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THE PASSION
1970
A choppy ocean sparkles under an electric-blue sky. A tiny raft, fashioned from peeled logs, floats on the water. A single white PELICAN flaps into view, circles the raft, then, folding up its wings, dives into the waves, sending up a glittering, lily-shaped plume. Moments later the bird resurfaces and flies away, a silver fish squirming in its beak. From the water in front of the raft, EVELYN suddenly emerges, clad in a lemon two-piece. She hauls herself onto the logs, unsteadily stands, then rocks her head to and fro, clearing out her ears. EVELYN (breathlessly). Well! That was most unpleasant. Have you ever come close to drowning? I can’t recommend it. Take it from me—a little prudence, faithfully applied, will save you all sorts of trouble. A PASSING CLOUD. That’s sound. EVELYN (looking up). Thanks, Cloud. And you are light. Light and sound, sound and light. . . . A SUNBEAM pierces the CLOUD. SUNBEAM (booming). I am light! EVELYN. Of course you are. The CLOUD dissolves, revealing CLAIRE, dressed in an ivory ballgown, suspended above the sea. CLAIRE. Hello, Daughter. EVELYN. Jeez Louise! CLAIRE gently descends, hovers beside EVELYN. CLAIRE. A woman stands on one side of a sheet glass, a man on the other. On her side the pane is clear and whole, on his runs a jagged fissure. He sees her—when he does—split, refracted. Each performs a dance to the pulse they now feel together. To the man is given the power to mend the cracked glass. The woman, through her movements, may guide his hand. The glass, once restored, miraculously disappears. The pair step through the frame and embrace. EVELYN. You’ve always been a romantic, Mother. CLAIRE. Yes, it’s been my burden, hasn’t it? EVELYN. Why burden? CLAIRE. To live at a time when such thoughts go unhonored. EVELYN. Oh, you exaggerate. The world is full of love and whimsy—as much now as ever before. I think we’re given a constant share, which distributes itself among the people as need and necessity require. CLAIRE (sighing). I hope you’re right. Enter JUNE aboard a miniature sailboat. The sail, a billowing wedge of canvas, is emblazoned with every color of the rainbow. JUNE. Ahoy, there! EVELYN. Ahoy, yourself. JUNE. Arrr! Who be these saucy wenches drolly discussing the mushy matter of love? EVELYN (rolling her eyes). Come off it, June. JUNE. So ye wish to walk the plank, do ye? Or would ye prefer a gruesome disembowelment under the blade of my cutlass? EVELYN (to CLAIRE). Meet the frightful Captain Gumdrop. JUNE. All right, Evelyn, just because you’re the one that’s gotten married— CLAIRE. Girls. Behave. EVELYN. Who’s dream is this, anyway? CLAIRE. Evelyn! EVELYN. Yes, ma’am. JUNE. To the main business. I have an urgent message to relate. It runs as follows:
CLAIRE groans, covers her face with her hands. JUNE laughs. EVELYN. Thank you, June. That was delivered with real flair. JUNE. My pleasure. Enter ROSE astride a DOLPHIN. DOLPHIN. Grip the slippery flipper, skipper! My notion’s ocean potion. ROSE. Hello, all. ALL. Hello. ROSE. Two blue baboons crooned to the moon. They perched on a birch church. See, when two blue baboons croon to the moon, it’s ’cause they’re very married. Done said, “We sure got hot rocks. Clocks stop. Why not tie the knot?” Preacher tottered like an otter but got the fun done. Beasts feasted, leapt and wept. The birch church lurched. Parrot said, “Ferret, I’ll kiss you on merit.” Puma and Pig danced a jig. Said Giraffe with a laugh, “Let’s hoist a carafe,” and Ostrich obligingly did. But soon, see, the beasts beat a hasty retreat. And the two blue baboons, by the light of the moon, looked on with their hands on their heads. They cried, “We’ve been had! We must have been mad to agree to this farcical game! Now