Читать книгу Bad Boy Nietzsche! and Other Plays - Richard Foreman - Страница 10
ОглавлениеThe stage is a large dark room, with faded painted targets covering the walls like wallpaper. In addition, skulls and pillows are tacked up on the walls as decorative motifs. All over the painted walls runs scrawled, illegible writing, in chalk—as if a deteriorating Nietzsche had allowed his scribbling to escape from his notebooks and cover the walls as his feverishly productive mind overpowered his self-control.
Half of the rear wall of the room is missing, replaced by a series of vertical planes lined up one behind the other, each succeeding plane getting higher as they recede into the distance, all painted a reflective black, as if they were the planes of a stylized black ocean. Above the ocean is a decorated arch, beneath which a red sun, framed by dark wings and festooned with skulls, rises over the ocean’s horizon. In the shadows stage right sits a large cabinet with a protruding cannon. Pillowed benches line the walls of the room. Angling down from above the audience are two twelve-foot-long metal probes. Their rods, padded at one end like a swab, arrive at the front edge of the stage, tilting downward, with the padded end at chest height.
The floor is coral pink, in shocking contrast to the dark walls, and at intervals on the walls and floor, large block letters spell out fragments of words.
The name “Friedrich Nietzsche,” in three-dimensional script, floats over the stage, as do many lamps.
Loops of music are heard in the background. They change continually, but are ever-present throughout the play—sometimes childlike, sometimes military and overpowering.
Nietzsche, dressed in a long black frock coat, wearing a sleeping cap with a tassel and carrying a stuffed briefcase, ambles onstage. He does a funny little march, his head bobbing slightly from side to side. He seems to have already descended into a kind of madness. Throughout the play he does bits of a stumbling dance, or rubs his hands together and rolls his eyes, always speaking in a voice that keeps cracking and making irrational swoops and dives. As he enters, he cocks his head and repeats, “Guess . . . Guess . . .” in a childlike singsong voice to no one in particular.
The Child appears at the side—a young girl with rosy cheeks, dressed as a boy in a white shirt and tie, with a child’s cap cocked at an angle.
NIETZSCHE: Guess . . .
THE CHILD: You look very different from the way I imagined you, Mr. Nietzsche—
NIETZSCHE: Guess!
THE CHILD: I HAVE read bits and pieces of things you write, Mr. Nietzsche—so I imagined you big and strong, with eyes on fire . . .
(Nietzsche looks about distractedly as the Child advances into the room, hands on hips.)
Is it possible—maybe you aren’t the real Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE: Guess! . . .
THE CHILD (Pointing to a stuffed toy horse hanging from the ceiling): Let’s make a test. Suppose I climb up toward that little horse hanging from the ceiling, and start beating it and beating it and beating it—would you protect that poor little horse, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE: Guess!
(The Dangerous Man appears through a door, hair cropped short in military fashion. His cruel beady eyes, jutting chin and storm trooper boots are in sharp contrast to the kilt he wears up over his chest as a kind of feminine kilt-bra.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: No guesses.
NIETZSCHE: Guess.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: No guesses for me, thank you.
NIETZSCHE (Opening his briefcase): Right this minute, guess what I’m experiencing.
(He throws fistfuls of paper into the air. Four Scholars in black caps appear as the papers float to the floor. They gather the papers and bring them to Nietzsche, but he pushes them away. He rises and thrusts his chest against one of the probes, emitting a cry of pain.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I really don’t want to know about this, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: Stage fright.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Jesus Christ—stage fright!
NIETZSCHE (Turning away, stumbling a bit over his own feet): What’s that beautiful music?
THE CHILD: Is this really you, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE: Oh—I’m a wonderful dancer.
(He dances in a heavy-footed way, holding the hands of the Child, as the Scholars cross the room and point at the dangling stuffed horse.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Oh, I bet this is gonna be special.
(The Child pulls the Dangerous Man to see the horse. He pulls away with a lurch.)
NIETZSCHE: Let’s face it. Nobody likes being chained to the wall by somebody else’s imagination.
(The Scholars carry a white screen onstage behind Nietzsche, to frame his body. He holds it behind him with two outstretched hands.)
Please! Wipe me out!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I’d do it if I could, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: You can do it. I want things said to me—that will be very disturbing—not to other people of course, but to myself in particular. (Whirls, still holding the screen behind him) I want things said to me that will cut into me like a knife. In that hope, I want everybody’s collaboration.
THE CHILD: Why should we collaborate with you, Mr. Nietzsche? A: We do not trust you, and B: We do not like you.
NIETZSCHE: Really? You don’t like me?
(The Scholars manipulate the screen so it flies over his head and comes down in front of him.)
Tell me why you don’t like me.
THE CHILD: Well, first of all, we don’t know you well enough to have definite opinions.
NIETZSCHE: OK, don’t try to know me better than you know me right this minute. OK? (Puts his chest against a probe and spreads his arms) Just sustain this same level of hostility for no particular reason, because I need to experience this kind of pressure. Remember—I’ll pay very well.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Hey! Let me think about this. (Exits)
THE CHILD (Steps forward with cake and a single candle): Hey. Is your mind really on fire, Mr. Nietzsche? (Nietzsche rolls his eyes in delight) Is this candle for you? Do you like candles?
