This is an original work Copyright 1998. Do not post this without
permission. Do not make any changes. (If I have a typo or something
to that extent and it *really* annoys you, then e-mail me and *I'll*
change it!)
* is for emphasis.
( are for stage directions.
Congratulations
by Fushigi Kismet
(A bare stage. As the curtains open, two nondescript workmen in
white overalls bring in a large round table and place it in the
center of the stage. They exit off-stage, then reappear with two
chairs each and set them around the table. They continue this
practice until twelve chairs rest about the table. Then they pause on
the right side of the stage and survey the table, not noticing the
audience.)
WORKMAN #1: Well, whadda ya think?
WORKMAN #2: It's beautiful . . . jest beautiful. Brings a tear t' my
eyes.
WORKMAN #1: Yeah, whatever. Let's go.
WORKMAN #2: OK.
(As they begin to walk away, they pass a man running on stage. He
wears a gray suit and carries a briefcase in his right hand. He
keeps checking the watch he wears on his left. He should be
muttering "Time . . . time . . . time . . ." under his breath. The
workmen pause to consider him for a moment as he stops and turns to
look at them. They regard each other for a long moment.)
MAN: OH! There you are!
WORKMAN #1: Yeah, here we are.
WORKMAN #2 (defensively): Anything wrong with that?!
MAN: Oh no, no. (pause) No.
WORKMAN #2: OK, then. Just so.
WORKMAN #1: You late?
MAN: Why . . . no. I'm early. (checks watch compulsively) Too
early. But not early enough.
WORKMAN #1: You here for the ceremony?
MAN: (puzzling to himself) I suppose so.
WORKMAN #2: Which one?
MAN: Are there more than one?
WORKMAN #2: I dunno.
MAN: Then why did you-? Never mind. What I want to know is . . .
WORKMAN #1: Yeah?
MAN: . . . is . . .
WORKMAN #1: Yeah?
MAN: . . . is . . .
WORKMAN #1: YEAH?
MAN: Quiet! I'm thinking.
WORKMAN #1: Huh.
WORKMAN #2: Quiet! He's thinking. Obviously a great intellect is at
work.
MAN: (smiling) Oh! I remember now!
WORKMAN #1: YEAH???
MAN: (frowning) Now I forget.
WORKMAN #1: (looks disgusted) Forget it. I'm leaving. (He begins
moving away.)
WORKMAN #2: (following Workman #1, looks back and waves) Good-bye.
MAN: (vaguely, staring off into nothingness) Good-bye.
WORKMAN #2: Oh, and congratulations!
WORKMAN #1: (looking happier as he strides confidently towards the
area offstage) Congratulations!
MAN: Congratulations?
WORKMAN #1: Thanks!
WORKMAN #2: Thanks!
WORKMAN #3: (Poking his head out from the center of the back curtain)
Thanks!
MAN: (turning his head to look) Who're you?
WORKMAN #3: (mysteriously) It doesn't matter. (pops his head back
in)
(The workmen have exited.)
(The MAN looks straight ahead again and stares into nothingness for
another instant.) Then abruptly: I remember. Where am I?
(He looks around, but it is futile. Everyone has gone but him. His
direction shifts to the table and chairs.)
I might as well sit down.
(He sits in the rightmost chair and carefully places the briefcase on
the center of the table, propping his feet up as he leans back in his
chair.)
Now, I wonder where I am? And why I'm early? (He looks at his watch.
Speaking to himself:) And why the congratulations?
WOMAN's voice: Get your feet off the table!
(The MAN starts and guiltily takes his feet down and sits upright.
The WOMAN walks on-stage swiftly with long strides. She is dressed
in a gray business suit. It has a skirt and she is wearing high
heels. A portfolio is in her left hand. She looks very
professional. The MAN stares at her and smiles.)
MAN: You look nice.
WOMAN: (power walking over to the other side of the table from the MAN)
Wipe that leer off your face!
(The MAN's smile immediately vanishes and his face stiffens into a
bland mask. The woman sits down, placing her portfolio carefully on
the table in front of her.)
WOMAN: That's better. I just can't stand feet on the table . . . or
leering.
MAN: (seriously, his face no longer quite so mask-like) Are you a
mother?
WOMAN: Of course not! I'm too professional.
MAN: A pity. You're just like mine.
WOMAN: You see? I would make a terrible mother. Look what she
turned out!
MAN: That was uncalled for.
WOMAN: I know.
MAN: Oh, all right then.
WOMAN: A man should never insult a woman, but women can insult women
if they want. And men too.
