull in the chute.

MIKE: But it's always easy to shoot the bull.

HAPPY: Or gettin' a cowboy in the saddle. So you have to kill time.

MIKE: Careful, Happy, you'll be wanted for murder.

MAX: I see.

HAPPY: As you can see, the lower the joke the better you're doing.

MAX: Why's that?

HAPPY: You always want the people to feel superior. They're paying your salary. Clown gets too smart he'll be off the circuit.

MIKE: Just like T. V.

HAPPY: Mike and I work as a comedy team. We play off of each other. Basically he plays what the audience is thinking. I play the fool.

MIKE: And you do a fine job of it, I might add.

(Odale enters)

HAPPY: Hey, what's up?

ODALE: Nothing.

HAPPY: I mean, what're you doin' here? We're working.

ODALE: I just thought I'd watch for a bit. Is that okay?

HAPPY: Hmm. All right. Back to it. Give 'im one of your best, Mike.

(Byron enters)

MIKE: All right. Lookie there. There's a boy who fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.

BYRON: Shut up, Mike.

HAPPY: Don't be talkin' to Mike that way.

BYRON: Well, he's always saying things like that to me.

HAPPY: It's a joke, son. You need a thicker skin.

MIKE: Hey, come look at this bull for moment.

HAPPY: All right, comin'. Be right back.

(He exits)

BYRON (to Max): Where were you?

MAX: Oh, I waited and I thought you weren't coming back. I figured your Mom said no.

BYRON: I said I'd be right back.

MAX: Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it.

ODALE: Maybe he doesn't like having a boy tagging along all the time but he's too nice to say so.

BYRON: Oh, shut up.

ODALE: What did you say?

BYRON: Nothing.

ODALE: Better be nothing.

BYRON: Sorry.

ODALE: Better be sorry. Now get on outta here.

BYRON: I want to stay here.

ODALE: I want you to go. Go on, get up to the house, Byron. Make sure your sister's all right.

BYRON: I want to be with Max.

ODALE: Go on. I mean it.

BYRON (as he exits): Jeez.

(Pause)

ODALE (after him): You be quiet, boy.

MAX: So what is up?

ODALE: What do you mean?

MAX: It seems like maybe you want something.

ODALE: Yesterday it seemed like you might want something. That you shouldn't have been asking for. I just wanted to apologize if I came across badly.

MAX: Not at all. You said what you had to say. I appreciate you being honest. That's one of the attractive things about you.

ODALE: I understand a man has needs, and I shouldn't blame you for being a man.

MAX: No, I can't help that.

ODALE: It's just that . . . I believe it would be wrong . . . even though I . . . oh, never mind.

MAX: What?

ODALE: Nothing. It was nothing.

MAX: No, what? I want to know.

ODALE: I'm . . . I'm just a bit lonely, that's all. (Beat) There, I've said it.

MAX: You're lonely? With a husband and two children? I don't get it.

ODALE: The boy's 16. He loves me, but he's at that age, you know.

MAX: I remember.

ODALE: Seems like you never left it. And I can't talk to the girl. You can see that.

MAX: And the man in the family?

ODALE: He talks about man stuff, with Mike and other men. He doesn't talk to me.

MAX: So you're surrounded by people and lonely.

ODALE: I guess you could say that, yes.

MAX: There's nothing wrong with that. Being human does that to you.

ODALE: How did you get to know so much?

MAX: Because I've experienced so much.

ODALE: You have. That's why you scare me. And that's why I don't understand what brought you here.

MAX: Instinct, I guess. I go where my spirit guides me. Sometimes why I stay in a place is the real question.

ODALE: And why are you staying here?

MAX: It' s not for Byron.

(Pause)
ODALE: I really . . . look, it was nice talking with you, but it's getting late.
MAX: You can talk to me any time.

ODALE: Thank you.

MAX: Any time. I'll be going now.

(Max exits)

HAPPY (entering): That bull's lookin' like he needs a mate. (Odale doesn't answer) What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?

ODALE: No, just thinking.

HAPPY: About what?

ODALE: I don't know. Nothing important, I guess.

HAPPY: Mike thinks he's ready to be put to stud, and I think I agree.

ODALE: Really, I don't care about no cattle. (Pause) Are you happy?

HAPPY: Yes, ma'am, I am. And you must be that Odale I've heard so much about.

ODALE: I'm serious. Are you happy? With me?

HAPPY: What kind of a question is that?

ODALE: I need to know.

HAPPY: Is it that Max guy? Is he puttin' ideas in your head?

ODALE: No, I need to know.

HAPPY: If he is, I'll kick his ass. I don't need no woman with high-falutin', high society ideas running around her head. You know what I mean? When we got married you promised yourself to me through thick and thin and everything else.

ODALE: It's just I feel lonely sometimes.

HAPPY: You got a husband and two kids.

ODALE: It's just this place, it's so isolated.

HAPPY: You knew that goin' in. You knew I was the kind of man who had to live out here and you were happy with it then. What more do you need?

