MARIA
YOUNG MAN
Musicians:
HARPSICHORDIST
CELLIST
LUTIST
A note on the music: Wherever music is being played with the text, the words accompanied by music have been capitalized. Where there is only a note or two being played, usually starting with the end of a word and ending as the next word (or phrase) begins, an asterisk (*) has been placed to indicate where the musicians should start playing. These markings, however, are provisional. Their final place should be worked out during rehearsals.
The orchestra pit is exposed. In its dim recesses the musicians have not yet taken their places. Only the small lights over the three music stands afford some visibility.
A raised platform in the orchestra pit will allow the heads of the musicians to rise above the footlights. This way, once seated, they will become part of the spectacle. As in early Baroque opera, three instruments, the harpsichord, the cello, and the lute, will play a chord together at the beginning of important texts or especially significant words, exclamations, or emphases, and in certain cases this chord will continue until the next marking, thus turning into a continuo.
I must emphasize, however, that the chords of the continuo are not meant to serve as accompaniment or background music. Rather, they complement, enhance, contradict, continue, annihilate or counterpoint the emotional content of the text while at the same time acting as independent units, thereby comprising a large-scale musical structure which dramatically confronts the structure of the play.
The curtain rises very slowly and with dignity.
A very small room.
A white iron bed by the left wall of the room. The bedding, arranged smoothly, is covered with a white piqué sheet. A simple, unadorned crucifix hangs above the bed. Next to the bed, along the wall facing the audience, stands a white iron nightstand with a drawer and door. A crystal wine glass containing red wine stands on top of the nightstand.
The bare walls are whitewashed.
Next to the nightstand is a red door, open as if to reveal a snowy landscape or a great white indeterminate expanse beyond. We feel rather than see a seemingly endless white space outside.
On the other side of the door is an iron stove painted over with silvery stove paint. On it rests an electric coffee maker.
A big, soft, white towel hangs from a wire stretched between the wall and the stovepipe. A single light bulb with a strip of flypaper attached hangs from the ceiling. The light is not on. The stage is flooded by a harsh white light which remains constant throughout the performance.
The MUSICIANS wear black dinner jackets or evening dresses. MARIA too is wearing a long black dress. Only the YOUNG MAN is in simple street clothes: jeans, a chequered flannel shirt, a short coat.
In the middle of the stage directly over the heads of the MUSICIANS stands a simple white chair. It must stand almost at the edge of the stage, near the orchestra lights. To the right of the chair, slightly to the back, there is a white enamel basin. Inside it stands a white jug filled with water.
* * * *
MARIA sits on the white chair facing the audience. She is motionless.
Very long pause.
When the HARPSICHORDIST appears in the orchestra pit and takes his place at his instrument, MARIA stands up, goes to the nightstand, opens the drawer, extracts a small vial and with a spoon pours some white powder into her wine.
The MUSICIANS tune up.
MARIA goes back to the white chair and sits as before.
Abruptly, the MUSICIANS stop tuning up.
Very long pause.
MARIA stands, takes a few steps towards the red door, then as if hearing some noise from outside, stops short, listens, goes to the coffee maker and plugs it in. She sits down again and waits as before.
Very long pause.
The MUSICIANS tune up again for at least two or three minutes, then stop abruptly. The LUTIST and CELLIST change places and exchange their music stands. All of this is done rather awkwardly.
Very long pause.
Hissing and steaming, the coffee begins to drip from the coffee maker.
MARIA remains as before.
Very long pause.
MARIA stands up, goes to the stove, pulls out the plug and as if hearing sounds from outside, listens, then goes back to her chair and sits as before.
Very long pause.
In the depths of the tangible white space beyond the open door the head of the YOUNG MAN, who is wearing glasses, appears rising slowly. His shoulders appear next, and as he rises and approaches, we see his torso. He continues to rise and approach very slowly, very gradually, until his whole body is visible. He continues to approach. When he reaches the door, he stops.
MARIA: Come in. THOUGH I WAS HOPING YOU MIGHT NOT COME AFTER ALL.
(The YOUNG MAN does not move.)
MARIA: But then I made the coffee just in time it seems. The coffee is ready.
(The YOUNG MAN does not move.