MAN: Isn't that hypocritical?
WOMAN: If you think that way . . . then why do men insult men? And
women?
MAN: I guess you're right. No . . . wait. There was something wrong
with that . . .
WOMAN: Never mind. It's just that you have a hypocritical mind.
MAN: If you say so. Say . . . do you know where I am?
WOMAN: If I knew where you were, then it would mean that I knew where
I was. Does it look like I know where I was?
MAN: I don't know. How can you tell a thing like that?
WOMAN: It's all in the eyes. As a matter of fact, I *do* know where
I was. I was just off-stage. As for where I *am* that's a different
matter all together.
MAN: Well, if you know where you were, then can't you tell me where I
am?
WOMAN: NO. I only know where I *was* and where you *were*. If I
knew where you are, then I would have to know where I am, and as you
can see by my eyes, I have no idea.
MAN: Then can you tell me where I was? It might give me a clue as to
where I am and why I'm here. (looks at watch in horror) Oh, I'm
early!
WOMAN: (absently) For what? Anyway, as for where you were, you were
just off-stage too. We shared a cup of coffee.
MAN: Isn't that a rather intimate thing-sharing a cup of coffee?
WOMAN: Not as intimate as sharing a soda or a milkshake, surely. Nor
as intimate as sharing a cup of hot chocolate with those little white
marshmallows in front of a fireplace in a ski resort for that matter
. . . but yes. Yes, I suppose it is a rather intimate thing. Why do
you ask?
MAN: Well, we must know each other then . . . but I can't recall how.
WOMAN: The hows and whys and wherefores don't matter. They never do.
The only thing that matters is that you forgot our anniversary!
MAN: We have an anniversary? How was I to recall?!
WOMAN: Don't try to weasel your way out of it! Anniversaries are the
same day every year. Men always try to weasel out of remembering
important dates and giving gifts. It must be a gender
characteristic.
OTHER WOMAN's voice: PAUSE.
(Everything freezes on stage. Then, after a few seconds, the WOMAN
seems to shake herself free of being frozen and turns to the
audience.)
WOMAN: (conspiratorially) As a matter of fact, we don't have an
anniversary. I'm just trying to get a free gift. After all, he'll
never recall afterwards. We *do* know each other and we *did* share
a cup of coffee and it was rather intimate, so I conclude that I am
entitled to a nonexistent anniversary and a gift, wouldn't you say?
Please don't answer. That would ruin this stolen moment.
(She turns back to face the man and assumes the same expression she
had on her face before the "PAUSE.")
OTHER WOMAN's voice: UNPAUSE.
MAN: (confused) I'm sorry. I promise I'll get you an anniversary
present right away.
WOMAN: Good. Now, back to your question. Did what I told you help
at all?
MAN: No, not really, I'm afraid.
WOMAN: Too bad. Not at all?
MAN: No.
WOMAN: Well, there's not much I can do for that.
MAN: Do you know who I am then?
WOMAN: I haven't a clue.
MAN: But we were intimate?
WOMAN: Over a cup of coffee, which is surely not as intimate as the
things that married people indulge in, but as we are not *that*
intimate, how would you expect me to know who you are?
MAN: Look, how intimate are we?
WOMAN: It depends. We aren't being all that intimate right now,
seeing as we're sitting at opposite ends of the table, so we might be
mad at each other.
MAN: Do you think so?
WOMAN: I said "might" which means that I don't really know, but
probably.
MAN: Then it must be you who is mad at me, as you are the one who
chose to sit at the other end.
WOMAN: Perhaps it is you, and I am simply avoiding you for fear of
conflict.
MAN: Are you a non-confrontational person?
WOMAN: Not really.
MAN: Then it must be you.
WOMAN: But-
MAN: (getting halfway out of his seat, hands braced against the
table) I conclude that it must be you who is mad at me and let us
put an end to it!
WOMAN: (calmly and resignedly) Very well.
MAN: (huffily) Good. Now then, who are you?
WOMAN: Don't you know? I am offended! *Now* it is I who is mad at
you!
MAN: We established that already and you needn't be so uptight. If I
don't even know who *I* am how am I supposed to know who you are.
WOMAN: And why not? We *are* rather intimate. Besides, not only do
you forget who I am, but you forget our anniversary as well!
MAN: Don't bring that up again! I said that I would get you
something!
WOMAN: But it's not the first time that you've forgotten!
MAN: (dazedly to himself) Really? (Then asserting himself and
addressing the woman:) Well, you've forgotten things too! I bet you
don't even know what today is!
