Script for Fall 2007 Workshop, Part II.
From Oberon
Take Me to the Water; Projects in Dramaturgy, Fall 2007, Part II
Song: The Water is Wide - to lead folks up back theatre stairs
Frog Man Appears - on stage, so that folks see him as they pass by
The Baptismal Fount - lights pre-set
A man and a woman standing or sitting on a beach, or on the waterfront. The man has a flask that he drinks from periodically, but he is not visibly drunk. He is also smoking. It’s a chilly, overcast afternoon.
MAGGIE: Tom, I think I want to get baptized, sometime soon.
TOM: Now why in hell would you want to do that? You going to join a convent as well? Waste your beauty and your youth? Have you ever even been to church?
MAGGIE: Of course I’ve been to church!….well not for a long time. My parents used to take me to church every Sunday when I was little. I always dragged my feet, but there was no arguing with Mother. I would much more have preferred sleeping in and watching cartoons. I don’t think my parents were even really religious. Dad always fell asleep during the Gospel reading, and Mom would sit there pinching him to keep him awake—
TOM: Well if it was that bad then, it sure as hell ain’t any better now. The preacher still stands from his pulpit, and still spouts the same bullshit, that for some reason a third of the world’s population still believes. (he takes a swig of his bourbon) I mean, fuck, the only reason to get in touch with God is the wine at the end, when all the bullshit’s been professed, and everyone is feeling the weight of their guilt. That’s the only thing that religion gives us, a hearty dose of guilt, for which we must absolve ourselves by getting heartily drunk.
MAGGIE: That is not what religion is about. And how do you know that it’s all bullshit? If it was all bullshit, why is it that the same stories, the same explanations keep popping up in the myths around the world? All cultures, all religions have some sort of creation story, usually told in the same kind of language. Just compare Hesiod’s Theogony to Genesis or the Bhagavad-Gita. If it was purely bullshit, then how is it that different cultures around the world seem to come up with the same stories independently of each other?
TOM: Oh that’s easy: False consciousness. People want to think that the world is nice and tidy, that there are reasons for things. But it’s all lies, a collective illusion that humans feed on and thrive off of, like a drug.
MAGGIE: Right…I thought you hated Marx.
TOM: Oh, I do, he was an asshole.
MAGGIE: Then why are you quoting him, if he was such an asshole?
TOM: Because Hegel was the bigger asshole, who spawned all of those smaller assholes like Marx and Kierkegaard. But at least Marx didn’t go the route of morality and existentialism, like Mr. Kierkegaard.
MAGGIE: I happen to like Kierkegaard. I think his writing is extremely poetic.
TOM: What? Jesus Christ, Maggie. You’d have to be high if you think that incoherent crap is poetic. He just whines about religion. It’s like he’s too afraid to live.
MAGGIE: That’s not fair. His story about faith and resignation is extremely poetic. It’s like he wants to be able to take that leap of the absurd, to somehow be able to know he’s never going to get that one thing he most desires while at the same time believing it’s possible. It’s a contradiction, I know, but that’s what faith is. That’s the beauty of faith. And I cried when I was reading it, for I could tell that Kierkegaard himself was resigned to the fact that he would never be able to achieve that level of faith, that thing he most desired. TOM: Only you would cry while reading philosophy. But the problem with Kierkegaard is that he presupposes that God exists, and of course you would be let down if the one thing you desired most was an illusion.
MAGGIE: How can you be so sure that it’s an illusion? … fucking science majors. TOM: Well science gives us truth, and it shows us that everything revolves around entropy, not the orderliness of God. The universe follows no set rules, it is just chaos. I mean, for christ’s sake just look at the ocean. There is no order to it. Each wave crashes at a different rate. It is just a swirling sea of chaos, impenetrable, just a mass of molecules and particles (pauses and takes a drink, gestures at the ocean). God did not create this.
MAGGIE: Then how is it there? What caused all of this? I know all these arguments, logical reasons against spirituality, but what’s the point?
TOM: The point? There is no point. If you want to get down to it. Religion is just mythmaking striving for meaning when there is none. We live and we die and that’s it.
MAGGIE: How can you live like that?
TOM: Easy, I’m a realist. (Maggie, frustrated turns away from him) Hey, this is a stupid argument. I just wanted to have a nice afternoon at the waterfront. (He reaches over to touch her, but she pulls away) Something’s wrong. What is it, I hate seeing you like this.
MAGGIE: It’s nothing.
TOM: Come on, what spurred on all this silly religious talk?
MAGGIE: It’s not silly.
TOM: Okay it’s not silly. Maybe just naiive.
