Rose

 

[Chris sits alone on her bench, lost in thought. Time passes, interior lights change. Perhaps an intermission? The exterior remains static. Grey. A comet flashes through the sky, unnoticed. A cosmic crystalline whirl of sound. The jukebox comes silently to life, glowing softly. A wind-chime sounds.]

[The burlap bag against the wall rustles quietly. The head of the blue man appears. He then quietly rolls down the bag to reveal himself, dressed formally. A green handkerchief in his breast pocket. He steps out of the bag, leans over, and plucks his top hat from the bag. He puts it on his head, scratches, takes it off and examines it. It has no top. He looks through the hat at the audience. He puts it back on his head. Something is still wrong. He takes it off and pulls a dozen yellow roses from the hat, surprised. Pleased, he puts the hat back on, arranges the flowers in his hand, and coughs discretely. Chris doesn't notice. He walks back to the station door, opens it. A tritone is heard (diabolus in musica). Quiet wind and darkness outside. Desolation. The man leans into the room as if he'd just arrived and knocks. Chris looks up.]

CHRIS:

Oh.

[The blue man looks striking with his yellow roses and tails. An urbane act.]

MAN:

Hey, er...[He gestures: ``May I come in?'']

CHRIS:

Oh. [Covering her emotions. Smiling.] Certainly. Hello.

[He enters, closes the door. The wind stops. He offers Chris the flowers.]

MAN:

[Rehearsed.] Yellow is the color of friendship, I'm told.

CHRIS:

Oh, you keep them. I mean... hold them for a while. They look so striking with your... eyes. [She gazes at him for a moment. He smiles.] I'm sorry, I don't mean to... here, I'll... [She takes the roses from him.] Thank you very much. I'm sorry, it's just been a long time since... I'll have to find someplace to put them. [He offers his hat as a vase.] No, I'll...

[She looks for something in which to put the flowers. She looks under the bench and around, is about to go into her father's restroom to look but stops short of the entrance. A momentary confusion. She finds her drinking cup, with her toothbrush and hairbrush from earlier, and puts the flowers in that, on a windowsill. A searching glance at the blue man.]

CHRIS:

You look familiar.

MAN:

Do I?

CHRIS:

Yes. [She looks away.] Thank you for the roses. They're beautiful.

MAN:

Like you.

CHRIS:

[Flustered.] It's been so long since there was anything bright in this place. The whole room seems lighter now, doesn't it?

[In response, the man only smiles. Indeed, the room is much brighter; but this is due at least in part to the gradual awakening the room has undergone since the man's arrival. Little neon signs and colored bulbs that had long been burnt-out and cobweb-covered have slowly begun returning to life, coloring the room with their light. Chris catches one flickering on out of the corner of her eye, and stares, surprised; but she is unsure of what she thinks she saw, and lets it go without comment.]

CHRIS:

I'm sorry, but what did you say your name was?

MAN:

Call me Jed.

CHRIS:

Jed.

MAN:

Or anything else if you'd prefer. Ishmael.

CHRIS:

No, Jed's a nice name. It reminds me somehow of... [She trails off, frowns briefly.]

[The man smiles softly. Chris finds herself staring at him, again.]

[Catching herself.] So... what brings you this far outside the Metropolis, Jed?

MAN:

[Making up--perhaps reciting--a charming story, delivered straight despite the obvious sibilance.] Exactly one year and three days ago, I fell asleep and the strangest, sweetest dream snapped into my skull. In it I was harvesting herbs, sweating, swinging a scythe under the sweltering sulfur sun in a never-ending saffron field. It was stifling, and my thirst was extreme, but whenever I stopped to rest or seek water, the soles of my feet were scorched with an electric shock, forcing me to continue. I knew that this had been going on for days without cessation, and I was about to succumb. I stooped down to seize the sickle, sought to stand, and almost swooned, smitten, when a cool shadow sheltered my brow. I raised my eyes, and a woman of unspeakable beauty stood over me, in a silver sarong. I tried to thank her for breaking the wrath of the smoldering sun on my back, but my parched mouth could not whisper a single sound. From beneath her sari's sheer folds, she withdrew a canteen. She placed the spout to my lips, and clear sweet water splashed down my throat. She removed my shoes, and I was able to put aside my sickle. I sat in her shimmering shadow, basking happily in her beauty, and then the dream abruptly vanished. My stunning savior disappeared, and my open eyes beheld again nothing but the pre-dawn dark. The dream was mine every night for a month, when I decided that it was a sign, a vision, and that I must search the world for this lady of my dreams. I circled the world seven times without success, when three days ago--a year precisely since my dreams began--I glanced in this station window as my train roared by to Khatsandu and saw you. The image from my night visions. In three days I settled my personal affairs, sold my worldly possessions, hired a dirigible, and floated here on the winds of fortune, seeking happiness in the presence of the most beautiful woman on earth.