NIETZSCHE (Licking his lips): In fact, what I like is cake. (Goes for the cake, stumbles and falls onto a bench. The alert Scholars are already there to support him with pillows)
THE CHILD: OK. The cake’s for you too.
NIETZSCHE: I don’t deserve it, I suppose . . .
THE CHILD: Right.
NIETZSCHE: Right. Look at me carefully. I’m an everyday person, in fact.
THE CHILD: Not really. I think your mind is on fire, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (Struggling up from the bench): No. There is no fire inside me.
THE CHILD: Then how do you manage to capture my attention, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE (Throwing himself against a probe, with a groan): Yes. Yes! . . . Yes! I accept that!
(A knock is heard, and a Faraway Voice calls: “It’s open, Fritz!”)
Hello? (Looks about the room, then stumbles to throw himself against another probe) Yes! I accept that!
THE CHILD (As the Scholars line up behind him): Then how do you manage to capture my attention, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE: Please, be very careful.
(He falls backward and the Scholars push him back onto the probe as the Dangerous Man enters with a second cake.)
THE CHILD: Why should I be careful, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE: It could be that I am dangerous in my passivity.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: See?
(He shoves the cake at Nietzsche, who stumbles away with a giggle of shock.)
Your passivity is something very intense after all, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: Perhaps.
THE CHILD: No—maybe! That’s what the word “perhaps” really means, really it does. Am I right?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: You’re right.
THE CHILD: But, in fact, I want nothing more to do with you, Mr. Nietzsche.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: She’s right, of course.
THE CHILD: Knock knock! Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: Knock knock? Is somebody talking to me?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Hey—. Nobody said nothing.
(The music rises as a wall, decorated much like the others, slides in to hide the room behind. Nietzsche runs to it and runs his hands over its surface.)
NIETZSCHE: No, somebody who is outside is trying to get inside.
(The wall slides out, revealing four giant, egg-shaped heads, six feet tall, with faces painted in the center, rocking back and forth. They whisper in falsetto: “Peek a boo!”)
My dear friends. After you discover me, you find me.
(The Egg Heads say: “Oww-ee!”)
The difficulty is now to lose me, Friedrich Nietzsche.
(He marches clumsily across the front of the stage as the wall slides in front of the Egg Heads and then immediately slides off again, revealing an empty room. At the top of the ocean, framed against the red sun, a Beautiful Woman with naked breasts appears, wearing an occult crown and holding two disks painted with symbols. The music is very loud.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Shouting over the music and indicating the Beautiful Woman, above): Who is that woman up there?
NIETZSCHE (Prancing about the stage): Well, this is a person who claims she is unable to live without me.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Jumping onto a bench to see the Beautiful Woman better): You?
NIETZSCHE: This is what she secretly tells me!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: You?
NIETZSCHE: Not that I believe this is true!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Really?
NIETZSCHE: Do I believe this is true!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Well? Do you believe it?
NIETZSCHE: Yes.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Throws his leg up against the wall; he is frightening and semi-erotic): Yes, is it?
(Nietzsche jumps back in terror.)
Then whatever happens, you’ll never move from this spot.
NIETZSCHE: Perhaps—perhaps not. Perhaps, perhaps not—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I don’t understand your hesitation.
NIETZSCHE: No. There is no hesitation. (Shouts loudly) This is Paradise, after all!
(The Dangerous Man slaps his face. The Beautiful Woman screams then disappears.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: This doesn’t look like Paradise, does it now?
NIETZSCHE: Wrong. Feet, placed firmly on the floor—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Pick up your feet when you walk.
NIETZSCHE: This is Paradise.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Whispering as she peeps around a corner): Paradise.
NIETZSCHE: The oh-so-poignant torso, twisting slightly to suggest—unimaginable directions.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Whispering as she peeps around a corner): Paradise.
NIETZSCHE: A certain dizziness entering history by accident.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I don’t get it, obviously.
(The Scholars enter with sheets of paper and a giant-sized pencil. Nietzsche laughs and grabs the pencil, holding it over his head with both hands. The Scholars hold the sheets against the walls, and Nietzsche tries to write on the paper with his giant pencil.)
NIETZSCHE:
Here I am, doing my thing in Paradise.
—I write on paper, write on wall
With foolish heart a foolish scrawl.
You say—the hands of fools
Deface the table and the wall—
Erase it all! Erase it!
(The pencil falls to the floor with a loud crash.)
I try to help the best I can
I wield a sponge, as you recall
But when the cleaning up is done
Let’s see this super sage emit
Upon the walls, sagacious shit!
(The Scholars begin beating Nietzsche with whips, as a Voice intones: “Pleased to meet you! Pleased to meet you!”)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Jesus Christ—I heard one bad boy, i.e., Bad Boy Nietzsche, using the word “Paradise”—but this does not look like Paradise the way I imagined it.
NIETZSCHE (Pushing away the Scholars): Wrong.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: What’s wrong about it?
NIETZSCHE: Here I am. Doing my thing, in a place that looks very much like Paradise.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: If Mr. Nietzsche says so, then I guess this is really Paradise.
NIETZSCHE: Here is a list of potent items.
(The items start being passed over the walls that simulate the ocean.)
A crown.
THE CHILD (Carrying a stuffed toy horse with a crown on its head): Oh yes, here’s a really nice crown.
NIETZSCHE: A drum.