we’re tethered together—forever and ever—and don’t even know our own names!” JUNE (shaking her head). Hippies. EVELYN. Rose, honey, what are you driving at? The DOLPHIN halts at the edge of the raft. ROSE steps up, stands beside EVELYN. ROSE. You sure this doctor cat is the right one? EVELYN. Of course. ROSE. Then I say, “Dig the gig, baby.” EVELYN (puzzled). Thanks. CLAIRE. All right, girls— ROSE. Mother! You’re hanging in mid-air! JUNE. You just now noticed that? ROSE. Far out! JUNE (brandishing her cutlass). Arrr! I’ll cut ye down, ye scurvy dingbat! ROSE screams as JUNE leaps onto the raft, hacking at her with the sword. CLAIRE. Where did I go wrong? EVELYN. June! Rose! You’re ruining everything! CLAIRE ascends back into the sky. CLAIRE. You’re on your own now, dearie. Be a good girl. EVELYN. Mother? Come back! What am I supposed to do? JUNE. Die! ROSE. Scram! The PELICAN appears again, flaps by overhead. PELICAN. Love! Love! Love! Love! * * * A dilapidated train car travels through a city at night. The cabin lights flicker intermittently. The hollowed shells of passing buildings—many in flames—are visible through grimy windows. The clacking wheels roar. EVELYN sits on a bench running along one wall of the car. Her few fellow passengers, scattered here and there, sit impassively in heavy overcoats, their ashen faces fixed with numb expressions. EVELYN stares at her own reflection in the window opposite. Gradually, her image changes to that of a pale, gaunt man with a black mustache. Startled, EVELYN blinks, shakes her head, then waves. The man in the window does the same. EVELYN. Good heavens! Who are you? REFLECTION (grinning). You might well ask. EVELYN. Please don’t be clever with me, sir. I just did! REFLECTION. Indeed. The man breaks into maniacal laughter. The cabin lights flash wildly, then die. A few moments later, the lights come back on. RICHARD now sits on the bench before her, both arms stretched across the backrest. RICHARD (gruffly). Hey. EVELYN. Daddy, there was a man just now— RICHARD. Never mind. EVELYN. Yes, sir. RICHARD. So you’ve made it at last. EVELYN. Where? RICHARD. Here. I’ve been waiting for you. EVELYN. I don’t— RICHARD. When I was a young man, I dreamed of fire. I knew what secret power coiled in the flames—and knew, too, how I was born to seize it, tame it, and bend it to my will. I’ve made fire my glory. . . . Now then, let’s suppose there’s a loaded gun pointed at your head— EVELYN. Daddy— RICHARD. A man stands before you. He is tall and lanky and possessed of a strength infinitely superior to your own. He begins barking questions: What is your name? EVELYN. I— RICHARD. Answer! EVELYN. Evelyn Stokes Swift. RICHARD. Who are your parents? EVELYN. Richard and Claire Stokes. RICHARD. Who is your husband? EVELYN. His name is Arthur Swift. RICHARD. In what do you most passionately believe? EVELYN. I—I don’t know, Daddy. RICHARD nods. RICHARD. The correct answer, my angel, is “Fire.” Two PASSENGERS stir momentarily in their seats. FIRST PASSENGER. Your father— SECOND PASSENGER. —is quite mad. EVELYN. Mind your own business. A door opens at one end of the car. A SOLDIER in uniform enters on crutches, hobbles down the aisle. A stained bandage circles his head. His lungs wheeze as he approaches. His left leg is missing. RICHARD. You remember your old friend Cecil. EVELYN gasps. CECIL sits beside RICHARD on the bench. CECIL. Howdy. EVELYN. Oh, Cecil. Are you in pain? CECIL. Shucks. What do you think? EVELYN (looking away). Right. CECIL. I never seen it coming. That’s the crazy part. Sure, I followed my brother’s ghost into the army. I knew what soldiers did. But on that morning in the jungle, heck, I wasn’t even thinking. We was a day’s march from the DMZ. I’d just taken a leak behind a tree and was hustling back to join