CHRIS:

Well. [Doesn't quite know how to respond.] That's a lovely story. Quite sibilant. [Beat.] What's the bag for? [And the blue man is indeed still holding in one hand the burlap bag he climbed out of.]

MAN:

I arrived with the luggage on the last train.

[This makes his previous story obviously false, but Chris doesn't care. We don't like to call the lie on pleasant flattery.]

CHRIS:

You spin a fine tale. I suppose you've got others, as well?

MAN:

Would you prefer the rags-to-riches story? Or the one with the kangaroo and the cormorant?

CHRIS:

No, thank you. The tale of the mystery princess was quite nice.

MAN:

The resemblance is real.

CHRIS:

[Blushes slightly.] Thank you.

[The man takes off his hat and puts it on the bench. He takes Chris' hand, tenderly.]

MAN:

It's been too long, Chris.

CHRIS:

How do you know my name? I...

[The man smiles mysteriously, lifts his hat. A rabbit hops out from beneath it.]

CHRIS:

I... I just don't know... what's happening... all these colors...

MAN:

Shhh. [He takes her in his arms. She holds him.]

CHRIS:

I am glad you've come. I was hoping someone would come. I've been so lonely here. So alone.

MAN:

Shhh. [A chanted emollient.] Plurality, duplicity, togetherness is happiness.

[From thin air he produces a small picnic basket, draws out candles, wine glasses and bottles, delicacies, a cello: the complete setting for a romantic feast, but more stuff than could possibly fit in the basket.]

[With a flourish he lays out the picnic cloth in the center of the room. The candles light themselves. The jukebox plays soft music of its own accord.]

[Will has woken up, groggily. His head is seen through the ticket-booth window. He is about to bang on the glass, insist on his release, when he notices the blue man. He suddenly quiets, and watches the proceedings covertly with alarm.]

MAN:

Shall we? [Or perhaps he just gestures.]

[They recline to the feast, Chris in the man's arms. They share a single place-setting.]

CHRIS:

It feels so good to be held. [A loving pause.] It really has been a long time. Forever, maybe.

[Tenderly. The wine's made her talkative. She rattles on banally.] My family's grown more and more odd. Or maybe I just notice more. They're like my friend Fred. The circus fire-eater? He kept swallowing flame, more and more--it never seemed to fill him up, he said--until one day he burped. He burped up the fire from his belly in a bubble and just exploded. Flaming clown parts everywhere. [A memorial pause.]

[She looks up at him.] My brother Will arrived today. [Will ducks down out of sight.] He's over there, in the booth. He makes me so sad, he's never learned anything.

[A semi-maudlin pause.]

I'm so confused. [A tear rolls down her cheek. He takes the handkerchief from his pocket, and it changes color from green to red. He wipes her tear away.]

[They gaze into each other's eyes for a long time. She looks down. The jukebox stops. He lifts her chin, and kisses her.]

CHRIS:

I... [She can't say ``I love you.'']

[He kisses her again, more passionately. She breaks off.]

I'm not certain. I don't know. Oh... [She holds him tight.] It feels so good to be unalone. Just someone near. It doesn't even matter if you listen, I guess.

[He kisses her again. Prolonged passion.]

Can't we talk for a while. This is so... I mean we're not even friends yet. [Nervous laughter.] Shouldn't we share our souls, whisper of dreams and lost hopes before... [He is nuzzling her neck. Unconvincingly:] Stop it. Oh... [She loses faith in what she says, and gives in to her feelings, kissing and pressing close to him. A moment's abandon. Then she stops him, draws a little apart, looks at him intently. A short pause.]

MAN:

[Not comprehending her reserve.] An angel of silence has flown over us. [He leans toward her.]

CHRIS:

[Her lips brush his, then:] No. [Again she draws near, a kiss, then:] No.

MAN:

Come on, baby. Just like it used to be.

CHRIS:

Used to be?

MAN:

I've been drifting for days, no years, never been able to get you out of my head. We're meant to be, sweetheart.

CHRIS:

Who are you?

MAN:

Anyone you like. [Draws near.]

CHRIS:

Not Jed?

MAN:

No one you don't want me to be. [Moves to kiss her.]

CHRIS:

No. [Breaks free.]

Don't. It hurts. You being here wakes all kinds of stuff I'd forgotten. It's not real. It's not real, but close enough that it makes me remember what love is like, how it hurts to be alone, to be unloved, not to love. I can't.