Slowly, MARIA stands and turns.
Very long pause.)
MARIA: So then you're here.
(Pause.)
MARIA: So then yes the boy is here.
(Pause.)
MARIA: He's here.
(Pause.)
MARIA: You'll be cold.
(They eye each other without moving.
Long pause.)
MARIA: I've given up food. But I adore coffee. I did not light the stove. I wanted you to feel my room just the way it was. Close the door please. I did not light the stove on purpose so it'd be as cold as it always is. I keep it closed because around here everybody pries.
(The YOUNG MAN enters, shuts the door and takes a look around. MARIA offers him her hand. They shake hands, but MARIA does not let go of the YOUNG MAN's hand right away. Instead, she places both hands around his. Long pause.)
MARIA: You might take off your coat. You'll be more comfortable that way.
(Pause.)
MARIA: You might be surprised at my modest circumstances. But I'm quite content I assure you.
(Pause.)
MARIA: I'm curious. How did you find me? You will tell me, won't you?
(MARIA releases the YOUNG MAN's hand.)
MARIA: Had we met on the street instead, I would have recognized you still, and then this encounter would have been all the more curious because had we met on the street I'd have followed you and you couldn't have gotten rid of me, you would have wondered what the old bitch wants, but I would have followed you just the same, waiting for you to look back so I could see your eyes, because I don't give a damn about etiquette, you see. And maybe I wouldn't have even been able to stop myself from placing a hand on your FOREHEAD.
(The YOUNG MAN quickly takes off his coat as if with this gesture he were hoping to stop MARIA from actually placing a hand on his forehead.)
MARIA: You'll find the hook on the door.
(The YOUNG MAN goes to the door and hangs his coat on the hook. He remains standing there.)
MARIA: You can't get rid of me. WHEN I THINK OF WHY YOU'RE HERE, THAT'S ALL I CAN SAY.
(Long pause.)
MARIA: What do you want?
(Long pause.)
MARIA: You're my guest. My time is yours.
(Long pause.)
MARIA: WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?
(Long pause.)
MARIA: I should call you by your first name. But I won't. If you didn't look so much like him, maybe I would. YOUR NOSE, YOUR EYES, YOUR FOREHEAD AND ALAS, EVEN YOUR LIPS. No one has kissed my lips in twenty years. Or shoulders. Can you imagine? You look so much like him I wish we had not met after all. No, I'm not the least bit afraid. Because things are curious enough even so. I am prepared for any eventuality. You closed the door. I asked you to. And now we hold that time in common about which neither of us can know anything in advance. I feel helpless and you must feel just as helpless yourself. For nothing happens to us save what can happen. AND NOTHING ELSE. POSSIBLY THAT IS THE SECRET OF CLOSED DOORS. As if something had to happen now. As long as the door was open we could hope against hope that nothing would happen. Had we met on the street by accident, let's say, maybe I wouldn't have followed you after all but would've let you go. Go, like a stranger. AS IF THESE LIPS DID NOT CALL ANYTHING TO MIND. I could have done it. You don't know me, I don't know you, and though your face is familiar, I could have ignored the familiarity. We try to avoid what pains us. I could forget it. But since you're here now anyway, since we were not able to avoid it, let me just say I'd rather not be on a first-name basis with my pain. There is no forgetting. But we try to keep it at bay, at least. Which is impossible, of course. So that's why. You don't mind, do you? You would have liked me to greet you as if I were your mother, wouldn't you? How is your mother? Was it difficult finding this place?
YOUNG MAN: YES.