MAGGIE: Right, I’m naiive! That is your heartfelt opinion? Well look at you, If you’re so sure of yourself, then why are you so uncomfortable in your own skin. Why are you so afraid of people that you can’t even have a conversation with me if you aren’t drinking? Are you really happy like this? Maybe you just lack imagination. I mean, look at this water. How can we even conceive of an ocean? This much water cannot exist, not in a way we can conceptually grasp. And yet it does exist. And we don’t need reason or physics to explain it. How did the earth form? From the God-like movement of water and rocks. (she pauses and looks at him; he looks a little abashed)
Anyway, I was telling you about my experiences at church when I was little, well it was a Baptist church. And I never understood the meaning behind transubstantiation. How do bread and wine become body and blood…
TOM: Because Jesus was an alcoholic, and as anyone would the night before they knew they’re going to die, he got wasted to the point that alcohol was practically running through his veins. Hell, he did turn water into wine. Jesus was just a Frat boy at heart
MAGGIE: Can you be quiet for just one fucking minute?
TOM: Christ, alright.
MAGGIE: Well, when I was probably nine I was going to get baptized. You see, my parents switched churches quite often before they could settle on one they wanted to stick with. And so my christening kept getting put off. They also wanted me to remember the experience, to feel the full spiritual weight of it’s implication for my soul. Anyhow, my mother was born a Catholic, and so was recovering from it. And she didn’t care for Episcopalians either. The Presbyterians and Unitarians were too liberal, the Lutherans too strict. You’d think they’d turn away from the Baptist church, but they liked the exuberance of the preaching and the singing. And lord how those people could sing.
Anyhow, after going through all the Sunday School I could handle, I was scheduled to be baptized. There were maybe five or six of us that were to be baptized that Sunday. I was last in line. There was this huge tank of water that they brought out in front of the altar, deep enough to symbolize the River Jordan. And after the priest blessed the water he began reading from the Gospel, you know the section about John baptizing Jesus. And once he finished he took the first girl in line and dunked her full under water, and held her there as he recited the liturgy. Now I can’t swim and am terrible at holding my breath, so just watching this I began to panic. After what seemed like ages, the priest lifted the girl out of the baptismal fount. She seemed fine, not even winded. But I knew when it came to be my turn I wouldn’t be able to hold my breath. I would drown.
Or worse yet, if I didn’t drown and the priest was forced to pull me out sooner because of my thrashing, I would be found out as a fraud, that God was absent in my life. That I didn’t pay enough attention and didn’t pray enough, and He would make me pay for these sins of omission. I even felt that the priest could see into my heart and know that I was not one of God’s chosen.
TOM: So what happened? I guess you obviously didn’t drown….
MAGGIE: No. I ran away. The church was crowded and everyone was wrapped up in the ceremony. I was small and not very noticeable, so before my turn came I snuck out the side door behind the organ and the pulpit. It lead into the basement where they kept the candles and the holy receptacles. I hid there for hours and cried until my face was red and I couldn’t breathe without gasping. When I finally came home, my parents were so angry that they wouldn’t speak to me or look me in the face. They stopped taking me to church, and I haven’t been since.
TOM: So why start up now, what’s caused this change of heart?
MAGGIE: I don’t know exactly, but ever since I crawled out of that church basement, I haven’t been the same. I’m not happy and I’ve never felt at home anywhere. I’m always moving, always searching. I don’t really know what it is. You’re looking at me like I’m crazy, but it’s true.
TOM: I don’t understand what good religion will do you. If anything it will make you worse.
MAGGIE: You say that because you simply have no imagination. (as she is saying this she is taking off her shoes and rolling up her jeans. She throws off her jacket and then starts walking into the water). When I look at the ocean all I can see is possibility, the malleability of reality, which changes with every ripple and wave. God is in there (she gestures towards the ocean), and if you can just get close enough He will take you in His arms and cradle you to his chest as a mother to a newborn. He will wash your body and show you how to be. Here, just wade into the water with me, and you’ll see. There is something calming about the salt water rushing around your body.
TOM: What? Maggie, that water is fucking cold. It’s the middle of winter. Quit acting stupid.
MAGGIE: What’s wrong? You afraid of getting a little wet? (at this point she is at waist level)
TOM: Maggie, you are getting too far from shore. There are riptides…or whatever you call them. Anyway the point is that you’re not supposed to go that far out. I mean you’re going to get hypothermia!(at this point Maggie dives into a wave, and doesn’t surface for several minutes)Maggie? Jesus fucking Christ… quit fucking with me! (he waits a couple seconds and then runs into the water fully clothed) Fucking bitch, you better be dead when I find you… (getting more frantic as he wades further into the ocean, looking around in all directions)
Okay, I take it back…please let her be okay. Shit, it’s fucking cold! Maggie?! God, I hope you are just playing with me… (from behind him)
MAGGIE: See? Isn’t the water refreshing? Kind of puts you in your place, or at least makes you lose your bearings, a bit chaotic, especially beneath the surface—
(Tom turns around and slips on something, and completely submerges beneath a wave. He then resurfaces)
TOM: You fucking bitch! You know I hate water—
MAGGIE: Shut up Tom, you need to get out of your skin sometimes, try new things. Here, let’s go drink some of your bourbon. It will warm both of us up.