MAN:

Take it easy, baby. I'm on Romance Standard Time. We've got all night.

CHRIS:

Isn't it day?

[He approaches her again.]

MAN:

[Gently.] You know I wouldn't be doing this if I knew you didn't want me. You do. I can feel it. You couldn't kiss me like you did if you didn't feel for me. You can't fake that.

CHRIS:

[Softly.] It's not love, Jed. Just loneliness.

MAN:

[Holding her.] Loneliness doesn't hold me like you do. It's love, babe; it's... thaumaturgy.

CHRIS:

It's not real.

MAN:

Look around you. [The room is alive with color.] First love's magic.

CHRIS:

You're not even Jed.

MAN:

I am, babe. I'm Jed if you want me to be. I'm anyone you want. You want me.

[He turns her head.]

Come on. Just kiss me. It'll be clearer then.

[Chris closes her eyes and he kisses her. They work back into their passion.]

CHRIS:

[Breaks off again.] No. You don't understand. I don't want that.^* I want love. You're ...

MAN:

Yes you do. You want me. I can feel it. I don't know what you're saying, but your body doesn't lie. You love me. What's wrong with that?

CHRIS:

Love isn't what my body does. I made that mistake, summertimes ago: clinging to another, unhappy, scared of solitude.

MAN:

You were happy. You can't say we weren't. I woke with you beside me and you were smiling. [Grabbing her.] Come on, baby, make it like it used to be.

CHRIS:

[With realization.] No. I know who you are. You're... [The name escapes her.] You're my date to the high school prom. The man I wrote love poetry for, who I dreamed would pay me attention, who finally did. You're a fraud.

MAN:

[He reaches for her.] I'm your first lover, high school sweetheart, man of your dreams.

CHRIS:

[Pulling away.] You're the dream that was burst when I learned that love, no feelings deceive. I sent you away once.

MAN:

[Pulling her closer.] And I'm back. I found you. Back from Vegas, from the dark places, where they purchase your body and don't leave your soul. But every time, I remembered you, thought of your body dancing before me.

CHRIS:

I sent you away. It took all I had; I screwed up new-found wise pieces of my self, begged you never to come back, never to fool me again. I did it once. I knew I'd never have the strength to do it again.

MAN:

That's what love is, Babe. Unbreakable. You and me, we're one flesh like the Bible says. Inseparable.

[Becoming impatient and rough.] Come on, babe. Stop this. I didn't track you way out here beyond the Metropolis so you could preach at me. I came for love. The work I've been doing days has drained my soul, but I know we were happy, then. I'm here to make that happen again.

CHRIS:

Let go of me. I know your name. You're... [Can't think of it.]

MAN:

I am nobody. I'm any body. Come on, baby. You'll like it.

CHRIS:

No.

MAN:

[Seizing her tightly.] I'm tired of your games.

CHRIS:

I said no.

MAN:

You're just not used to it. You'll like it. You did before.

[He presses himself against her. Tries to kiss her, forcefully. She struggles, rolls away. He is standing. Slowly unbuttons his shirt, a threat.]

CHRIS:

I know who you are. You're...

[He strips off his shirt. Blue skin. Advances on Chris.]

[Frantic.] You're... [Can't recall.]

[He traps her against the wall. She punches at him; he catches her fists.]

Why can't I remember?

[He kisses her against her will, then pushes her to the ground, straddling her, holding her arms.]

You're Jake! Jacob Smith. [He flinches as if hit. Chris rolls from under him.] Love's facsimile. Not human, blue.

Jacob Smith. [She stands easily. The man is prone on the floor.]

You can't fool me anymore. You can't hurt me like you did. Your name is Blank. The unknown. Love's forgery. Elvis impersonated. Fake, fraud, unflappable certain beautiful wrong.

MAN:

[Angry.] I love you, Chris. [He tries to move toward her.]

CHRIS:

[Fire. Prophesy. Stopping him.] In a month your shoes will be found in the ash dump outside town. Perhaps still holding feet. Your body strewn, your soul consumed, regenerated into other dark flapping things of the soul. [The bats rustle.]

MAN:

[An existential utterance.] I...

CHRIS:

You'll be back, riding in again from my past. Loneliness stings sharp at temptation.

[A beat.]

Jacob Smith. Your train has arrived. The ticket-master is coming.

[A knock on the door.]

Answer it. You must go.

[He must open the door and step out into the darkness. Wind and desolation. The door closes. Silence.]

[A beat. The jukebox clicks off. Chris slumps, spent. The magic is gone. The roses have died. The bats rustle.]

Fie, bats. Away. I have discovered the meaning of things' names.

[Silence.]