MARIA: Of course this way you might think I'm flirting with you. I never called your father by his first name either. WHEN HE EMBRACED ME I DID NOT TALK, I DID NOT SCREAM, I DID NOT USE WORDS OF ENDEARMENT. SO IT WOULD BE RIDICULOUS, REALLY, PRETENDING I COULD MISTAKE YOU FOR HIM, though the likeness is striking, I admit. Except no, I couldn't, not really. I did not know your father at your age. Consequently you are just a strange delusion of the senses, that is all. UNDERSTAND? As if someone had mixed up all the tenses inside. He must have been just like you when he was very young, and had we met then, though we couldn't have, of course, I might have given myself to him, yes, in which case you'd be my son, you could be, yes, but then you wouldn't be like this, you'd be entirely different, and then we couldn't have met like this at all because you'd look a little like me. But it's best not to think about it, even. It's awful, even as a thought. Because in that case WHAT WOULD HAVE BECOME OF YOU? Have you ever thought, and I ask only because as long as you are here I'd like to find out what you think, have you ever thought about ALL THE THINGS THAT NEVER HAPPEN TO US? FAR FEWER THINGS HAPPEN TO US THAN NOT, if you ask me. Now, for instance. You came and as you say, found this place without difficulty, and I'm talking to you because I'm desperate to talk to someone, anyone, yes, even the wall and you listen patiently, making yourself much too endearing thereby. But don't you think about all the things you could be doing instead? That you could be doing something instead of NOTHING?
YOUNG MAN: No. That has never entered my mind *at all.
MARIA: And what do I owe this self-denial to? Aren't you hungry?
YOUNG MAN: No. I am not hungry at all.*
MARIA: Coffee?
YOUNG MAN: Yes.
(MARIA goes to the nightstand, picks up the spoon she used to stir the white powder into the red wine, and as if she has just heard a sound from outside listens, then quickly licks off the spoon and throws it behind the nightstand.
MARIA and the YOUNG MAN look at each other.
Pause.
Quickly, MARIA opens the nightstand, takes out two porcelain cups and saucers and a white porcelain sugar bowl, puts everything on top of the nightstand, and closes the nightstand door.)
MARIA: WE DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH TIME WE MUST SPEND TOGETHER LIKE THIS. But in case you're hungry don't hesitate. I always keep something on hand. We offer food to our guests, or so my poor mother used to say, as compensation for the time they deny themselves for our sake. I haven't offered food to anyone in years. No one has given me a single moment of his time. I am alone but it does not pain me. Sugar?
(MARIA goes to the iron stove, takes the coffee to the nightstand and pours it into the two cups.)
YOUNG MAN: No thanks. I don't take sugar.
MARIA: I do. Lots of sugar. Why don't you sit down at last? I adore sugar.
(Pause.
The YOUNG MAN takes a look around, carefully runs his hands over the white bedspread, then takes an uncertain step to the chair and turns it partway to the side. He does not sit down.
MARIA hands him a cup, then picks up her own.
MARIA and the YOUNG MAN stand looking at each other.)
MARIA: You don't even have to tell me what brought you here. You don't have to answer any of my questions.
(MARIA stirs her coffee absentmindedly. MARIA and the YOUNG MAN continue looking at each other in silence.)
YOUNG MAN: I NEVER TALK.
MARIA: In case you wouldn't be able to distinguish between what I really mean to say and what I merely seem to think but say nevertheless.
(The YOUNG MAN tries to put his cup down on the chair but his hand shakes. He is struggling to speak.)
YOUNG MAN: I CAN'T MANAGE IT.
(Pause. The YOUNG MAN is struggling to speak.)
YOUNG MAN: I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M THINKING.
(Pause. The YOUNG MAN is struggling to speak.)
YOUNG MAN: EVEN NOW. IT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT TO SAY.
(As the YOUNG MAN puts the coffee down on the chair he spills it. He wipes the seat off with the palm of his hand, then picks up the cup again.)
YOUNG MAN: I can't get it out.
MARIA: Remove your glasses for a moment. DO YOU MIND?
YOUNG MAN: Whatever I say, it's not what I'm thinking. Whatever I'm thinking, I can't say. Now, for instance. This is what I thought, and I managed to say it. But it's stupid.
(Pause. The YOUNG MAN is again struggling to speak.)
MARIA: Will you tell me WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE?
YOUNG MAN: I managed to say that what I'm saying and thinking is stupid. Stupid. That's why I don't talk.
MARIA: DO YOU MIND?
YOUNG MAN: I can't say this right either.
(MARIA and the YOUNG MAN look at each other for some time. The YOUNG MAN transfers the cup to his left hand and takes off his glasses.)
MARIA: WHEN YOU KISS YOU REMOVE THEM, DON'T YOU?
(The YOUNG MAN replaces his glasses and transfers the cup to his right hand again.)