the others when it happened. Stepped on a mine. EVELYN begins to cry. RICHARD. No tears! CECIL. There was a red flash. I screamed. The pain tore me all to pieces. EVELYN. Are you—dead then? CECIL. No. I came back. EVELYN. I’m so proud of you. You must be very brave. CECIL. I ain’t. I’m just sick and sad and lonesome. A stout orange CAT emerges from behind a seat. He strolls calmly to the bench where the two men sit, then leaps up beside RICHARD. With elaborate dignity, he sinks into a crouch. His face is solemn; his green eyes blaze. CAT. I AM— EVELYN. Oh! CAT. —ZACH! EVELYN. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Zach. ZACH. I AM— EVELYN. Yes? ZACH. —ALL-KNOWING! ALL-POWERFUL! I AM EVERYWHERE AT ALL TIMES! EVELYN. That must keep you mighty busy. ZACH. I WILL BE WITH YOU ALWAYS! EVELYN (to RICHARD). Daddy— RICHARD. Don’t be alarmed. He’s a little odd but will prove a powerful ally. EVELYN (to ZACH). In that case, sir, I’m honored to be your friend. ZACH purrs. Suddenly the train enters a tunnel. Only ZACH’s unblinking eyes shine in the darkness. EVELYN. I’m afraid! I want to go back! RICHARD. Impossible. CECIL. Evelyn, listen. There’s something I never told nobody. When I stepped on that mine in the jungle, just after the red flash, I saw— EVELYN. What? What did you see? CECIL. I can’t rightly describe it. EVELYN. Oh, Cecil, please try! CECIL. Far off in the distance, there was a blue, whirling galaxy— RICHARD. What you saw— CECIL. Through that darkness— RICHARD. It was— ZACH. YES! EVELYN. It was light. * * * A broad green plain surrounds a silver conical mountain. A sandy trail leads to the base, then, ascending the mountain’s flank, coils up to the summit. EVELYN grips the handlebars of a red tandem bicycle. The seat behind her is empty. As she pedals forward, the grade gradually increases. She rises from her saddle, leans into the wind. On either side, TREES resembling hanks of seaweed sway and undulate. The sky above the mountain shades to purple. Hundred of stars appear, swirling like sparks, then arrange themselves into the image of a woman who seems to stand, sparkling, on the peak. EVELYN (puffing). I could certainly do without this part of the journey! TREES. On! On! EVELYN. Easy for you to say. TREES. On! She approaches the foot of the mountain. Immediately the path narrows, becomes rougher and rockier. She struggles to maintain her balance. Then a sudden burst of power propels her forward. She looks over her shoulder to find a VERY OLD MAN sitting behind her. VERY OLD MAN. Keep pedaling! EVELYN. Oh my. VERY OLD MAN. Face forward. Nice and easy. Let’s not go tumbling off a cliff. EVELYN. Of course. Sir, I’m sorry but— VERY OLD MAN. You don’t remember me. That’s all right. I remember you. EVELYN. Dr. Wheelwright! ASA. I’m pleased. EVELYN. Where are we going, Doctor? ASA. Don’t you know? EVELYN. Yes, but— ASA. Listen! All at once the skies open and an avalanche of cacophonous sound roars down the mountain. Kettle drums, trumpets, slide trombones, tubas, cellos, clarinets, kazoos—these and dozens of other instruments blare pure chaos. EVELYN and ASA brace against the deafening torrent. Then, redoubling their effort, they pedal with greater determination. The music, as though in response, assumes a measure of order. A steady rhythm emerges, entwined by a faint but detectable melody. As the melody strengthens, harmony appears, followed by counterpoint and the occasional offhand flourish. Soon the air reverberates with waves of symphonic sound. ASA. A gale of pure music pours across the roof of the world! Silence falls. EVELYN. Doctor, when I was a young girl, I began receiving a series of unsigned envelopes through the mail. My mother, without a word, would place them on my pillow. Each contained a card with a painted figure on