WOMAN: Today? Of course I know what today is! How could I possibly
forget that?! As it's not yesterday or tomorrow, it must be today!
MAN: Yes, but what is so important about today?!
WOMAN: I . . . I don't know.
MAN: Ha! You see! You are just as forgetful as I!
OTHER WOMAN's voice: PAUSE.
(Again everything on stage is frozen, but after a few seconds the MAN
shakes himself free and turns conspiratorially to the audience.)
MAN: As a matter of fact, I don't know what today is either, but that
doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm getting the best of her for
once. Oh, and I know *exactly* how intimate we are, and we are NOT
*rather* intimate. We are *very* intimate. More so than sharing a
cup of hot chocolate with those little marshmallows in front of a
fireplace at a ski resort. We are more intimate than holding hands
in a dark movie theatre and then kissing each other good night on the
doorstep. In fact, we are-
OTHER WOMAN's voice: UNPAUSE!
MAN: Rats! I ran out of time.
WOMAN: What was that?
MAN: Nothing.
WOMAN: Oh no, it was certainly something.
MAN: And why do you say that?
WOMAN: It can't have been nothing or else you wouldn't have said
something and then proceeded to say, "Nothing."
MAN: You're being ridiculous.
WOMAN: *I'm* being ridiculous? And who are you to talk?! You are
the one who doesn't even remember who he is, or I am, or our
anniversary!
MAN: And you don't remember today! So we're even!
WOMAN: Is today so important as to cancel out everything else?
MAN: Why . . . certainly it is.
WOMAN: Then I apologize. Let's make up.
MAN: I would, but I have no coffee or soda or hot chocolate. And
we're too far away to hold hands.
WOMAN: What makes you think that we're intimate enough to hold hands?
MAN: (smiling) Wouldn't you like to know?
WOMAN: (irritated) WHAT?
MAN: I'll tell you later . . . offstage. Now then, do you happen to
know what "Congratulations" means?
WOMAN: In what context do you mean?
MAN: I don't know. If I knew what context, then I could just
discover it in context and I wouldn't have to ask you!
WOMAN: No need to be rude. As for congratulations . . . I don't
know.
MAN: Well then, congratulations!
WOMAN: Congratulations!
(WORKMAN #1 and WORKMAN #2 coming on-stage with flower-laden
pedestals, which they set behind and off to either side of the
table): Congratulations!
MAN: Oh, it's you again!
WOMAN: Who?
WORKMAN #1: Us!
WORKMAN #2: Yes, us!
WOMAN: Oh.
(The WORKMEN exit.)
MAN: (checking his watch, then shaking it near to his ear to hear if
anything is loose) Who knew I was so early?!
WOMAN: Why do you keep saying that?
MAN: Because I am.
WOMAN: No, *I'm* the cryptic one, not you! Keep that in mind.
MAN: OK.
WOMAN: (sitting straighter and taking on a more professional tone)
Now, on to business.
(She takes his briefcase, opens it, and begins looking through his
papers.)
MAN: What gives you the right to look in my briefcase?
WOMAN: It is because my position is higher than yours and you brought
these so that I could see them.
MAN: Are you sure?
WOMAN: Absolutely.
MAN: Oh. All right, then, as long as you're sure.
WOMAN: I am. I am perfectly sure.
(The WOMAN pulls out what looks like a script.)
WOMAN: (surprised) A script!
MAN: (intrigued) Really? I didn't know I had one.
WOMAN: Well, you do. I thought you were a businessman, but I must
have been wrong. You must be an actor.
MAN: Do you think so? Is that why we keep discussing offstage? Is
it possible that you're an actress too?
WOMAN: Well, it's certainly possible. Let's see what script you've
got here . . .
(She looks at the cover.)
"Congratulations?"
MAN: How odd. Are we acting this play as we speak?
WOMAN: Hmm . . . Let me see.
(She reads aloud): A bare stage. As the curtains open, two
nondescript workmen in white overalls bring in a large round table
and place it in the center of the stage. They exit off-stage, then
reappear with two chairs each and set them around the table. They
continue this practice until twelve chairs rest about the table-Wait!
Count the number of chairs.
MAN: (counting) One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four . . . Five . .
. Six . . . Seven . . . Eight . . . Nine . . . Ten . . . Eleven . . .
Twelve . . . Twelve chairs!
WOMAN: You certainly count slowly!
MAN: Is that in the script?
WOMAN: I don't know . . . I'll skip ahead. Um . . .