ODALE: I need to know if I'm wanted, and needed.

HAPPY: I don't get it.

ODALE: I'm asking if you still love me.

HAPPY: That's the dumbest question I ever heard.

ODALE: Well, maybe so, but can you answer it instead of judging it? Please?

HAPPY: Of course I do. You're my wife. Now let's put an end to this silly talk, all right? Mike and I got work to do. We gotta try to match up that stud bull with a lady friend. (A horn honks) See, there he is, back with the truck. I'll try not to be too late for dinner. And get those goofy thoughts out of your head, all right?

ODALE: All right, I'll try. Before you go back to work, would you kiss me?

HAPPY: Sure, hon.

(He kisses her cheek, then exits)

ODALE (to the air): Thanks.

(Ghost Lady enters and performs a dance; Odale watches for a moment, then leaves as lights fade out)

SCENE FIVE:

(Lights up; Max enters, followed by Byron)

MAX: How can you live on a ranch and be afraid of horses?

BYRON: I don't want to talk about it.

MAX: I do.

BYRON: Well, I don't.

MAX: I do.

BYRON: I don't.

MAX: Do.

BYRON: Don't.

MAX: Okay, you win. For now. But we'll come back to it. So what do you want to talk about?

BYRON: I don't know. How about tell me what it was like to hang glide in California.

MAX: It was okay.

BYRON: Just okay.

MAX: It was an experience. What more can I say?

BYRON: I don't know. Maybe what it feels like to have nothing but air under you? To be up there with the birds?

MAX: I don't know. Birds are overrated. I want to know what it feels like to be that woman.

BYRON: What woman?

MAX: That one I keep seeing dancing or just moving or whatever the heck it is she is doing. She's freaky. Who is she?

BYRON: Oh, nobody knows. Everyone just calls her the Ghost Lady of the Plains because she just appears out of the blue. Like a ghost.

MAX: An apparition.

BYRON: She's been around for years.

MAX: Does she ever speak, or does she just move?

BYRON: She speaks once in a while--it's rare--but then only in Spanish. Faith says she speaks through movement. She says she can feel the woman's pain. She dances with her sometimes.

MAX: How can she dance with no music?

BYRON: The same way the lady does. She says the Ghost Lady moves to a song of sorrow and you have to know the sorrow to know the song.

MAX: She's too young to know that much sorrow.

BYRON: Faith is special. She knows things. Like the Ghost Lady.

MAX: Does she know who the lady is?

BYRON: Everyone knows who she is. She's the Ghost Lady of the Plains.

MAX: I mean who she really is.

BYRON: She's whoever you want her to be, I guess.

MAX: I swear, you--and your sister--have the souls of poets. It must be the desolation of this place. Write a poem about the Ghost Lady. Make her who you want her to be. That's what I want to see.

BYRON: I'll make her a ghost of you.

MAX: That's dumb.

BYRON: Well, you said . . . See, I'm not a poet. It'd be easier to ride a horse. And don't say dumb.

MAX: Okay, let's talk about the horse thing. You brought it up. Why are you afraid of horses? Not because your father loves them is it?

BYRON: No, it's easy. You ever get bucked by one?

MAX: I sure have. It happens.

BYRON: Not like I did, I bet.

MAX: What do you mean?

BYRON: I was at a friend's house, and they talked me into getting on this horse bareback. But they didn't tell me she was pregnant. So I gave her a little kick in the side, just to get her going, you know, and she reared up and threw me off. She was mad. Then she turned around and started charging us. We all ran for the fence. Somehow I dove over it--I don't remember--I ended up on the other side with her staring at me like she wanted to kill me.

MAX: I imagine she did.

BYRON: So you can see why I'm afraid of them.

MAX: No, I can see why you were afraid of her. But that shouldn't influence how you deal with all horses from that moment on.

BYRON: So you're going to tell me, just like my Dad, that I should've gotten right back up on her and conquered my fear.

MAX: No, I'm going to say you should've stayed as far away from her as you could, unless you wanted to be killed. But you should've gone for a little ride on the next one you saw. And it's not too late for that..

BYRON: Oh, I don't know. Who needs them anyway?

MAX: You're afraid of everything, aren't you?. You're afraid of horses, you're afraid of writing poetry, you're afraid of the world beyond this ranch, even though you're fascinated by all of them.

BYRON: I'm not afraid of everything.

MAX: Then prove it to me.

BYRON: How?
MAX: Write a poem, and share it with me. Ride a horse. Go someplace by yourself and see what the world's like away from this ranch and the little town down the road.

(Pause)

BYRON: I don't think I can do any of those things.

MAX: Not with that attitude. (Pause) Ok, write me a poem. By tomorrow. About your experience with that horse.

BYRON: I don't know anything about writing poetry.

MAX: Then learn. Draw on your experience and create something. It's not like you're dumb. You managed to learn to speak with your sister, didn't you? How did you even do that, out here in the middle of nowhere?