THE CHILD: Here comes a big drum.
NIETZSCHE (Holding up his hand): Hand.
THE CHILD (As the Scholars hold up their hands): But there are so many hands available, Mr. Nietzsche. How can we choose just one?
NIETZSCHE: Blindfold! Blindfold!
THE DANGEROUS MAN (As the Scholars cover Nietzsche and the Dangerous Man’s eyes): Under the circumstances, a blindfold— (He slaps Nietzsche, who grabs a chair to defend himself) —might be appropriate.
NIETZSCHE: Knife.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: OK.
NIETZSCHE: Is a chair appropriate?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Chair. Very appropriate.
THE CHILD: Maybe you favor physical objects over people, Mr. Nietzsche.
(The big bass drum that has been passed over the wall has tubes coming out of it, with funnels on the ends of the tubes, wide end outward. As the music rises, Nietzsche sniffs at a funnel, then holds it to his chest. The Dangerous Man hits the drum, and Nietzsche staggers back as the thud pounds against his heart.)
NIETZSCHE: Maybe that hurts people, but that’s OK. Because I do not favor people. No—not people—but what’s inside people. (Again he allows the Child to place a tube on his chest. The Dangerous Man hits the drum and Nietzsche staggers) Again and again. Shaking things to their very foundations. My iron fist. My feet like fire. My knife like a terrible kiss. (Pretends to stab himself, and a Scholar brings a bloody rag with which Nietzsche tries to clean his hands) Stabbing oneself—hands covered with blood—
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (A white shawl over her shoulders): Beautiful white wings. (Spreads her arms to extend the shawl like wings) Red blood falling from the eyes.
NIETZSCHE (Wrapping himself in her shawl): That which is oppressive to me, all that I hurl into the depths. Once and for all.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Wings.
NIETZSCHE: Yes! Wings! The divine art is flying—to great heights from which one throws what is oppressive into the depths of the ocean! (Skulls appear in the ocean, and Falsetto Voices cry: “Peek a boo.” Nietzsche sings out in falsetto) Shipwreck! (A little boat appears at the top of the ocean) I throw myself into that ocean—Shipwreck! I do throw myself into that terrible ocean! (Dances, stumbling)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Not much of a dancer, are you Mr. Nietzsche?
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: A better dancer than a singer, maybe.
THE CHILD (With a cymbal and drumstick): OK, everybody start dancing! (Hits the cymbal) And again! And again!
(A large cutout puppet slides in from the side, so big it has to bend at the waist to fit beneath the ceiling. It slowly kicks its leg as it advances. It is, perhaps, the God of Shipwrecks. All start screaming and clawing the walls as the music becomes deafening and the boat heaves violently.
They fall to the floor as the lights fade to black, and a Deep Voice is heard proclaiming: “Shipwreck, shipwreck.”
The lights return and the Child is seen alone, staring at the little boat on the top of the ocean.)
He thought he saw a giant boat
Beneath a silver moon.
He looked again and saw it was
His lonely living room.
He thought he saw the sailors
Throwing bread crumbs toward the sea.
He looked again and saw
A giant fish is eating me!
ALL (As they claw the walls): Help! Help! Help!
NIETZSCHE (Slowly collapsing to the floor): Ow! A splinter, my finger . . .
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Pulling Nietzsche’s briefcase out from beneath a bench): Hey— Look what I found. This is for you, Mr. Nietzsche. (Nietzsche reaches for it, but the Dangerous Man pulls it away and runs to the wall) OK. Let me correct myself—Mr. “Bad Boy” Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: What’s in the briefcase?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Jesus Christ—I don’t know.
NIETZSCHE: Open it.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Oh, come on now—are you afraid to open it?
NIETZSCHE (Dances slowly toward the briefcase, then grabs it away from the Dangerous Man): Fools have known all along—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: What fools?
(Nietzsche takes papers out of the briefcase and throws them up to the sky. As they flutter down, the Scholars run in with sticks that have grabber claws on the end. They each seize a piece of paper with a grabber and extend it toward Nietzsche.)
NIETZSCHE: The one thing necessary—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Yes?
NIETZSCHE: Is to keep—pen in motion—over the paper. The pen scribbles—?
(The grabbers move pieces of paper against the walls, and Nietzsche snatches at the papers and stuffs them in the mouth of the cannon protruding from the side cabinet as he continues.)
I say to hell with that. “Well, to hell with that.” And I say “no” to belief systems of all kinds.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Don’t do that, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (Stuffs the papers in the cannon with a big cannon stuffer, which he then uses to try to write in bold strokes on the walls of the room): With thick strokes my writing flows so full and broad. So what if it’s illegible? Ow! (Loses his balance and falls to the floor) Who reads the stuff I write? Ow! I hurt my shoulder.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Standing over Nietzsche, who rubs his sore shoulder): I think Mr. Nietzsche had an accident.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: There’s not much we can do about accidents. They happen.
THE CHILD: We could get medical help.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Is your shoulder really that bad? Are you a Bad Bad Boy?
NIETZSCHE (Crawling up onto a bench): It still hurts, but not so much. I don’t think it’s broken.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Oh—it’s not broken.
NIETZSCHE (Thinks, then holds out his hand): But I hurt my hand.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Oh? Your HAND?
NIETZSCHE: My writing hand.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Then your scribbling days are over, right?