the front: Angel, Elephant, Dwarf, Octopus, Soldier, Stallion, Eagle, Witch, Devil, Giant, Strong Man, Queen. I amused myself during the day with stories populated by these creatures; at night, they visited my dreams. So it went every month for a year. Was it you who sent those cards to me, Doctor? ASA (grandly). It was I. EVELYN. Can you tell me the reason? Wind rises. The bicycle rounds a bend in the trail. ASA disappears, and EVELYN’s legs flinch at the adjustment. Two VULTURES perch on a gnarled root protruding from the steep bank to her left. Their leathery heads pivot in unison as she passes. FIRST VULTURE. She doesn’t know yet. SECOND VULTURE. That’s clear. FIRST VULTURE. Should we tell her? SECOND VULTURE. Not me. FIRST VULTURE. She’ll learn. SECOND VULTURE. They all do. A few minutes later, EVELYN comes upon a YOUNG MAN standing atop a boulder. He wears shiny black boots, blue jeans, and a white linen shirt open at the collar. His thick black hair sweeps away from his brow. EVELYN stops to stare up at him, shading her eyes with one hand. EVELYN (wryly). You must be— YOUNG MAN. James. EVELYN. Of course. But, my, how you’ve changed! JAMES. I just grew up a little, that’s all. I’m married now. I have a young daughter. EVELYN. Good for you! But, James, something else must have happened. JAMES (smiling). I came to myself in a room of mirrors. EVELYN. What? JAMES. On every side stood ranks of rounded mountains cloaked by chilly mist. I gazed out my window, saw the full moon. Below, the land lay shaded blue against the ghost-pale figure of a woman. EVELYN. Who was she? JAMES. The mountains themselves, moved as I was by the woman’s beauty, lifted their shaggy heads, and every mirror in my room turned to catch the purple crescents glinting from their peaks. EVELYN. Oh, I see. Your wife. Do you mean you fell in love? JAMES. And how those crescents, mica-flecked and shining, streaked with lunar blue, endlessly reflected in shards of mirrored glass, woke me from my sleep is strange. EVELYN (sighing). Good grief. Still playing the poet. JAMES. You’ll soon reach the summit. Exasperated, EVELYN sets out again, pedaling hard. As the path narrows and the curves tighten, the air grows thinner; she struggles for breath. At last she emerges onto a flat, circular plateau. She glides to a stop, dismounts, lays the bicycle on its side in the grass. Standing calm against the wind, she gazes out at the endless, rippling plain. Scarlet ribbons of cloud gather into a knot above her head. The surrounding sky goes black. Then the red knot opens like a flower, a speckled starfield wreathed by tender petals, and the moon, gliding into view, pours its soothing silver light into EVELYN’s dazzled eyes. * * * An oversized suburban living room floats in a black void. At its center stands a plump sofa, flanked on either side by spindly end tables, each supporting a shaded lamp of globular, frosted glass. The left wall is blank except for a single wooden door, now closed. On the wall opposite, a massive picture window, covered by red drapes, nearly touches both floor and ceiling. A stuffed RABBIT crouches in a nearby corner. The rear wall is absent; the room extends like a tunnel straight back into darkness, culminating in a narrow slab of light. Far away, a freight train whistle moans. As the sound subsides, a figure appears at the end of the tunnel, a backlit silhouette. Footfalls echo forward, louder and louder, until EVELYN emerges into the room. She rounds the sofa, stands still before it, and gazes about in wonder. EVELYN. So this is what it’s all led to? Her eyes fall on the RABBIT. EVELYN (rushing toward it). Oh! What a cute little bunny! RABBIT (in a deep, powerful, soul-shaking voice). DO! NOT! TOUCH! ME! EVELYN (leaping back). All right. I’ll remember that. The