BYRON: There was a teacher we had for a couple of years. She knew some sign. She taught us some basics and we've taught ourselves more from books.

MAX: You just did it?

BYRON: Yeah.

MAX: Then just do it again. In fact, I don't want to talk to you again until you bring me a poem that you can read aloud with pride. You got me?

BYRON: No, that's stupid.

MAX: Don't say stupid. Are you calling me stupid? Get out of here. (No answer) I'm serious.

BYRON: You can't be serious. You're my friend.

MAX: Yes, I am. But I can't be your friend if you won't do stuff for yourself. I can't have a friend who is that much of a wimp. You got me?

BYRON: I'm not a wimp. Boys who write poetry here are wimps.

MAX: You know better than that.

BYRON: Come on. Let's go for a walk up the hill. (No answer) Let's do something. (No answer) Anything. (Max starts to exit) Cut it out. You can't just leave like that. (Max is almost out) That's not fair! (Max is gone) Jerk! That's not fair! It's not fair.

(Faith enters opposite)

FAITH (signing): Why are you yelling?

BYRON (signing and speaking): You can't hear me yelling.

FAITH (signing): I can feel it.

BYRON: Feel it, schmeel it.

FAITH (signing): What's wrong?

BYRON: What's wrong is . . . I don't know . . . leave me alone.

(He exits; Faith is left alone on stage; lights down)

SCENE SIX:

(Lights up; it is morning at the corral; Max sits on the fence)

MIKE: That bull was moving faster than a deer full of buckshot.

HAPPY: Got a question for ya, Mike.

MIKE: Shoot.

HAPPY: Your old lady ever ask you if you love her, or how much?

MIKE: Sometimes so much I think she's a jack-in-the-box.

HAPPY: So it's a normal thing for a woman to do?

MIKE: Normal as normal goes.

HAPPY: Did you see that rider on the T. V. last night?

MIKE: Sure did. What a dude, what a dude, what a cowboy!

(Max enters)

HAPPY: Made me long for the old days, when I was in the saddle.

MIKE: You know if a saddle's calling there's got to be a horse under it.

MAX: Time for my cowboy philosophy lesson?

HAPPY: Every moment of a cowboy's life is philosophy. What'd you do, ditch my boy?

MAX: You could say that, I guess.

HAPPY: Couldn't take him anymore?

MAX: No, just teaching him a little lesson, trying to get him to write some poetry.

MIKE: Poetry!?! Ooh, dogie!

HAPPY: If the Cold War wasn't over I'd think you were a Commie. Boys don't write poetry.

MAX: You ever hear of cowgirl poetry? No. Only boys, and men, write cowboy poetry. I think your kid's got it in him.

HAPPY: I still don't like it.

MIKE: A cowboy writing poetry is a like a bronco doing ballet. Without the slippers it just don't look right.

MAX (looking off stage): Here comes Odale.

(Pause)

HAPPY: Mike, is that big bull ready to go?

MIKE: He's as ready as a girl on a prom night.

HAPPY: Get 'im set. I'm goin' for a ride.

MAX: Are you crazy?

HAPPY: No more'n you, with all your adventures. Sometimes a man just has to do things.

(He exits; Odale enters)

ODALE: What's going on?

MAX: Man stuff, I guess. Your husband's going for a ride.

ODALE: For God's sake, he can't ride that bull!

HAPPY: Yee-ha!

MAX: Too late.

ODALE: Hold on, Happy!

MIKE: Like a tick on a coon dog's ear you can't shake him off.

HAPPY: Ooh-whoo!

MIKE: Hold on, cowboy!

(Suddenly Happy flies on to the stage, as if having just been thrown from the bull; the bull follows; as he's getting up the bull hits him in the side with his horns and knocks him over again; Max reacts and draws its attention, leading it off opposite, then re-enters).

ODALE: What in tarnation did you do that for?

MAX: You all right?

HAPPY: Damn. Musta had him seven, eight seconds at least.

MIKE: A long six.

(Odale turns and leaves)

MAX: Sure you're all right?

HAPPY: That was well done. You drew him away nicely.

MAX: Thanks, I guess.

HAPPY: You're learning well, but I think we'll be done with lessons for today.

(He exits; lights down)

SCENE SEVEN:

(Lights up on Byron sitting near the fence, writing; Faith enters)

FAITH (signing): Hi.

BYRON: Hey. I'm sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to yell. I was upset.

FAITH: That's okay. What are you doing?

BYRON: Writing a poem.

FAITH: About what?

BYRON: About getting bucked from a horse and how terrible it feels.

FAITH: I didn't know you could write poetry.

BYRON: Maybe I can't. But I had to try.

FAITH: Why?

BYRON: Just so I know. Sometimes you have to try things just to know where you stand.

FAITH: Can I see it?

BYRON: Sure.

(He hands her the paper and she reads it; the poem will be read aloud by the man in the mask)