TOM: What was the point of doing that to me?
MAGGIE: The point? Tom, there is no point, as you just said. Or maybe there is a point, and you just have to be willing to see it.
Puddles to Waves
I used to jump in puddles a lot when I was a kid. Now I watch the puddles form from by bedroom window. Each droplet adding more to the pile until it overflows. It is quite beautiful to watch, but I don’t jump in the puddles. I don’t take long showers and I rarely drink water. It’s hard to escape something so essential but I do my utmost best to stay clear as much as possible. It’s not that I make water out to be some sort of viral disease. I see the great things water does. I know how many people survive day by day because of their little water bottles and how the next day those same bottles will be filled. I know the happiness a swim at the nearby pool is and I know the greatness of the simplicity of stomping out a small puddle. I remember that much, I’m just scared. I’m just too scared.
I was just over 16 when it happened. I remember that much because my birthday had happened less than a month before. That had been a great birthday. We had gone to the water park and I had gotten so sun burned that I looked like a shriveled tomato. It hurt, but it made for such a great story. When it happened my skin was back to its normal self. Ever since I was a little boy playing in the small puddles my ultimate vacation was to see the beach and the ocean. I grew up in the Midwest and the occasional puddle was an experience in itself. I never got to see the coast, so during that summer of my sweet sixteen I went on a trip to South America, specifically Costa Rica. On a scale of 1 to 10 Costa Rica’s beauty tops the scale. I can’t even tell you how beautiful of a place it is. Waking up at 6 in the morning to fresh fruit straight from the canopy or flying through the rainforest on a wire rod. Growing up in the Midwest it was hard to comprehend the significance of the sight of something that made you cry and smile at the same time.
It had been a week on the trip and we made my dream become reality when we spent two days at the beach. The ocean. For someone from Orange County the ocean is nothing more than a backdrop but to me that moment of seeing the waves crashing on the coast was one similar in finding your religion. It was pure, it was beautiful, and for a few short moments it was mine. However, nothing so perfect is ever meant to last. Once off the bus I was in the water in seconds. Some of my friends shivered in the cold, but I forgot the feeling and swam out deeper and deeper into what was my new home. The group spent a few hours swimming in the waves until we had to go because the wind was picking up and that meant rip tides. We all got out and waited for the next morning.
The thing to know about Caribbean rip tides is fairly simple. They can strike at anytime, at any moment, and so it is crucial to swim within the boundaries of safety. Being a 16-year-old kid you don’t really have a solid definition of what is safe and so the morning came and I was out farther and farther than I had ever gone. A friend called for me to come back in and as I turned to see the caller I was hit. I was swallowed up in my perfect dream that soon became my ultimate nightmare. All I can remember is the tossing and turning of my body in the waves. I’m a big guy and I figured not much can move me, but caught in a rip tide it doesn’t matter your size, you are nothing more than another raggedy Ann. Each time I came up to breathe another wave of hell would crash on top of my head and I would struggle within its hold to escape. This happened for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes in which I knew I was dead. Twenty minutes in which my life flashed, my dreams ended, and my hope drowned.
It is quite obvious standing here that I survived. The coast guard saved me and swam me to safety. Two miles out, most on the shore predicted my demise and were all too happy to see me wash up on the shore. Two miles out, I had no idea. And now I watch the puddles fill from my bedroom window. Each droplet adding more until the pile overflows. Each wave crashing as it did before. I do not think the water to be a demon escaped from Hell, but that doesn’t mean I wish to invite it in. So for now I will watch the kids dressed in their boots jump from puddle to puddle, for now at least.
An Ethereal Confrontation
(Enter enthusiastic tour guide, leading a crowd (perhaps the audience) into the scene right in front of three actors perched atop step ladders. These are the volcanoes A kiddy-pool filled with water stands between the ladders. There is a woman sitting on a chair, in the pool. She is the lake. There interactions are unseen by the humans. The tour guide stands between the crowd and the landscape and begins.)