MARIA: Do you mind TELLING ME?
(Long pause.)
MARIA: You're very good looking without your glasses. HAD I WANTED TO APPEAR MORE FORWARD, I WOULD EVEN SAY HANDSOME. I thought about you often.
YOUNG MAN: How did you know I'd come?
MARIA: I THOUGHT ABOUT YOU OFTEN because I knew you were alive and I imagined your life though of course I had no way of knowing we'd actually meet. THE BIRTHMARK ON YOUR NECK IS VERY KISSABLE. I was taught to address an adequate number of questions to my guests in order to make them feel important, but without being indiscreet. AND IF YOU HAVE A BIRTHMARK ON YOUR NECK YOU MUST HAVE ONE ON YOUR CHEST AND BELLY TOO. Is that right?
(Attentive, the YOUNG MAN takes a sip of his coffee.)
MARIA: One's upbringing, and mine is nothing to scoff at, does not disappear without a trace. It merely becomes superfluous, like so much else in life. You must be twenty-five now AND BY ALL ODDS YOUR SHOULDERS ARE WIDE AND ROUND, YOUR ARMS STRONG, YOUR CHEST FULL, YOUR LEGS MUSCULAR, YET YOUR ANKLES FINE, ALMOST DELICATE, LIKE YOUR WRISTS. Show me your hand.
(The YOUNG MAN drinks what is left of his coffee.)
MARIA: I knew you'd have beautiful hands. Your father had beautiful hands too. THE THIGHS NEARLY HUGE AND THE HIPS ONLY A LITTLE TOO WIDE TO BE CALLED PERFECTLY PROPORTIONATE. THIS LENDS EMPHASIS TO THE STOMACH, AND THE GROIN LOOKS BOYISH AND CHARMING AS A CONSEQUENCE.
(Very long pause.)
MARIA: Is this what you wanted to hear?
(Pause.)
MARIA: It's already part of the story.
(Pause.)
MARIA: Or would you rather I didn't talk about it?
(The YOUNG MAN is struggling, but he can't get out an answer.)
MARIA: WHY DID YOU COME HERE THEN? Why?
(Pause.)
MARIA: I've got to begin somewhere.
(Long pause.
MARIA goes over to the YOUNG MAN, takes the cup from him and walks back with both cups to the nightstand.)
MARIA: You're hoping for a nice well-rounded story aren't you?
YOUNG MAN: I TAKE OFF MY GLASSES ONLY WHEN I SLEEP.
MARIA: You're hoping I'll tell you everything, isn't that right?
YOUNG MAN: I am all alone.*
MARIA: I am going to tell you a story.*
YOUNG MAN: I've got no one to kiss.*
MARIA: I'm going to tell the story until we get to the end.
YOUNG MAN: You asked. My MOTHER IS DEAD.
MARIA: And when we do I am going to kill myself.
YOUNG MAN: And so am I.
MARIA: You're talking very well, considering.
(Pause. MARIA and the YOUNG MAN look at each other.)
MARIA: Where shall we begin?
(Pause. MARIA and the YOUNG MAN look at each other.)
MARIA: Help me.
(Pause. MARIA and the YOUNG MAN look at each other.)
MARIA: At least help me!
(Very long pause.)
MARIA: TO HELP. DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS? TO HELP, HELP. I HELP, YOU HELP, HE, SHE, IT HELPS. HELP. DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS? Naturally, I realize IT IS NO USE EXPECTING IT. EXCEPT, I FEEL SO AWKWARD, AT A LOSS, AND DO FORGIVE ME, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I AM THE ONE WHO HAS TO DO THE HELPING, I KNOW. IT'S MY TURN AGAIN. AND IT'S ALL THE RECOMPENSE I CAN HAVE. NO MORE. Except, I feel no prompting in my hands and I don't know where I am and why and how you got here and why are you asking me all these question! THIS IS MY LIFE!
YOUNG MAN: Why don't you put down those cups?
(Long pause.
Hesitantly, MARIA places the cups on the nightstand. The YOUNG MAN makes an effort to speak.)
YOUNG MAN: And why don't you go back to your chair?
(Very slowly, MARIA goes to the chair as the YOUNG MAN cautiously gives her his place and slips behind the chair. Both move as if on a razor's edge.)