(She flips through the pages then reads): I would, but I have no
coffee or soda or hot chocolate. And we're too far away to hold
hands. What makes you think that we're intimate enough to hold
hands? Wouldn't you like to know? WHAT? I'll tell you later . . .
offstage. Now then, do you happen to know what "Congratulations"
means? In what context do you mean?
MAN: If I recall correctly, we said that just a short while ago.
WOMAN: Yes, we did . . . I'm sure of it.
MAN: Well, if you're so sure . . . Flip to the end!
WOMAN: But why?
MAN: I want to see how this ends up.
WOMAN: All right.
(She flips through the script until the end.)
It's just a bunch of blank pages!
MAN: Flip to the last page with words.
(The WOMAN complies, flipping back to the middle of the script.)
MAN: (curiously) What does it say?
WOMAN: (in a strange voice) It says . . . (pause) It says . . .
MAN: What does it say?
WOMAN: It says what you just said and what I just said! Every time
we say something a new line of dialogue is added!
MAN: (taking the script) Really?
(The WOMAN nods.)
MAN: Oh, then it's no use to us.
(He throws it over his shoulder and it lands on the ground were it is
picked up by a new person coming on stage. It is the BEAUTIFUL
MOURNER. She is dressed in a black dress, a black hat with a black
veil, black gloves, and a black purse that she places on the center
of the table along with the script before sitting down in the chair
directly between the MAN and the WOMAN. Two empty chairs sit on
either side of her. She is facing the audience.)
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: You should really take better care of your things.
(The MAN and the WOMAN look at her. She calmly ignores them,
perfectly poised. Sighing a little, she dabs at her eyes with a
black lace handkerchief.)
It is so sad . . . really it is.
MAN: What is?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: These occasions.
WOMAN: No, I think they're quite beautiful, actually.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Really? I think you are a very confused woman.
Have you gone to many of these ceremonies?
WOMAN: It depends on what ceremony this is.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: You don't know? You mean you were uninvited?
WOMAN: I suppose so.
MAN: Can you tell us where we are?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: I certainly cannot. I was invited.
(She opens her purse and rummages around inside, pulling out a white
card with the word "Invitation" printed on it. The MAN takes it and
studies it.)
MAN: But there's no place or date written on it!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Of course not. That's how I know it's today.
MAN: Are you on time?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: I'm afraid so. And you're late.
MAN: (arguing) I'm early!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Believe what you will . . .
WOMAN: I'm lost.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Good.
WOMAN: I get the feeling that you dislike me.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: No. How could I? It is quite impossible.
WOMAN: I don't believe you!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Of course you don't. But I know why *you* are
here.
WOMAN: You do?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Yes.
WOMAN: Are you going to tell me?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Do you think I should?
WOMAN: Yes!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: But you know I can't.
WOMAN: You're more cryptic than I am!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Of course I am. Practice makes perfect . . . and
I've had lots of practice.
MAN: Aren't there any plain-speaking people left?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: No.
MAN: Why not?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: WORKMAN #3 could tell you, but he won't.
MAN: That's cruel.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: You're better off not knowing. Besides . . . (she
cocks her head to one side) I do believe that you are at the wrong
ceremony.
MAN: (nervously) Are you sure?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: No, of course I can't be *sure* . . . but aren't
you supposed to be somewhere else?
MAN: I . . . I don't remember.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Of course not.
WOMAN: He doesn't remember anniversaries either!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Does any man?
(They all fall silent pondering that.
The BEAUTIFUL MOURNER finally breaks the silence.)
Well, the others should all be arriving soon.
MAN and WOMAN: (together) Others?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: (indifferent) Of course . . . for the ceremony.
The other guests.
MAN: What kind of ceremony is it?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Can't you guess?
MAN: You're dressed for a funeral?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: And am I not beautiful?
WOMAN: Don't get a swelled head.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: (snatching the script and opening it) Look. It's
right here in black and white. (stabbing at the script with her
finger) BEAUTIFUL MOURNER.
WOMAN: (sniffing) Well, it's probably just because you think of
yourself as beautiful.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: I notice that you don't.
WOMAN: Don't what?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Think of yourself as beautiful.
WOMAN: I do too! I'm more beautiful than you are!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Then why are you just the WOMAN?
WOMAN: Because I'm not as hoity-toity as you are!
MAN: Ladies! Ladies!
(The WOMAN and the BEAUTIFUL MOURNER turn to the MAN.)
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Well?