TG: Everyone, everyone, we’re walking, we’re walking. And we’re stopping. Welcome to the Guatemalan Highlands, folks! Alright, well, as you can see behind me, this magestic landscape is comprised of one lake and three volcanoes. From left to right: (pointing to each volcano) the name of this volcano is Toliman, there here is Atítlan, and over here, is San Pedro. They are surrounding the beautiful lake Atítlan. It is said that amongst the indigenous peoples of the area—those are the peeps that were around before they even spoke Spanish, before --what we like to call in the biz --“the conquest.”—yes it is said that these waters played a large role in what they believed to be the creation of the universe. They believe that the god of corn, or “maize,” plunged into these waters and sank into the underworld. He stuck a deal with the god of the underworld-a big snake fella with feathers--that when the maize god sacrificed himself, the feathered serpent would shape the land and these here mountains, and create mankind out of corn, sprouting from these waters. (chuckles) It really is a cute little story. Well, go ahead and take your pictures. Next stop—the gift shop, who’s hungry? (Fades off stage)
TOLIMAN: (Gritting teeth, and muttering under breath) Cute little story. I’ll give you a cute little story.
ATÍTLAN: Calm yourself Toliman. You’re beginning to ooze.
(Two tourists stand near volcanoes and snap pictures with a disposible cameras. They pay no attention to the characters of the volcanoes. )
TOLIMAN: (Towards audience/crowd) Hi. It’s about time you visited the very cradle of existence… your existence. (Sarcastically) No! Please! Go right ahead. Take your pictures. Don’t worry about us. We’ve been here since time began. What’s another 20 minutes of cheap tourist crap and disposable camera flashes in our faces going to do?
SAN PEDRO: Oh, stop being such a party pooper. Why don’t you just smile at the cameras. (Begins to pose, and make silly happy faces at tourists)
TOLIMAN: You are so childish.
(Tourists fade away into crowd)
ATÍTLAN: That’s Enough!
SAN P: No No. T’s got a point. I’m about 125000 years younger than you guys.
ATÍTLAN: Listen, we need to accept the fact that things are different, now. And they’ve been “different” for 500 years, and I don’t see things going back to normal anytime soon.
SAN P: But it’s like they don’t even know what we’re about any more.
TOL: Exactly! And we’re the four edges of the universe!
SAN P: The three of us are the ones who capture clouds and bring the rain, and she, bless her heart, gave birth to…
AT: everything.
TOL: (Getting excited and upset) I mean really! Do they even remember that we’re the one’s holding up the sky? Where would they be if they didn’t have us to hold up the sky?
SAN P: (Thinking it over, agasp) They’d get sky all over them. (shaking head)
ATITLÁN: Wait. Shhhh! (Points out into audience) you. Yes. You, there. (Awed. Perplexed) You actually look interested in---dare I say connected to---your place in the world. (Listening to audience) Who’s who? (Turns to look over shoulder at woman, drenched in water and/or blue cloth. Sitting dejectedly) Do you really want to know? That’s the Lake of Atitlán. The waters out from which all life springs. Spread upon the earth; the life-stuff flowing through land and flesh.
SAN P: Her name is María Castelyan, Lake of Atitlán.
TOLIMAN: Earth-Mother-Lover of all.
SAN P: She’s quiet these days.
TOLIMAN: (Releases tention. Matches the Calm melancholy of the other Volcanos) We all are.
ATITLÁN: Oh! But, don’t let her demureness fool you. Know her, and she’ll show you the other side.
SAN P: The ancestor side.
ATITLÁN: The Feathered Serpent side.
ALL THREE: (Nodding in friendly reverence) Q’s side.
ATITLÁN: (Gages audience’s reaction)…Who’s Q? Has it really been so long, that you don’t even know who Quetzalcoatl is? Really? (sad and perplexed)
TOLIMAN: Wow, well I guess that’s what happens when your entire cosmological framework gets turned on it’s head and has half a millennia to get cozy with the New Testament.
SAN P: Q is the heart of the ocean. The heart of the sea and lake. He created the land and the heavens. He gives us the wind.
ATÍTLAN: … and passage unto other spheres of time and presence. He brings all living things to the underworld to join the Ancestors and their unlimited wisdom. He is the twine that binds the to worlds together.
SAN P: Yes, ‘tis a good thing to know a fella’ like him.
AT: The entire cosmological pendulum of being descends through her waters into maws of that beautiful vision serpent. And upon doing so, they the join in the infinitum to complete cycle of growth, birth, rebirth, regeneration….
TOLIMAN: And then, (groaning luxuriously) mmmmmmmmmm. Sweet Transcendence….my favorite part. (Pause) Not a chance in hell you’ll bat as much as an eyelash at Q without going through her first, though (points to dejected yet passionate woman on stage). He gives you the underworld, but she is the one who actually takes you there.
ATITLÁN: To touch those waters, you have to knock on us; for we, three, are the warrior-mountains of Lake Atítlan. Keepers of the sacred cenote caves. We rose out from under sweet nature, María, and she flows out from within us.
TOLIMÁN: (Broadly grinning) Makes you happy your alive, don’t it?
SAN P: Word.