YOUNG MAN: And now, why don't you fix that chair? I messed it up before.
(Long pause.)
MARIA: Now maybe I could close my eyes.
YOUNG MAN: No!
(Pause.)
YOUNG MAN: Maybe you should sit down first. You mustn't close your eyes until you sit down.
(MARIA rearranges the chair, resting her hand on the back. Motionless, MARIA and the YOUNG MAN stand side by side.)
YOUNG MAN: You must sit down first. You mustn't close your eyes until you sit down.
(MARIA sits down.)
MARIA: Yes. That's the way it's done WHEN WE TRY TO REMEMBER.
YOUNG MAN: I helped.
(MARIA closes her eyes.
Very long pause.)
MARIA: HELP ME SOME MORE.
YOUNG MAN: I'm helping.
MARIA: Why don't you hold on to the back of the chair. After all, I'M REMEMBERING FOR YOU.
(The YOUNG MAN places his hands on the back of the chair.
Very long pause.)
YOUNG MAN: See anything?
MARIA: Nothing.
YOUNG MAN: You must see the dark.
MARIA: But in the dark there's nothing. Just the dark.
YOUNG MAN: In that case maybe we should change places. I'LL SIT. You stand behind me.
MARIA: It's better for me like this.
YOUNG MAN: Feel anything?
MARIA: Sure! My tooth's acting up again.
(They laugh.
MARIA opens her eyes.)
MARIA: And this chair is hell on my behind.
(Pause.)
MARIA: I feel that too.
(Long pause.)
MARIA: We feel our bodies all the time.
YOUNG MAN: In that case let's start all over again.
MARIA: IN THAT CASE PUT YOUR HAND ON MY FOREHEAD.
(The YOUNG MAN wraps his arms around MARIA's head, covering her eyes and forehead with his palms.
Very long pause.)
MARIA: GOOD. THAT FEELS VERY GOOD.
(Very long pause.)
MARIA: NO. THAT'S NO GOOD EITHER.
(The YOUNG MAN removes his hands, stands hesitating behind the chair, then backs off to the left until he bumps into the foot of the iron bed.)
MARIA: NO. I CAN'T REMEMBER A THING.
YOUNG MAN: Don't think I blame you. Because I don't.
MARIA: But your hands. Your hands felt good.*
YOUNG MAN: It would be absurd, me blaming you.
MARIA: I COULD TELL YOU ABOUT MY CHILDHOOD.
YOUNG MAN: I couldn't blame you any more than I could blame myself.
MARIA: Did you know I was married and my husband walked out on me?
YOUNG MAN: I JUST WANT TO KNOW.
MARIA: Or I could tell you about my first arrest. It was quite fascinating, really.
YOUNG MAN: I just want to know WHAT HAPPENED. To know.
MARIA: But what would be the point?
YOUNG MAN: GET TO THE POINT.
MARIA: What?!
YOUNG MAN: I WANT TO HEAR ABOUT MY FATHER.
(Long pause.)
MARIA: Oh, your father. Of course. Your father went plumb out of my head.
(Long pause.)
MARIA: But if you don't mind my asking, who is your father? Who sent you? Because, should it turn out I knew him, then naturally I'd be delighted to provide you with any information you might require. Because you have neglected to introduce yourself, my dear. And that is bad manners. MAY I HAVE YOUR NAME?
YOUNG MAN: Stop it!
MARIA: OR ARE YOU PLANNING TO ROB ME? Go right ahead. Whatever you find here is yours.
YOUNG MAN: You're off key.
MARIA: Or kill me? Fine. You'll save me the trouble.
YOUNG MAN: Don't be ridiculous.
MARIA: Your father, my dear, WAS A BASTARD. A FRAUD, A COMMON STOOGE. AND ILLITERATE. A COMMON LITTLE STOOGE. Scum. And now he's dead. If my calculations are correct, he should have rotted in his grave by now. YOUR FATHER WAS NOTHING BUT A WELL-HUNG ANGEL, MY DEAR.
(Long pause.)
MARIA: I got carried away, as they say.
(Long pause.)
MARIA: And here I thought I had forgiven him.