door opens and ARTHUR enters, dressed in a dark suit and tie. His posture is erect, his gait jaunty. He carries a black leather satchel. ARTHUR. Hi, honey. I’m home. Startled, EVELYN yelps, turns, and scurries toward him, glancing once over her shoulder at the RABBIT. She clutches ARTHUR, kisses him deeply, then sinks into his arms. She sighs. ARTHUR. My, what a greeting! Let’s remember how that goes, shall we? EVELYN nods, smiling. ARTHUR. Hey, are you all right? You’re shaking like a leaf. EVELYN (looking up). Dear, I know you’ll think I’ve lost my marbles, but that stuffed rabbit— ARTHUR. Oh, yes. Don’t worry. The rabbit’s here for a reason. EVELYN (stepping back). What reason? ARTHUR crosses in front of the sofa. ARTHUR. Because he’s clairvoyant, speaks twelve languages, and has mastered the wisdom of the ages. EVELYN. But— ARTHUR. Oh, enough about the rabbit. Let’s talk about you. How was your day? EVELYN. I—I don’t remember having one. ARTHUR. Isn’t that something? Well, I’ve had a real lollapalooza. First a woman came in with an axe lodged in her head—claimed her husband did it to her. So I had to sew that up. Then came a man laid out on a gurney with all four limbs stacked on his chest like firewood—claimed his wife did it. Sewed him up. Then a little girl— EVELYN. Sweetheart— ARTHUR. And that was all before lunch! EVELYN. Maybe you need to lie down. ARTHUR. But do you know what I did after lunch? Would you like me to tell you how I spent the brief time allotted me between the dyspeptic fat lady and the autistic midget? EVELYN (dryly). Please. Tell me. I’m simply dying. ARTHUR. I went to the lab. EVELYN (with a prickle of interest). The lab? ARTHUR. I got the results. EVELYN. The results? ARTHUR. I’ve brought you good news. EVELYN. Well, for God’s sake, honey, spit it out! ARTHUR crosses grandly to the window, pauses for effect, then draws back the curtains with a flourish. A small BOY in a suit identical to ARTHUR’s stands behind the glass. The BOY waves. ARTHUR. We’re going to have—a son! EVELYN erupts into peals of joy. She leaps up and down, flapping her arms. She twirls about in circles. At last she subsides and stands trembling. She wipes her eyes. ARTHUR. Would you like to meet the young lad? EVELYN. Oh, yes, please. ARTHUR twists a brass handle, folds the panes back, then stands aside. ARTHUR. Come forth, boy, and introduce yourself. Their SON steps into the room and bows. SON. Howdy, Ma! EVELYN. Oh! Hello. Arthur, he’s so handsome! ARTHUR. Takes after the old man in that respect. Isn’t that right, boy? The SON springs to attention, executes a crisp salute. SON. Yes, sir! ARTHUR. At ease, boy. SON. Thank you, sir. The SON relaxes. EVELYN (grinning). Smart, too. ARTHUR. Well, we’ll see about that. I’d say for a hyperactive monkey he shows remarkable promise. EVELYN smiles, falls silent. All three gaze, blinking, at one another. Again the train whistle moans in the distance. SON (suddenly solemn). Mother, don’t be afraid. EVELYN. Afraid? Why should I be afraid? SON. There is a Dragon of the Deep. EVELYN. Mercy! Arthur, are you sure this is our son? ARTHUR. The boy’s right, hon. Listen. SON. Soon the Dragon will make himself known to you. Look hard within. Father must slay him. EVELYN. Arthur— RABBIT (booming). LET THE SWORD FALL! Suddenly the room is plunged into darkness. Thunder quakes. Intermittent flashes of lightning flicker through the window. The RABBIT has grown to twice-human size. EVELYN collapses. RABBIT. NOW IS THE JUDGMENT OF THIS WORLD: NOW SHALL THE PRINCE OF THIS WORLD BE CAST OUT. EVELYN. Oh, my God. RABBIT. INCIPIT— ARTHUR & SON (in unison). Here begins— EVELYN. Oh, my God! It’s happening! RABBIT. VITA NOVA. ARTHUR & SON. New life. |
COPYRIGHT © 2005 JOHN ATKINSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.