ATITLÁN: Together, we are the navel to the underworld. We are the gates through which all life descends into the ether.
TOLIMÁN: When it’s you’re time, you’ll sink into depths of those waters. Far Down. You can’t comprehend how far right now but, don’t worry, everything will become clear and wholly glorious when the time comes. You must descend to transcend brothers and sisters. And that’s exactly what HE did.
SAN P: Well, yes, that’s true but He was different. María said so, herself.
TOLIMAN: Yeah, well His transcendence redefined her for Christ’s Sake!
ATITLAN: (Giggling) Oooo! Good one.
SAN P: (Pause) I miss her. She’s just not the Sister she once was. Not since he came anyway.
(Three Mountains step back. Focus is put on María, going about her business.. She sits there, far more animated than before. She is sensual, warm, strong, volatile, sexy, maternal, fierce. Enter Jesus. Both command attention but are wholly reasonable and tender. At first, the confrontation is uncomfortable, (on Jesus’ side only). This grows, however, into a strong tension/ sad understanding between them. )
JESUS: H…Hi.
MARIA: Hey there.
JESUS: H…Hi, I’m um…I’m--- I’m…
MARIA: Hey… Hey… Rest easy, baby. I know who you are.
JESUS: You do? Yes, of course you do…what am I thinking?
MARIA: How are you doing, baby?
JESUS: I’m substantial. Which is to say…I’m doing pretty well for myself…Right? (Catches Himself )I mean, not to suggest you’re not substantial or something…because you are. God, I hate working out power-dynamic things, don’t you?
MARÍA: (She Smiles) You’re looking good these days.
JESUS: I feel good. I’m in one of those divine-mission phases right now. It’s pretty intense. I just feel the need to nurture some people right now. (Jokingly) I hear you know a little something about that.
MARIA: (Giggles coyly. pauses) So, you came back. What, Europe didn’t do the trick for you? Had come back home, huh? Rough gig. (Pauses) So, say it.
JESUS: I’m here to change some things around
MARIA: I know, baby.
(They fade into the background while the Volcanoes take the stage and continue)
ATÍTLAN: He wasn’t like the others. He sprung from her water. She was his clay. They were the same life-stuff….just as she is every bird, every stone, every cloud---
TOLÍMAN: (Cuts in) Every pile of moose crap. Bottom line is she is everything. She made all of us.
SAN P: She made him, too. A mortal, like you. Only he was different because he understood the other side. Q’s side…and not just when he died…while he’s alive. He understood what it was like to have ubiquity in every plane of existence.
ATÍTLAN: He knew of the ancestors in María’s belly. Not only that, he could transcend to meet them, without leaving this world. He had somethin’ special.
TOLÍMAN: When Jesus came along, man, María finally had someone to talk to. Her waters shaped his shore and lapped upon them in peace. They spoke each other’s cadence perfectly.
(Fade to Jesus and María)
JESUS: So... you and I have really hashed some ideas out together. I mean, we have a pretty good idea of the cosmos’ footwork at this point and I think we’re on the same page on how it ought to go. The thing is, I’m here because… I’m going to tell them everything.
MARIA: I know, baby.
JESUS: You know things will not be peaceful when I tell. Many of them will use the messages well. Many will cause harm because they won’t understand…
MARIA: (Sweet and melancholy) Yes.
JESUS: Some may believe that my message means they can to dominate you.
MARIA: They can’t
JESUS: They’ll ignore it.
MARIA: I will love them and try to destroy them.
JESUS: I know
(Long Pause)
MARIA: So, what do you want from me.
JESUS: I need them to pay attention to me.
MARIA: OK. I’ll flood you.
JESUS: Yes. Good. Make me a hero. Call him Noah. Let the boat win.
MARIA: Sure. Is that it?
JESUS: Let me walk across you.
MARIA: that’s a cheap trick but OK.
JESUS: Oh…cleanse their sins. Renew them. Make them better. Heal them.
MARIA: The cleansing I can do. The healing is up to you.
JESUS: Oh.
MARIA: (Smiling) YES? What?
JESUS: do the water into wine thing.
MARIA: What? NO! What are you running? A cheap parlor soirée? …OK just once though.
JESUS: …This will change everything, you know. They won’t see you clearly after this.
MARIA: I know.
JESUS: They’ll hurt me.
MARIA: I’ll bring you back.
JESUS: They’ll hurt you worse.
MARIA: They will.
JESUS: You’re beautiful…you know that.
(Long Pause)
MARIA: Bye, baby.
(Jesus walks off, Maria fades into background again. Volcanoes enter again. )
TOLÍMAN: An that was it. You dn’t hear a word from her lips now.
SAN PEDRO: She just holds us and rocks us from time to time.