THE CHILD: What’s wrong, Mr. Nietzsche?
(She giggles, then all run offstage.
Nietzsche turns around, then slowly comes down and shows his hand to the audience.)
NIETZSCHE (Quietly): Once upon a time I tried writing a letter to a beloved friend, using my left hand, but the letter was unreadable, of course—not because of its content, which came from my heart—but using my left hand I could only partially control the formation of letter after letter after letter! (Tries to write on the walls, but again—falls) Ow! I hurt my left hand!
(The Child enters with a big loaf of bread, with a large knife stuck in the center. The others follow.)
I better use my right hand to cut some slices from this holy bread which enters my life like an unexpected guest.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Your right hand? You mean your writing hand, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE (Holding the bread): Have some slices of this holy bread which trembles in expectation.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: That looks like normal bread to me, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: There are valuable jewels in this bread.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: What did you say?
NIETZSCHE: This bread is very unusual. You eat it—you grow bigger. Your body becomes strong and your head—double—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Is that really desirable? Such a big head?
NIETZSCHE: There are jewels—ow! (He trips and falls on a bench)—Valuable jewels in this holy bread.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Posing against a white screen): I heard him say something unusual.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: So did we all.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: He said—there are “Jews” in this bread.
NIETZSCHE: No, no, you misunderstand me. There are jewels, valuable jewels in this bread.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: I would not eat this bread if there were Jews in this bread. (Slowly advances and takes the bread from Nietzsche. She turns toward the audience and puts her hand on the knife) You understand why I say that? Jews—I do not eat Jews. You better make me believe there are no Jews in this bread, because, my dear Fritz— (Lifts the knife out of the bread) —if there are Jews in this bread, then I will put not even the tiniest morsel of this bread in my mouth. But on the other hand— (Lifts the knife higher. A siren is heard, and she swoons to the floor. Then she slowly rises to her knees) —if I am certain there are no Jews in this bread, then I will open my mouth and allow a few tiny crumbs of bread to enter my own, sweet— (Licks the edge of the knife)
NIETZSCHE: I do not move.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: If you don’t move, you’re in trouble, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: I hope to prove to you, however, that I do not bake Jews in this bread. So please. Feed me some of my own bread. (She holds the knife to his mouth) I would never eat bread baked with Jews inside. Because to do so would be to hurt, terribly . . .
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Let’s find out.
NIETZSCHE (Licks the knife): What I have in my stomach now. —No Jews in there!—only—jewels baked in my bread, now in my stomach. (Suddenly holds his stomach in pain, tumbling to the floor, as the Scholars beat him) Oww! Can you possibly understand how painful to me to have sharp jewels inside one’s stomach?
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Still kneeling on the floor): I am imagining that.
NIETZSCHE: You tell me what it feels like in the imagination.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: It would be very painful.
NIETZSCHE: Yes! It is!
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Like broken glass—
NIETZSCHE: Yes! It is!
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (As a small target passes in front of her eyes): Or long splinters, driven into the hands, or into the feet. Or eyes wide open—
NIETZSCHE (Cowering at the wall): Please stop—
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Staring straight into the sun, which is probably the most painful thing I can think of—splinters going into my eyes!
(They all scream as the target leaves her eyes and the lights brighten.)
VOICE (Over loud music): Eyes eyes eyes!—
(A Phallic Serpent rises from the ocean, then sinks down again.)
NIETZSCHE: Where is my Chinese horse? Where is my Chinese horse?
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Overlapping): What the hell are you talking about? I don’t understand you, Mr. Nietzsche.
(Nietzsche falls to his knees.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: My God—here is a voice we dare not allow to speak directly because— (Puts her hands on Nietzsche’s brow) —the madness of this voice is infectious, and if one hears this voice speaking directly for itself, one is intoxicated by such speaking, one leaps from high windows, one plunges into wide rivers—from the power of whose turbulence—no escape seems possible.
THE CHILD (Prancing in the ocean, singing): I know where that voice is coming from—I know where this voice is coming from—
(The Scholars bring on two stuffed horses, which they throw back and forth. Nietzsche grabs one of the horses and dances with it affectionately. A Voice is heard over the music:)
VOICE: Here is a man—here is a man, here is a man who simply cannot opt out of his own self-destructive motives—who listens to himself only.
(One horse is wrenched from Nietzsche’s grasp, and he runs for the other, but that second one is thrown past him—he grabs for it but ends up clutching only his own body. He advances to the probe, throws himself against it and sings:)
NIETZSCHE: Where is my Chinese horse? Where is my Chinese horse?
(A wild dance follows. One of the horses is placed on Nietzsche’s back, and he prances around the stage as the Child hits her cymbals and the lights fade to black.
When the lights come up, the Dangerous Man is at the side of the stage dressed in a bloody apron and feathered hat, holding a tray of raw meat. Nietzsche slumps, exhausted, on a bench, embracing his horse.)
VOICE: Here is a man.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Hard to believe, Friedrich Nietzsche, philosopher of power—the missing years of sweet, gentle, Bad Boy Nietzsche—years in the desert, in the lonely mountains of China—unknown years in lonely rooms in Chinese rooming houses— (Drops the tray to the floor with a loud crash) —visited in secret—by the ghosts of wise men seeking power—ghosts of ancient China.
THE CHILD (Bending over the tray): Where is my Chinese horse?