WOMAN: Which of us is more beautiful?
OTHER WOMAN's voice: PAUSE.
(This time, without even bothering to shake himself into awareness,
the MAN turns to the audience and says agitatedly):
What do I say? They're both beautiful . . . But the BEAUTIFUL
MOURNER is more so. Then again . . . I'm very intimate with the
WOMAN. I feel like Paris judging the three goddesses . . . and you
all know how *he* ended up!
OTHER WOMAN's voice: UNPAUSE.
MAN: How about a congratulations first?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: For what?
MAN: For . . . uh . . . the winner.
WOMAN: You're stalling!
MAN: No, I'm not! I'm too early to stall!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: It's highly irregular to congratulate the winner
before she wins, but . . . all right. After all, we ALL know who the
winner's going to be.
WOMAN: Me!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: That's not what I-
MAN: (interrupting) Congratulations!
WOMAN: (dutifully) Congratulations!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Congratulations! To me!
WOMAN: GRRRRR.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: (ignoring the WOMAN) Well? Who is it?
MAN: Uh . . .
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Well?
MAN: Can I say I forget?
WOMAN: NO!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Well?
MAN: I . . . I . . .
(A young childish voice floats out onto the stage): I . . . I . . .
MAN: (relieved by the distraction) What's that?
(All three turn to look as the COPYCAT enters from the left side of
the stage. He looks to be about eight.)
WOMAN: Who are you, little boy?
COPYCAT: Little boy . . . little boy . . .
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Come to Mommykins . . .
COPYCAT: Mommykins . . . Mommykins . . .
WOMAN: (concerned) Can you speak by yourself?
COPYCAT: By yourself . . . by yourself . . .
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Come HERE!
WOMAN: He OBVIOUSLY doesn't want to.
COPYCAT: (smiling) Doesn't want to . . . doesn't want to . . .
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: (peeved) Well, you can have him then! I would
never want such a little brat!
COPYCAT: (sadly) Never want?
WOMAN: (shooting nasty looks at the BEAUTIFUL MOURNER) Come over
here by me.
(The COPYCAT complies, happily running over to the WOMAN and sitting
in the chair on her right, his back to the audience.)
WOMAN: All right then, what's your name?
MAN: How's he supposed to answer?
COPYCAT: Answer . . . answer . . .
WOMAN: Tom? Joe? Harry? Greg?
(The COPYCAT shakes his head.)
MAN: Mike? Kevin? Adam? Jason?
(The COPYCAT shakes his head.)
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: (reluctantly asking) Justin? Victor? Bill?
Dave?
(The COPYCAT shakes his head.)
WOMAN: Duane? Ryan? Chris? Bob?
(The COPYCAT shakes his head.)
MAN: Nick? Alan? Sycamore?
WOMAN: (turning to look incredulously at the MAN) SYCAMORE???
MAN: (shrugging) It's a name.
WOMAN: For a TREE!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Kenneth? Zachary? Jared?
(The COPYCAT shakes his head.)
MAN: We'll never get anywhere at this rate!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: I give up.
WOMAN: Oh, well. Look in the script.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Why didn't you think of that in the first place?
WOMAN: I did, but we had to have our moment of futility after all.
(The MAN and the BEAUTIFUL MOURNER groan. The BEAUTIFUL MOURNER
grabs the script and after reading it for a moment looks up.)
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: His name is COPYCAT.
MAN: (dryly) How original. (looks at watch) I'm early!
WOMAN: Now that we know, how about we get back to the topic at hand.
Which one of us is more beautiful.
COPYCAT: (pointing at the WOMAN) More beautiful!
WOMAN: (pleased) Why, thank you, Cat.
COPYCAT: Cat!
MAN: See . . . I said you'd make a good mother.
COPYCAT: (leaning over and hugging the WOMAN) Mother . . .
MAN: He's not yours is he?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: That would make him a non-impartial judge!
WOMAN: (annoyed) No, he's not mine!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Uh-huh. Then whose is he?
(A bright, cheerful voice interrupts them: Hiya!
A bright, cheerful fourteen year old girl bounces onto stage. She is
blonde, and dressed all in yellow. She holds a basket full of
sunflowers. She skips over to the group at the table and sets down
her basket in the center amidst the briefcase, the script, the
portfolio, and the black purse. She takes a seat next to the
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER one seat away from the WOMAN. The BEAUTIFUL
MOURNER edges away from her.)
SUNSHINE GIRL: He's mine!
WOMAN: (startled) Your son?