ATÍTLAN: She’s waiting for the day you hear her. He’ll be there somewhere, too.
Transition while scene is set - Water Jam with Audience?
There’s Plenty of Fish in the Tree - light comes from overhead projector shooting through colored water and oil
(A boy sits in a tree. He is wearing fishing clothes—hat, boots, plaid shirt, everything. He’s nerdy to the core, but sort of in a loveable way. He casts his line in front of him. He waits. He sighs.)
BOY: The fish aren’t biting today. Just like they didn’t yesterday and they won’t tomorrow. My mom said if I just came out here with a good attitude and a smile, they would be here—biting. But they’re not. Big surprise. I bet my mom just wanted me out of the house. She thinks I spend too much time indoors. She says I should get out more and enjoy nature. (Pause). You know, this is no different than that time my family went fishing and my big brother caught five fish. And the only thing I caught was a boot. You know this reminds me a lot of last year’s school dance, too. I sat there by the wall all night long—looking extremely available, and not once did a girl ask to dance with me, or even walk up to talk to me. Except for that time Sue Smith told me to move because I was standing in front of the punch. (He sighs). Longest night of my life. Luckily though, I got a lot of good inspiration for my poetry. I write poetry. I’m pretty good at it. (Pause) I am. (Another, longer pause) Fish, fish, in a dish come to my hook and take a look. (Pause) I told you. (Smaller pause) Man, I really hate fishing. I just don’t get it, I guess. I mean, what’s the point? I sit here all day by myself and I’m supposed to wait for a fish to come to me?!? To fall for my little trap. Trap. Hmm. Oh man. I knew I forgot something. (He reels in his line, reaches into his pocket and grabs the bait. He places it on the line and casts it into “the water” once again. There is a pause before he goes on). Do you ever get the feeling that maybe you’re in the wrong place? Like maybe, I’m not even supposed to be here. Like maybe I’m just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe if I was somewhere else the fish would bite. Or if I was my older brother, they would bite.
(People walk by, look at the hook and up at the boy. Then they deliberately avoid it. The boy gets frustrated, takes off his boot and throws it into the water. Then one girl, cute, looking around spots the boot and picks it up. She looks up at the boy.)
GIRL: Is this yours?
BOY: Are you talking to me?
GIRL: Yeah, I think so.
BOY: Oh, the boot. Yeah, it’s mine.
GIRL: Do you want it back?
BOY: Yeah, sure. (He holds out his hands, like he wants her to toss it up to him)
GIRL: Don’t be silly. (She starts to climb the tree)
(BOY offers his hand to help her up, but once she is up, he quickly releases and goes back to holding his fishing pole. She hands back his boot. He takes it and places it beside him.)
GIRL: That was kind of ironic.
BOY: What?
GIRL: Nothing.
(They both stare forward. There is a long awkward pause)
BOY: Do you want me to move?
GIRL: What?
BOY: Nothing.
(There is another long pause in which BOY puts his boot back on.)
GIRL: So, what are you doing up here anyway?
BOY: (He looks at her, looks back at the pole) Fishing. I don’t know.
GIRL: Oh, cool.
BOY: Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think I like it very much.
GIRL: Then, why are you doing it?
BOY: Well, how else am I supposed to catch a fish?
GIRL: Good point, I guess.
(There is another pause. GIRL reaches into her bag and grabs a book. She begins to read it. BOY continues to look forward. GIRL glances up from her book intermittently at BOY.)
GIRL: I like to read. This book is called Water for Elephants. It’s a funny title, but I like it so far. Do you like to read?
BOY: Um yeah, I guess. (He still does not look at her. There is a pause. Quietly) I write poetry.
GIRL: What?
BOY: (Quickly) Nothing.
GIRL: No, not nothing. You said you write poetry.
BOY: No. Well, yeah. It’s really nothing though.
GIRL: Let me hear a poem.
BOY: No. I can’t. Not now.
GIRL: Oh, come on!
BOY: No.
GIRL: (Begging. Puppy dog eyes.) Please.
BOY: Nah. That’s okay.
GIRL: Alright fine. I won’t force you. Yet.
(She giggles. GIRL goes back to reading her book. BOY nervously looks over at GIRL. He looks back to his fishing.)
BOY: (He puts his thinking face on. He is formulating a poem) Girl, Girl, next to me. We are sitting in a tree.
GIRL: (She slowly smiles and turns to BOY. There is a bit of a pause. Sincerely) That was really good.
(BOY smiles and looks back at his fishing.)
GIRL: Listen, I packed a lunch in my bag. And as it just so happens I’ve got an extra water bottle and there’s two halves of this sandwich. So, you want it? Or are you just going to wait until you catch a fish?
BOY: Umm, sure. I’m kind of hungry.