NIETZSCHE (Rising, hugging his horse): This is my Chinese horse.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Chinese or no Chinese, that doesn’t mean shit to me.
(A crash of Chinese cymbals. The Beautiful Woman, with bare breasts, appears above the ocean.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: I can relate to this, please—I too am banished to some nether region, where the best I can do is to try understanding the goddamn rules on this particular shithouse planet—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Sorry about this, Mr. Nietzsche.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Disappearing): That bastard is NEVER sorry!!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Hey!—spiritual self-laceration is not to my taste.
NIETZSCHE (In his own world, hugging his horse): Nobody sees my Chinese horse. Nobody sees my Chinese horse. Nobody sees my Chinese horse.
(The Child bounces up and down on a second horse as the Scholars dance around her. The Dangerous Man reenters carrying a ceremonial red Chinese wagon wheel.)
THE CHILD: Is it not true that to pursue and sing whatever one truly desires inside each moment as it passes—this is to pursue—incoherence in fact—
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Overlapping): Chinese whores and horses! Chinese horses and whores!
THE CHILD AND THE DANGEROUS MAN: True! True! True! True!
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Reappearing, fully dressed, as things quiet down): Mr. Nietzsche is a man who sees the darkness where other people think there is a light still shining.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: That doesn’t mean shit to this tough Chinaman!
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Crossing to cast a spell on Nietzsche): Shit-heads of the entire world. Do you really believe that Mr. Nietzsche’s purpose here on earth is to bring light into places where up till now there has been darkness?
NIETZSCHE (Sings, cuddling his horse in a corner): Nobody sees my Chinese horse.
THE CHILD (Lifting a whip): You’ve never even been to China, you bad bad bad boy.
NIETZSCHE: Whip me, sir, and you whip my horse. (She whips) Whip my horse, sir—and I, also, suffer those same blows. Remember—I’ll pay you very well.
THE CHILD (Backing away; singing): Jews in my bread . . . (Falls over a horse, cries out, and then recovers) I have wonderful—Jews in my bread.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: This does not look like China, you crazy man!
NIETZSCHE: Maybe not . . . but—I’m on my way.
(A tone sounds as the giant shipwreck puppet slides in again. This time, dangling from his fingers, there is a blackboard on which are written magical Hebrew letters. A pair of legs rises feetfirst from the ocean, and, between the two legs, the Phallic Serpent. Nietzsche grabs the whip and starts beating at the waves, rather ineffectively. A Voice sings out: “Hello! Hello! Hello!”
Nietzsche drops the whip and tries to erase the kabbalistic letters on the blackboard as the lights fade to black.
In the darkness a Deep Voice says: “Remember,” and Nietzsche cries out: “Hello!” Then the lights return, the puppet is gone, and Nietzsche sits alone on a bench. A moment later, a big snake with a human hand instead of a head jumps up from the ocean and plops onto the bench next to Nietzsche, with its tail still hidden, invisible inside the ocean.
The Child is heard crying, and then appears onstage, struggling step by step, supported by two crutches that are too big for her.)
(Running back and forth nervously; to the Child) Don’t cry . . . don’t cry . . .
(More and more of the snake’s body pours over the edge of the ocean wall. As the Child continues sobbing, the Scholars enter on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. Nietzsche starts throwing all available objects, including the leftover stuffed horses, over the wall into the ocean. The Beautiful Woman enters, also crawling on her knees, laboriously rolling a big boulder. Nietzsche grabs the boulder and she screams and falls flat on the floor. He throws the boulder into the ocean, then flexes his muscles, trying to believe in his own powers.)
VOICE:
Here is a man.
Here is a man.
(Nietzsche grabs the hand on the end of the snake and struggles with it, becoming wound up in the snake’s coils, but eventually he subdues it and throws the beast into the ocean. He collapses against a wall in exhaustion, but quickly pushes himself away, lifting his arms and uttering an inarticulate cry of triumph. He races to the side of the room, where he pounds on a piano keyboard.)
NIETZSCHE (Stepping back from the piano as the Beautiful Woman struggles to her feet): What do I need? I mean—NEED—most of all?
(He runs over to pull the cabinet with the cannon into the center of the room, falling to his knees in the midst of his frantic efforts, then scrambling up again to complete the task. He stands panting, hitched to the cabinet as if he were a workhorse pulling a wagon. We can now see that the cabinet resembles an armor-plated tank. The Beautiful Woman picks up a whip.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (As frantic music quiets, she leans seductively toward Nietzsche): Say “need,” Mr. Nietzsche. Say, “What do I need?!”
NIETZSCHE (Embarrassed): I need you—looking at “me.”
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Well. I NEED it, too, Mr. Nietzsche—you— (Whips him once and he screams) —looking at me.
(The cabinet is pulled back to the side as Scholars strap a belt around Nietzsche’s chest. Many wooden sticks extend from the belt to the floor, forming a kind of “stick tent” that makes it impossible for him to move.)
(To Nietzsche) Are you looking at me?
(The Dangerous Man strides onstage; the Child tracks him.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Stopping suddenly and whirling about suspiciously): Why is everybody looking at me!
(A lightning flash—all react with a scream and a whirl to protect their eyes, except Nietzsche, who cannot move.)
How the hell do I know what kind of movements to make next?