SUNSHINE GIRL: No! The sun is my sun! He's my brother!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Oh. Well, he's a pesky little thing.
SUNSHINE GIRL: (sunnily) Of course he is! That's his purpose in
life. To be a pesky little thing.
WOMAN: Now hold on there . . .
SUNSHINE GIRL: (concerned) Please don't protest. You'll sound just
like my mother.
COPYCAT: My mother!
MAN: See!
WOMAN: Hmmph.
(The BEAUTIFUL MOURNER snickers.)
SUNSHINE GIRL: (turning to her) And you . . . you're just like an
old maid or a widow. How sad.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: (turning red) How . . . How DARE you!
SUNSHINE GIRL: (covering her ears and singing) You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine . . .
COPYCAT: (covering his ears in imitation of his sister) Only
sunshine . . .
SUNSHINE GIRL: You make me happy when skies are grey!
COPYCAT: Grey!
SUNSHINE GIRL: You'll never know, dear, how much I love you . . .
COPYCAT: (hugging the WOMAN) LOVE YOU!
SUNSHINE GIRL: Please don't take my sunshine away!
COPYCAT: Don't take!
(The SUNSHINE GIRL takes her hands away and smiles at her stunned
table audience. The BEAUTIFUL MOURNER sighs.)
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Why does he copy everything that's said?
SUNSHINE GIRL: Why, he is as the Echo of legend! Struck down by the
gods and made to repeat only what others say!
MAN: I truly doubt that he was hiding a nymph having an affair with
Zeus from Hera.
SUNSHINE GIRL: Of course not! And he has no unrequited love for
anyone either . . . Lest it be you, Ma'am. (nods at the WOMAN)
MAN: What's the truth?
SUNSHINE GIRL: The truth is I'd rather not have brought him, but we
were both invited . . . So I had to! The truth also is that he's
never known how to speak properly so he copies . . . and he learns!
Perhaps he'll speak a real sentence soon.
COPYCAT: Soon . . .
SUNSHINE GIRL: Or perhaps not. By the way . . . Congratulations!
COPYCAT: Congratulations!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Congratulations!
WOMAN: Congratulations!
MAN: (looks at watch) Gak! I'm early! Congratulations!
(A tall man in an overcoat walks in with a cup of tea and sits to the
left of the MAN. He sets his cup down in front of him.)
TEA DRINKER: Ah, tea. The essence of life.
MAN: Yeah. Whatever.
TEA DRINKER: I see you don't believe me, friend.
OTHER WOMAN's voice: Green tea is the best!
MAN: I'm not your friend. Am I?
TEA DRINKER: Have some tea!
MAN: (frightened by the strange gleam in the tea drinker's eyes) NO!
TEA DRINKER: Drink it!
WOMAN: Can't you see he doesn't want any?
TEA DRINKER: And why not? It's perfectly good tea.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Sure.
COPYCAT: Sure.
SUNSHINE GIRL: I like coffee. I like tea. I like the boys and the
boys like me!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Strange girl . . .
MAN: (staring at his watch) This is running way too slowly. And I'm
STILL early! Skip to the end of this part.
WOMAN: OK.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: If you insist.
COPYCAT: Insist . . .
SUNSHINE GIRL: Let's go!
TEA DRINKER: What? I want to drink my tea!
(Everyone ignores the TEA DRINKER.)
MAN: Congratulations!
WOMAN: Congratulations!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Congratulations!
COPYCAT: Congratulations!
SUNSHINE GIRL: Congratulations!
TEA DRINKER: Uh . . . Congratulations?
(WORKMAN #1 and WORKMAN #2 walk on stage and stare at the chairs.)
MAN: See? Somebody came!
TEA DRINKER: (taking a sip from his cup) Well, fancy that.
WORKMAN #1: Two of those chairs are ours, you know.
WORKMAN #2: That's right.
WORKMAN #1: It's just too bad that we're working or else we'd sit
down.
WORKMAN #2: That's right. But no sitting down on the job.
WORKMAN #1: There's a policy.
WORKMAN #2: Well, shall we speed things up?
WOMAN: Let's! I want to see who the last few people are.
WORKMAN #1: All right then. Congratulations!
WORKMAN #2: Congratulations!
MAN: Congratulations!
WOMAN: Congratulations!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Congratulations!
COPYCAT: Congratulations!
SUNSHINE GIRL: Congratulations!
TEA DRINKER: (sputtering out his tea-he was just sipping) C . . .
Congratulations!
MAN: Right!