GIRL: (Hands him the aforementioned lunch goodness) I hope you like it. At least, I hope you like it more than you like fishing.
(They laugh together. Then eat silently for a bit.)
BOY: This is pretty good.
GIRL: Yeah, it is.
BOY: The sandwich.
GIRL: Oh, yeah. I know.
(There is a pause. BOY looks over at her. She is eating her food.)
BOY: So, what are you doing here?
GIRL: I’m eating.
BOY: Yeah, I know. But what are you doing here? You know, with me. In a tree. (Pause) I didn’t mean for that to rhyme.
GIRL: I don’t know. I’m eating. (She smiles and takes a bite out of her sandwich. She says her next lines with a mouth full of sandwich.) You know. I like your poetry.
BOY: Thanks. Nobody has ever really liked it before. My brother says it’s stupid.
GIRL: Really? I can’t even imagine that.
BOY: You know you shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.
GIRL: Why not?
BOY: I don’t know. You’re just not supposed to.
GIRL: I don’t care.
BOY: It just looks kind of funny. That’s all.
GIRL: You know what else looks funny?
BOY: No. What?
(GIRL throws the rest of her water on BOY. He sits in shock.)
GIRL: That’s kind of funny.
(BOY throws the rest of his water on GIRL. She squeals.)
BOY: So is that.
(They laugh with and at each other. When they stop, they stare at each other until BOY looks back to his fishing. GIRL sighs and smiles. She reaches into her bag and grabs a fishing net. She lowers it into “the water.”)
GIRL: You know fishing isn’t that bad.
BOY: (Smiles) Yeah I guess not.
Fifteen Seconds
Every line should be said by a different actor, but it can be split up in whatever way with however many actors involved as desired. The italicized words should be delivered in a very deliberate, chant-like way. Line of italicized words in groups should be delivered overlapping. Staging options: 1) All actors facing the audience. Straight delivery, no action- focus on words and facts 2) Speakers facing the audience- straight delivery, focus on words with Movers. Movers use actual water in obviously wasteful ways- brushing teeth, taking shower, tossing, splashing, throwing water on themselves, each other, the Speakers, and the Audience. The Movers must still be serious and taking themselves serious. 3) All actors deliver lines as well as waste water. Options concerning the delivery of italicized lines: 1) Read them chronologically as they appear in script – set between conceptual thoughts 2) Read them chronologically every fifteen seconds – have an actor (or group of actors) conspicuously watching a watch or clock and deliver line every fifteen seconds.
Every 15 seconds a child dies from a water-related disease.
(Pause for 15 seconds)
Every 15 seconds a child dies from a water-related disease.
About two-thirds of the human body is composed of water. The brain is composed of 70 percent water – about 83 percent of one’s blood is made of water.
To function properly, the body requires between one and seven liters of water per day to avoid dehydration.
And every 15 seconds a child dies from a water-related disease.
Fresh water is a renewable resource, yet because of overpopulation, mass consumption, misuse, and water pollution, the availability of drinking water per capita is inadequate and steadily shrinking.
Of all water on earth, 97.5% is salt water, and of the remaining 2.5% fresh water, some 70% is frozen in the polar icecaps. In the end about 0.007% of all water on earth is readily accessible for direct human uses.
Every 15 seconds a child dies from a water-related disease.
UNESCO's World Water Development Report indicates that, in the next 20 years, the quantity of water available to everyone is predicted to decrease by 30%.
Every 15 seconds a child dies from a water-related disease. Every 15 seconds, a child dies from water related disease.
A limited water supply has been the source of various conflicts throughout history. When water scarcity causes political tensions to arise, this is referred to as water stress. Water stress has led most often to conflicts at local and regional levels. Conflicts over water aggravate previously existing political and social tensions.
Roughly a third of the world’s population suffers from medium or high water stress.
And every 15 seconds a child dies.
Water is a strategic resource in the globe and an important element in many political conflicts. Some have predicted that clean water will become the "next oil."
Forecasts say that by 2025, two-thirds of the world’s population will be without safe water and basic sanitation.
Every 15 seconds a child dies.
Poor people living in the slums often pay 5-10 times more for a liter of water than wealthy people living in the same city.
The average American individual uses 100 to 176 gallons of water at home each day. The average African family uses about 5 gallons of water each day.
Every 15 seconds a child dies from a water-related disease. Every fifteen seconds every fifteen seconds Every fifteen seconds a child dies a child dies A child dies
(PAUSE) (Entire Cast) Every fifteen seconds a child dies from a water-related disease.