(A High Voice sings: “Hello!” The Dangerous Man and the Child go and thrust their chests against the probes, and the Dangerous Man whispers: “Stage fright!” The Voice sings: “Hello!” and the Scholars hold a target in front of Nietzsche’s face.)
ALL (Shouting in fear): Stage fright!
(Other Scholars spin the Child and the Dangerous Man in a fast whirl. The Child cries out: “Help.” All are suddenly frozen.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Thought has now come to faraway China.
(The target in front of Nietzsche switches to a kabbalistic sign.)
Thought is now upside-down, of course—
(Another flash of light startles everyone. The Voice sings: “Hello!”)
—on the other side of the world—
(Nietzsche moans as the sign reverses to the target. The others gently wave their arms like slow-flying vultures.)
—something wiped out—immense—where death rules things.
NIETZSCHE (Peeking out from behind the target): This does not mean that death rules things.
(The Scholars detach Nietzsche from his tent of sticks.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Death? I better look that up in my Chinese dictionary. But in the meantime, let’s have drinks! Drinks for everybody!
(The Scholars carry in one tray with drinks and another with the large loaf of bread.)
THE CHILD: On an empty stomach?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Why the hell not?
THE CHILD: We’d stagger around being drunk.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: That sounds OK to me—
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Seizing the bread): There is bread, to calm such terrible stomachs.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Where the hell did that bread come from?
(Lightning and thunder as the wall rolls in again, hiding the rear of the room. The Child screams, and Nietzsche grabs the bread.)
NIETZSCHE: Do not be afraid! Do not be afraid! I will protect this holy bread—from wind, rain, thunder and lightning!
(Nietzsche, the Dangerous Man and the Child sit on a bench that has been placed in front of the moving wall. They face the audience.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Careful, shithead Nietzsche—there are jewels in that bread!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: If there are really jewels in that holy bread, which I don’t think very likely—
NIETZSCHE: There are jewels in this holy bread.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: That would make it goddamn dangerous to eat that holy bread.
THE CHILD: Oh, how dangerous could bread be?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Dangerous enough that we could die from this holy bread.
(The Dangerous Man and the Child hold their stomachs in pain and collapse to the floor.)
If we ate this holy bread, we could all die.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Since we are all going to die—from this bread—or maybe not from this bread—it doesn’t matter what happens to us. Therefore, we should kill people.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Rising slowly): What people should we kill?
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: People we don’t like. People who are already dead.
THE CHILD: That means lots of people.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Following Nietzsche, who has moved to the side of the stage, protecting his bread): This is all—very interesting.
NIETZSCHE: Remember—I’ll pay you very well.
(Nietzsche sits in a high-backed chair next to the bench. The Dangerous Man selects a golf club from a bag, which a Scholar has carried in. He examines the club carefully, then comes forward and gives a tremendous whack to the back of Nietzsche’s chair, sending Nietzsche sprawling onto the floor as the Beautiful Woman and Child giggle.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Putting away his club and nudging Nietzsche with his foot): Jesus Christ—maybe you should work out a little, Mr. Nietzsche. I don’t think you look sufficiently muscular.
THE CHILD: Oh no—he doesn’t look even a little bit muscular.
NIETZSCHE: I’m not supposed to be muscular.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Selecting another club): Of course—we’d be a little worried if you got TOO muscular— (Whacks the chair, again sending Nietzsche sprawling) Up on your feet, Mr. Nietzsche! Come on now—
(He steps over Nietzsche and climbs up to stand on the bench, hands on hips, as the Scholars enter in the shadows, carrying sticks from which dangle small yellow Jewish stars.)
NIETZSCHE (Struggling to his feet): I can do that by myself.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Turn around. Look me in the eye—
NIETZSCHE: I’m already doing that.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Spreading his arms halfway): I want you to hold out your arms. (Nietzsche slowly does so) Good. Now—I want you to whisper loud enough so that we can all hear you whispering: “Hello! Am I a prophet flying over the countryside looking into the future?”
(The Beautiful Woman and the Child rise and bow their heads in prayer.)
NIETZSCHE (As he and the Dangerous Man both slowly flap their arms): Yes, I am.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Mockingly): Well, yes I am, yes I am . . .
(Music builds. Nietzsche backs into his chair. The Dangerous Man gets a golf club and again hits the chair, sending Nietzsche sprawling.)
NIETZSCHE (From the floor, in pain): Tell me. Do you very much like—playing golf?
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Jumping back up onto the bench): As a matter of fact (Does a sudden pose to show his muscles popping) I do like playing golf.
NIETZSCHE: Really?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I like it.
NIETZSCHE: Why?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: No reason. (Relaxes; he’s threatening nevertheless) But you know how much I like golf.
NIETZSCHE: No, I didn’t know that.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: We’ve been friends for ten years—
NIETZSCHE: Ten long years.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Ten wonderful years.
NIETZSCHE: Ten long years.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: After ten years of friendship, you should know golf is one of my favorite hobbies.
NIETZSCHE (Rising, looking into the distance): You know what? I’ve seen you going off to play golf so often, I’ve concluded—it’s a hobby.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Right. I like it.
NIETZSCHE: Well, I believe you. (Stumbles about with a golf club, tries to execute a golf swing, and gets tangled up in himself until he drops the golf club on his foot) You like it because— (Giving the golf club to the Dangerous Man) —you’re good at it!