(A woman walks in. She is wearing a wedding dress and veil and in
her hands is a bouquet. She sits down between the WOMAN and the
SUNSHINE GIRL, setting the bouquet carefully in front of her on the
table. The WOMAN, the BEAUTIFUL MOURNER, and the SUNSHINE GIRL all
eye it.)
BRIDE: I sure hope he hurries!
MAN: Who?
BRIDE: Who do you think? The GROOM of course!
MAN: Wait . . . if this is a wedding, (he turns to look at the
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER) then why are you dressed for mourning?
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: I'm the same as you . . . I'm at the wrong
ceremony.
MAN: But . . . you had an invitation!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Yes. I did. I still do as a matter of fact.
MAN: I don't understand!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: You will.
WOMAN: There you go *trying* to be more cryptic than I. It'll never
work!
BRIDE: Oh, hurry up and say it! I want my GROOM! I want to get
married!
WOMAN: Don't you need someone to perform the ceremony?
TEA DRINKER: (raises his hand as he drinks his tea) Over here!
WOMAN: You're a minister?
TEA DRINKER: No.
WOMAN: A judge?
TEA DRINKER: No.
WOMAN: What then?!
TEA DRINKER: A captain!
WOMAN: (repeating to herself) A captain.
BRIDE: SAY IT!
MAN: I'm late?
BRIDE: No, NOT that!
WORKMAN #1: Congratulations!
WORKMAN #2: Congratulations!
MAN: Congratulations!
WOMAN: Congratulations!
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Congratulations!
COPYCAT: Congratulations!
SUNSHINE GIRL: Congratulations!
TEA DRINKER: Congratulations!
BRIDE: (yelling loudly) CONGRATULATIONS!!!
GROOM: (jogging on stage) I'm coming, I'm coming, already! Yeesh!
He sits down on the right side of the MAN. A ring is clutched in his
hand.
BRIDE: Don't sit! Get up! Let's get married!
GROOM: But there are still empty chairs!
BRIDE: Who cares?!
MAN: I must apologize . . . I'm not supposed to be here.
WOMAN: Neither am I.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Neither am I, but I'm not apologizing!
WOMAN: You're just rude.
COPYCAT: Rude.
BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: But at least I'm beautiful.
SUNSHINE GIRL: But I'm sweet AND adorable!
WOMAN and BEAUTIFUL MOURNER: Put a sock in it!
BRIDE: I don't care if you're not supposed to be here! I want to get
married! Now, now, NOW!!!
GROOM: I never knew you were so impatient.
BRIDE: Well, it took forever for them to get to MY part and I don't
want to listen to them talk forever! So let's hurry up and get this
over with and the two of us can go offstage and share a cup of
coffee.
GROOM: OK.
(The OTHER WOMAN walks on-stage. She is tall, beautiful, and sharply
dressed. She seemingly carries nothing.)
OTHER WOMAN: Sorry I'm late. I had a sore throat and had to find
some green tea.
(The cast members stare at her.)
SUNSHINE GIRL: You mean . . . you're not just like some mysterious
voice?
(The OTHER WOMAN looks annoyed.)
OTHER WOMAN: Of course not!
MAN: And you don't need to hear the congratulations?
OTHER WOMAN: You missed my cue lines ago. Anyway, that's my seat.
(She points to the seat between the BEAUTIFUL MOURNER and the GROOM.)
Unfortunately, I can't stay and neither can they.
(She points to the MAN, the WOMAN, and the BEAUTIFUL MOURNER.)
WOMAN: (gesturing at the BEAUTIFUL MOURNER) Can't you just leave her
behind?
OTHER WOMAN: No. But you're not leaving all at once. She's leaving
last. YOU (she turns to the MAN) are leaving right now.
MAN: Must I?
COPYCAT: Last chair!
(Everyone turns to stare at him in amazement as he points to the
center chair in the three empty ones. Two of them are the
WORKMEN'S.)
SUNSHINE GIRL: He TALKED! I mean, really talked!
TEA DRINKER: How about that! Must be the tea fumes.
GROOM: Is the chair for WORKMAN #3?
WORKMAN #1: It can't be . . .
WORKMAN #2: (sniffles, then dabs at his eyes with the BEAUTIFUL
MOURNER's handkerchief which she hands to him) He's no longer with
us.
GROOM: Oh, I'm sorry.
OTHER WOMAN: Forget about it! Get on with your wedding!
GROOM: Right!