Existential Musings from a Bridge
(the scene takes place on a bridge, a woman is walking along and stops to look over the edge before turning toward the audience. The saxophone player is not seen at this point)
At night I like to walk along this bridge, and listen to the sleepy swell of the river below. It’s best at night, you know, when the city is dozing. It never actually sleeps, but perhaps it can rest its eyes for a while.\
I like to think of this river as Lethe, one of the five rivers of the underworld, for it has a quality of suspending time and thought. It has a lethargic lull, its inky swirls ebbing and flowing to the rhythm of a wandering mind. If you sit here long enough, you too will forget who you are.
You may think this silly, but I think this river records time, even as it erases it. For sometimes, I’ll be standing here, and it will get extremely still and unbearably quiet. It is then that I can almost hear the river humming…repeating those half-forgotten notes of a saxophone solo, sung so many moons ago atop this bridge, facing east.
The saxophone player begins playing a very mellow quiet melody (Bach perhaps), continuing as she is talking. He is outside, so the audience doesn’t see him just yet.
In fact it was at this very spot that he used to stand as sentinel, guarding his secret post, hidden from the light of public view. And it was here that he would wail lamentations in a metallic metamorphosis of brass and air. Things that can’t be said, can still find a voice. (pause) Shhh! Listen!
(she pauses for a second, and strains to listen. The saxophone gets louder for a couple beats, and then fades out)
Yes, Sonny played here for almost three years during his first self-imposed exile, and he played for no one but the gulls and the tugboats, mimicking the endless flow of the meandering waves, waves that repeat in endless variations, always reaching for something new, something transformative. And perhaps all he needed was escape, and perhaps he simply wanted to forget. Water carries that power, you know, the power to heal and repair, christen new life, or old life that needs renewal. And perhaps that is what he wanted, the calm cleansing of these mythical waters.
And perhaps that is why I come here. Sometimes I feel that Sonny is playing for me, (Sax comes back in, playing St. Thomas. There is no break in the monologue though) that with him I will be able to forget, and be born anew with his music… Transcendence through water.
I mean, wouldn’t it be lovely to simply take a sabbatical from life? To live on the outskirts until you can remember how to live again, how to dream. Perhaps learn to become who you are.
(sax player perhaps enters at this point, perhaps sitting on the edge of the stage, shifting from St. Thomas to something more moody, blues perhaps. Remember to control volume so that the speaker can still be heard. She is at this point talking to the sax player)
And that is why I cry when I hear the chaos of this music. It as if the entire world were trying to burst out of your soul to reveal some dire secret, but its voice is not translatable, not in words. I can’t understand it. I can only feel it, and it feels both wretched and wonderful at the same time. It has the power to break you, make you forget, and it has the power to make you yearn for the harmony that never existed. Listen. . . it is chaos really.
Yes, you may hear the melody resurfacing periodically, but it’s always changing, always moving, so fast…like a deluge.
(pause for a couple beats while the sax crescendos into a solo, and then fades back again)
And perhaps that is why I come to this bridge at night, to be alone with the river, and the music it birthed. Each night I feel as if I will perish, that it is too much, and I feel that I am broken. But at the same time, I cannot sleep, or even dream. If there is an answer I think it must be here.
Just listen.
(end with a moody sax solo)
The Credentials of a Water Molecule
(A bowl of water center stage surrounded by candle light. The ensemble faces the audience.)
Akemi: I erupted from the core of the earth some four billion years ago and hung in pieces.
Lucinda: I am the sludge out from which springs more sludge.
Kate: I am the only sustenance Mahatma allowed himself to take during Satyagraha.
Parakram: I give the gazelle’s blood the quality of “drip” when it’s on a lions chin.
Megan K: I made the Great Wall’s mortar.
Annie: I sat on a cedar leaf.
Megan N: I am the dollop of spittle that Judy accidentally launched from her orthodontia in a final attempt to talk to that one girl in science.
Akemi: I am the same dollop of spittle that landed on that one girl’s cheekbone and landed Judy in years of psychoanalysis.
Peter: I trickled down the throats of pterodactyls.
Kate: I coursed through his reactive tear duct.
Lucinda: I reacted to a megathrust of tectonic plates and swallowed 275,000 people.
Grant: I collected on the window of the warm car in the cool air.
Luke: I moistened her inside.
Jacki: I charged out of a Birmingham fire hose and pelted Jake between the shoulder blades.
Sophie: I am the axis mundi.
Peter: I am cradling Narcissus and the Anopheles, for I am still. There.
Liz: I seep through the well springs and course through the uterine tissues of mammalians.
Luke: I am made this eighteen-wheeler weightless overturn itself.
Nicole: I am blessed by Aunti Nana every once a week for the four hours they let me flow freely from the tap.
Megan N: I make those crunchy leaves turn to tea.
Annie: I keep that uranium cool.
Jacki: I am the perspiration on Sam’s forehead that collides with the Saharan dust to crust his brow.
Frogman: I am not in his well so I am on his mind…