THE CHILD (Excitedly, as Nietzsche sits): He hopes to get better. And better—
(The Dangerous Man crosses behind Nietzsche’s chair and starts whacking it with his club as Nietzsche slides to the floor, exhausted.)
—and better and better and better!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Excuse me, Mr. Nietzsche, but wasn’t there supposed to be money in this for the rest of us?
NIETZSCHE (Pulling out a wallet full of money): A promise is a promise. (Throws bills into the air)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Oooh. The gods provide. —Where does all this wonderful money come from, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE: I don’t want to know such things.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Right. Some people get nervous about money.
NIETZSCHE: How did it come to be that there is—money? Rather than—no money?
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Giggling): Thank goodness.
NIETZSCHE: How did the world decide to invent, and spew forth—money!?—take off your shoes, please—
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN AND THE DANGEROUS MAN: What?
(The Voice starts singing a falsetto: “Hello! Hello!” Nietzsche grabs a whip and stumbles about the stage, ranting in gibberish, as the upside-down legs again rise out of the ocean with the Phallic Serpent between them. Nietzsche bangs into a wall and the Voice, deepened, exclaims: “Ow! Ow!”)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: You don’t mean take off our shoes?
NIETZSCHE: I promised lots of money. I’m going to stuff ten-dollar bills inside everybody’s shoes. (Begins to do so)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: That’s crazy.
NIETZSCHE: Yes—I’m going to squeeze ten dollars inside this shoe, and another ten dollars, and lots and lots of crumpled-up ten-dollar bills.
(The Falsetto Voice sings: “Hello, hello.”)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: This is crazy—
NIETZSCHE: OK. With ten-dollar bills stuffed inside everybody’s shoes, are those shoes a little bit uncomfortable maybe?
THE CHILD: My shoe is very uncomfortable.
NIETZSCHE: Yes! But having those extra ten dollars makes being uncomfortable—“OK.”
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Ten dollars—not a big sum, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: Ten dollars? —Well, ten dollars is ten dollars, my friend.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: OK. We have ten dollars in our shoes. Now what?
NIETZSCHE (Going to the cabinet): Why don’t all three of you just squeeze inside this ugly thing—
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: That ugly thing?
NIETZSCHE: Squeeze inside, please! For me.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Do you imagine us having sex inside that thing, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE: No. I never said that.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Guess what, Mr. Nietzsche. Imagine it, and it might happen.
THE CHILD (As all three enter the cabinet): Obviously it’s going to happen.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Obviously.
(With the other three inside the cabinet, Nietzsche lies on the bench and becomes very excited imagining what’s happening inside the cabinet. The Scholars fan him as the Voice sings a falsetto: “Hello—hello—hello!” Nietzsche falls off the bench in excitement. He rises and hears the moans of sexual excitement from inside the cabinet. As the noise dies down, he looks sadly toward the cabinet.)
NIETZSCHE:
I do not love my neighbor near to me—
But wish he, or she—
Were high up and far away.
(He bangs once on the piano keyboard and howls.)
How else could he, or she—
Become my guiding star?
(From inside the cabinet the Child squeaks in pain. The Dangerous Man mutters: “You’re such a child.” They all exit the cabinet.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: All done in here, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: What happened to the ten dollars, please?
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Don’t worry, it’s still in our shoes.
NIETZSCHE: OK. Take the money out of the shoes, please. And now see if the money STINKS!! (Pause) Well? Does it stink?
(Pause.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: You’ve been a very bad boy, Mr. Nietzsche—
NIETZSCHE: Yes. (Slaps his own wrist) I have—tell me how I’ve been bad.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Indicates the Beautiful Woman): You had sex with this lady, I believe.
NIETZSCHE: No, that’s not possible.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: A certain species of girlfriend—
(The Beautiful Woman starts chasing Nietzsche around the bench. He falls and she is on top of him, caressing him.)
—a possible wife; an everlasting bundle of—“look but don’t touch.”
(The Voice intones: “Pleased to meet you.”)
Upside-down on the other side of the world, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE (Trying to avoid her caresses): I have not done this terrible thing!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: But you have.
NIETZSCHE (Looking away): In my dreams only.
(The Beautiful Woman leans over and kisses Nietzsche.)
THE CHILD (Sings): We all love Chinese babies.
(Nietzsche pushes away from the Beautiful Woman, as the Upside-down Cardboard Legs and Serpent rise up from the ocean.)
NIETZSCHE: No! In my dreams I have. So punish me for such terrible dreams.
(The Dangerous Man, the Beautiful Woman and the Child strip to the waist.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Punishment can sometimes be given on demand, but most of the time, what you ask for isn’t exactly what you were asking for—am I right, Mr. Nietzsche?
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (As she and the Child strike erotic poses): Say something, Mr. Nietzsche.
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Looking at the Beautiful Woman and the Child): Hey. Very nice.
THE CHILD: Say something wonderful, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (His eyes glued to their naked breasts):
Lest her happiness oppress us . . .
(Nietzsche leaps up and grabs a sword, which he points at the Beautiful Woman and the Child.)
—Cloak yourself in devilish tresses
Devilish wit and devilish dresses,
All in vain! Her eyes express her angelic—saintliness.
