New Plays

Excerpt

From "The Passion of Henry David Thoreau"

Silence. Then THOREAU'S hoarse, irregular breathing (amplified). In this fever dream everything is exaggerated. THOREAU is writing fiercely in a journal on his lap, with a yellow pencil.

THOREAU (an air of self determination): "I think it will be today— May 6,1862. When I died. 259 Main Street, Concord, Massachusetts—where I died. Forty-four years, ten months. All accounts paid." (Interrupted by coughing)

The curtain stirs with an ominous life of its own. The Universal Lyre is heard. This is an exquisitely sweet but elusive melody, atonal, mysterious; a vibratory, bell-like hum.

THOREAU: Am I dreaming?—
I'm not dreaming—
This is my brother John's former bed, and this is my brother John's former room.
I am Henry David, I am at peace, I am unafraid.
Death is—nothing to me.

As the Universal Lyre rises, THOREAU becomes more agitated.

THOREAU: No—I'm going to M-Minnesota. I have no plans to die, I'M GOING TO MINNESOTA. THREE HUNDRED MILES UP THE MINNESOTA RIVER BY STEAMER...
(Pause) Unless I've already been.

THOREAU has dropped his pencil, which falls to the floor beside the bed and rolls. He leans over to retrieve it and begins coughing. THOREAU covers his mouth with the towel and when he brings it away we see a spot of bright blood. THOREAU wads the towel up roughly and tosses it down in disgust.

THOREAU (fevered, writing in journal):
"I stand in awe of my body, this matter to which I am bound has become so strange to me.
Talk of mysteries!—Think of our life in Nature!—
The solid earth! the actual world! Who are we?
Where are we? Am I—Henry Thoreau—to deliquesce and scatter like milkweed seed blown by the wind?
Except my seed has found no fertile soil." (Pause)
No: strike that. Damned self-pity. (Tearing page
out of the journal and crumpling it.)
"When a man dies, he bites the dust." That's so.
(Writing in journal, inspired)
"There is as much comfort in perfect disease
as in perfect health." That's so—almost.

"To die, you must first have lived." That's so.
But have I lived? And what is life?
(Squinting at the window)
A cruel jest, to die in May. The light so piercing—
I feel such yeaming, such desire!
A boy of fourteen mad to mate with—anything!
(Pause)
I did go to Minnesota, last June. I remember.
I did joumey three hundred miles up the Minnesota River.
But there was no cure for my lungs. My trip was cut short.
And now I am home. (Pause)

The wind blows the door open. Lights quiver.

THOREAU (trying to contain terror): Who—? Is someone—?

The doorway is empty, darkness lies beyond.

THOREAU (on his feet, defensive and angry): It's too soon!
I have work to do, I am not ready.
I am unafraid of that other shore but I will pass to it WHEN I AM READY.

The Universal Lyre rises hauntingly.

Lights out.

Contents

I.

Bad Girls
Black Water
The Passion of Henry David Thoreau

II.

Here I Am
Duet
Good To Know You
Poor Bibi
Homesick
The Adoption
No Next of kin
When I Was a Little Girl and My Mother Didn't Want Me

Acknowledgments