(Everyone gets up from the table and walks over to a clear area on
stage. They arrange themselves as though they were waiting on the
aisle and the TEA DRINKER takes the minister's position. The
SUNSHINE GIRL acts as flower girl. The OTHER WOMAN stands far right
on the stage, away from the others. The MAN stands next to his chair
at the table. The WORKMEN stand to the left of the table.)
WORKMAN #1: Why the empty chair?
WORKMAN #2: Only the author knows . . . but isn't it jest beautiful?
Brings a tear to my eye, it does.
WORKMAN #1: I want to sit down!
WORKMAN #2: But you can't! Not in those seats!
WORKMAN #1: Why not?
WORKMAN #2: Because your back will be to the audience.
WORKMAN #1: Oh. How clever of the author.
WORKMAN #2: You give the author entirely too much credit.
OTHER WOMAN: Begin the ceremony!
(The guests nod and wedding music begins to play as the bride walks
down the aisle.)
OTHER WOMAN: (looking at the MAN) RECALL.
MAN: I remember . . .
TEA DRINKER: Dearly beloved . . .
MAN: . . . all of these people . . .
TEA DRINKER: . . . we are brought here today . . .
MAN: . . . all of the people I've ever known . . .
TEA DRINKER: . . . to join this MAN and this WOMAN . . .
MAN: . . . in my life . . .
TEA DRINKER: . . . in the bonds of holy matrimony.
MAN: . . . represented.
OTHER WOMAN: PAUSE.
MAN: (continuing, rapidly) A retelling of life. A shortened version
of existence. The only thing that matters . . . There is no before
. . . There is no after . . . There is only the instant of this . .
. of living. Experiences . . . all of them . . . jumbled together.
People, faces, knowledge, breathing, being born, living, dying,
crying, laughing, pain, joy, sadness, love . . . Everything . . .
every moment . . .
OTHER WOMAN: PAUSE.
(The MAN freezes and the lights go out only to flicker on a few
seconds later with one bright spotlight focused on the MAN and the
OTHER WOMAN who are in front of the table facing each other.)
OTHER WOMAN: I was only authorized to give you this time.
MAN: I understand.
OTHER WOMAN: YOU will be gone. Only this will remain and endure.
MAN: I understand.
OTHER WOMAN: Then we will go.
(The lights flicker out again then go back on. The MAN and the WOMAN
have returned to their former spots. SOMEONE is sitting in the empty
chair . . . but he has his back to the audience.)
OTHER WOMAN: UNPAUSE.
MAN: Every . . . every moment. Existence. That is all. That is
the sum of me. Of all that I am.
OTHER WOMAN: UNPAUSE.
TEA DRINKER: Let any one who objects to this union speak now or
forever hold his peace.
The guests all fidget, the BEAUTIFUL MOURNER especially, but no one
objects. The MAN smiled broadly at the couple, who look at him a
little alarmed. Then he walks over to them, kisses the WOMAN, and
walks away from the group to stand near the OTHER WOMAN. The WOMAN
stares after him, shocked, yet amused. The wedding proceeds, but
fades to a dim murmur and the lights on the scene fade a bit as a
bright spotlight shines on the OTHER WOMAN.
OTHER WOMAN: Time is a funny business. There's never enough of it,
but there's also an excess. Sometimes Time moves slowly and other
times-pardon the repetition-it moves as quickly as the blink of an
eye. A life can be half over or even completely over before one
comes to realize that he or she has wasted it. But then . . . one
can always look back.
(To the man): Are you ready to go back?
MAN: No. But I remember now . . . and I know I must. Let's go . . .
I'm late for an appointment.
OTHER WOMAN: No . . . you're right on time.
(There is a flash of light and they are gone, leaving only the
wedding still taking place. The lights brighten on that scene as
wedding bells begin to ring somewhere offstage. As for the twelfth
chair . . .)
WORKMAN #3: (He is seated in the chair with his back to the audience.
He stands and faces the audience. The attention of the other members
of the cast is focused on the wedding and they are unable to see him
anyway. His face is hidden. He is dressed in a dark robe and holds
a scythe . . .) I am WORKMAN #3. Now, you know who I am. I'm
terribly sorry . . . but I really must go. I have another
appointment to attend and while others are making the most of their
moments, I have fallen quite a bit behind. Until another time.
Fade, lights!
(He stalks offstage. The lights dim until only a spotlight focused
on the happy couple remains lit. Through the darkness the voices
ring out like faint distorted echoes amidst the clink of wine glasses
and the laughter of the people just before the spotlight goes out . .
.)
**CONGRATULATIONS!**
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