(The Voice sings: “Hello, hello,” and the Deep Voice intones: “Ow!” The Scholars run on, all carrying oversized wooden phalluses which they manipulate in inventive ways, as the Beautiful Woman sings operatically: ”Friedrich Nietzsche!”)
(Watching the Scholars rub their phalluses) This too shall pass.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: This will not pass, buddy.
NIETZSCHE: Help me. (Takes off his pants)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: You bad boy.
(Nietzsche lies back on a bench, holding his penis, as the Scholars gather around to look.)
NIETZSCHE: Help me!—I have this appendage on the front of my body that swells up sometimes. It does—it really does! It’s called my penis, I suppose.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: You bad, bad boy.
NIETZSCHE: A great variety of species on this planet have a similar system that swells up. But why is this necessary? Why? Why?
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Advancing toward Nietzsche and posing): Maybe the grid on which you chart your experience is never your experience, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (Rising to study her exposed breasts):
Oh, why is she clever now, and so refined?
On her account a man’s now out of his mind.
His head was good before he took this whirl,
He lost his head—to the aforesaid girl!
(The Scholars run in with white sheets, some trying to clean the walls, others winding Nietzsche in a sheet to hide his penis.)
I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I have this appendage—on the front of my body—it swells up sometimes.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Make some babies, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: Babies? —NO! (Runs to grab onto the cannon, holding it like a security blanket)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Hushed voice, displaying her body): Millions and millions of babies—making millions and millions of thoughts, Mr. Nietzsche—until that one day finally comes, when every possible thought has finally been thought, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (Whispers): Is that really possible?
(The Beautiful Woman comes to look at Nietzsche, then turns and throws herself against a probe.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: But—it takes a lot of babies—until all possible thoughts—
(There is a thud that throws the Scholars against the walls.)
—can finally be thought. So then—this whole rotten, beautiful planet can just STOP, Mr. Nietzsche.
(The Child giggles as the Dangerous Man slaps the briefcase into Nietzsche’s hand, then turns to look at the Beautiful Woman’s breasts.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Very nice . . .
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN:
Not death maybe,
—But something even more interesting.
NIETZSCHE: Oh my God.
(A boat appears bouncing up and down on the far ocean. Nietzsche sings in falsetto:)
Shipwreck! Shipwreck!
THE CHILD: Shipwreck! Shipwreck!
(The music rises, and all run to the ocean and try to reach out to the ship in danger. The Voice cries out: “Pleased to meet you! Pleased to meet you!” Nietzsche throws his chest against a probe. Suddenly the music stops and the actors freeze.)
Your boat is now ready, Mr. Nietzsche!
THE DANGEROUS MAN (To Nietzsche): What’s wrong?
NIETZSCHE: There’s no boat.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I know there’s no boat.
NIETZSCHE: There’s no boat. Nobody climbs onboard, because there’s no boat—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: You already said that, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: I said that because I want things said that will cut into me like a knife. (Again throws himself against probe) I want this kind of pressure—
VOICE (As a bell rings): Your boat is now ready for delivery, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE:
Was I ill? Have I got well?
Oh my memory is rotten
But those are well who have forgotten!
(He grabs a whip and, moaning inarticulately, starts beating the ocean. The Voice intones: “Here is a man! Here is a man!” Nietzsche tumbles over a bench.)
I’m sorry to tell you— (Reaches into his briefcase and throws papers into the air) There is no boat!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Nietzsche. You hurt people, too. Just like everybody else.
NIETZSCHE: That was never my intention—
THE CHILD: Everybody hurts everybody, Mr. Nietzsche.
(The Scholars press recovered pieces of paper against Nietzsche’s body. He swings his briefcase to fight them off.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: See what I mean, Mr. Nietzsche? You really hurt people—
THE CHILD: Nobody reads the stuff you write, Mr. Nietzsche.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Nobody wants your babies, Mr. Nietzsche.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Nobody wants to give you—hugs and kisses.
NIETZSCHE (Crossing slowly to the cabinet): OK. In order to bring a little bit of happiness to somebody who deserves, of course, no real happiness— (Opens the door to the cabinet) I’ll just—lock myself—inside this ugly thing—forever.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Hey! You’re still not inside it, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (Entering, peeking out through the door): I’m never coming out! . . . Believe me?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Nobody can live forever inside that thing, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: I’m never coming out.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: You won’t come out?
(Nietzsche disappears inside as the cabinet starts advancing to center stage. Childlike music is heard.)
NIETZSCHE: I’m never coming out!
(The stuffed horse is carried in. The Child grabs a whip.)
THE CHILD: OK. If you’re never coming out, Mr. Nietzsche—then we can beat the shit! (She whips and giggles) —out of this poor little horse as much as we like, and nobody’s going to stop us. Right, Mr. Nietzsche? Right? Right?
(The Child and the Beautiful Woman beat the horse violently. The music turns to violent pounding as the cabinet moves forward, frightening them, forcing everyone to cower against the wall in terror. Nietzsche runs out of the cabinet. He sees their terror as they claw their way up the wall, then he heroically pushes the cabinet back to the side of the stage. Then, as the music quiets, he does a funny little walk to center stage.)
You lied to us, Mr. Nietzsche. You said you were never coming out.
NIETZSCHE: Yes. But how is that possible? Because— (He thinks, then speaks softly) I never lie.
(The lights fade.)
THE END
