Don Quixote, Which Was a Dream (12 page)

Alwa:Wait until the play's over. (He french-kisses her goodbye. Lulu clings to him and kisses him. She wants to ask if he loves at all, but can't because such language isn't allowed. For reasons unknown to her he kisses harder and she embraces with all the need of her inability to talk or loneliness: her need for a brother.)

4.
LULU
In Hell: Casting The Devils Out Of Hell

for Elegguà, lonely spirit, friend to violent warring Ogun, causer of all automobile accidents, you my black lonely spirit, loneliness, Holy Guardian Angel who joins Yemayà from whose bursting stomach comes out the world. To cast out what is dead inside (which is outside) my mind. for the peace of the heart.

Hell: The End Of Affection

The scene continues from the end of Act III: Schon, entering his study, sees his wife kissing his son, but doesn't say anything. They don't see him.

Lulu, drawing back from Alwa: I want to know if you're going to fuck me.

Alwa: I told you: I can't afford to disrupt my life. You're married to my father.

Lulu: Are you even sexually attracted to me? Alwa, lying: What man wouldn't be? You're the femme fatale. Lulu: Just put your arms around me. Hold me. (Not even caring what the reality is or what the effects will be as long as she gets hugged. Over his shoulder, as he's hugging her against his will, she sees Schon.) Daddy!

Casting Out Devil One By The Lack Of Causality Lulu: Daddy. Why're you staring like that? What's wrong?

Schon: I neither cry nor speak a word, nor will I, until a new sun looks down upon a cleaned-out world. Lulu: I'd feel better if you'd show your anger, if you'd take your anger out on me. If you'd punish me. If you'd touch me. How many times have you told me that I am only cause of you: by the grace of your tongue I have a name; by your money's power I am clothed. Justly punish me. Strip me! There's nothing in this existence I want. (The two men are watching her as if she's their stripper.)

Schon: You're a stranger to everything decent; your flesh is corruption. I don't know why this very earth (his foot strikes either concrete or plastic) tolerates your presence on it.

Always, Lulu, you have been a piece of shit. You were always unlike every other person. You did everything wrong. You are genetically wrong. Your very being is proof that you should die.

Lulu, bending to floor: Kill me. Take away my life. This is the only way I can get affection. (The play director, disgusted by this scene, has turned away from Lulu.)

(Schigold, who's been in a drunken stupor somewhere or other, is attracted enough by this scene to wake up enough to move toward them.)

Schon: What do you want? (Schon takes out a gun and points it at Schigold. Schigold doesn't see it because he's staring at Lulu.)

Schigold: Hey. You're cute. I want to fuck you. Schon, to Lulu: You see: you're a whore. You're a toilet men use, an empty hallway any men wander in and out of. You are nothing.

Schigold: I'd like to fuck the shit out of you. I'd like to stick my thingy-dingy up your witchy-washy. I'll rub and dub you until you scream for help.

Alwa: Why don't we all sit down and try to straighten this out. A glass of wine mi. . . (Schon pistol-whips his son. Alwa falls to the floor.)

Casting Out Devil Two By Innocence

Schon, looking down at his son: The night's coming up. (He

grasps his gun even harder.)

Schigold: I'm not so confused anymore. I think I know what's

going on.

Schon, looking at Schigold: The air in here stinks. (Showing

him the gun.)

Schigold: Don't hurt me. Don't hurt me. I never did anything

to you. I never hurt you. Let me out of here.

Schon: There's nowhere to go.

Lulu to her fathers: If memories are realities, this world is a

prison.

Schigold to Lulu: Lulu. At least I can look at you. Do you

know, when you were a child, you were always smiling? Your

mother called you 'Sunshine'.

Lulu: I had a mother? I thought she was mad.

Schigold, on his knees again, clawing to grasp on to Lulu's

legs: Lulu, don't leave me. Never let me go, child. All that we

have is blood!

Schon, kicking him: Get your filth off.

Schigold: No. Never. Innocence is all that we can proclaim!

(He is biting Lulu's knee so hard, it bleeds.

(Schon shoots him.) Schon: Shit. This world is a piece of shit.

Casting Out Devil Three, The Father, The Last Of The Holy

Trinity, By Murder: The Battle Against Love

Lulu: No.

Schon: What're you saying?

Lulu: You don't love me. You don't love anyone.

Schon: If I loved no one, I'd love you because you don't exist.

Lulu, to herself: Since I've been submitting my soul to my

appetite for being loved, I have put myself in prison. (To

Schon,) You said that parents always love their children.

Fathers always love their daughters . . .

Schon, interrupting her reason: You're not my daughter:

You're a dead man's daughter.

Lulu: . . . This is so: The child is born into a situation of love.

Being born into a situation of love, the child must love. A

child cannot not be love. Don't you see?

Schon: You are not my child. I do not love you: I hate you,

hole.

Lulu: I can not say 'No' to love to my appetite for love, and yet I must. To survive I must not love. Don't you understand? Schon: I understand everything. (He puts the gun to his head.)

I was once a man, but now I'm as dead then rotten as a forest after a conflagration's lived in it for days. The. entire world that I see is dead and rotten.

All your emotions. All your emotions - these needs -whatever you speak about - are nothing, trivial, in this total pain that is. You still do not see how deeply you are nothing to me. (He is still holding the gun to his head.) Lulu: I see. I won't deny that I love you even if it costs me my life.

Schon: Can you love ash? Can you love fish rotting on the burnt-up sands? If you can not understand, if you are so stupid that you are unable to 'feel' - as you phrase it - what I see and am, at least spare me your tender emotions. Your love.

What you call 'love', if I paid any attention to it, would rip me (and this world) apart. Get out.

Lulu: No. I know now what's right. (She puts her hand on the gun.) You'll shoot me before you shoot yourself. Schon: You still do not understand. All of you are shit. You're not worth anything. There is nothing.

Lulu: You're wrong. You must be wrong, but I can't understand anymore. It can't be mistaken to need someone else to love and yet only human solitariness allows human survival.

If you won't kill me, at least someone kill off this heart and mind! (They wrestle for the gun. Schon wins.) Schon: I will not have you show me love. You are nothing, nothing. I will not have you break into my world, break me up, destroy me. (He points the gun at Lulu.) Lulu, coming to her senses: You're mad. This is a world of madness. All of my memories of you and of my life are valueless. (She takes the gun out of Schon's hand and shoots him.) I have no more memories.

5. An Escape

Before the Beginning:

There are no spoken words here. Lulu is in jail. She is about

to be killed for her murder of Schon. At that moment she begins to speak her own words:

Lulu: When the soul and the heart, for the soul and the heart are the eyes, are so desolate that every incident is pain, when the nerves have been scraped into shreds for so long that only fantastical torture is real, when there is bottom: DIVINE HOPE IN THIS WORLD still pursues her way and is saying, 'There is something better: your ideal.' These are the days of my romance:

The Home Of Childhood

Lulu: I was on a ship. I left the ship; I walked through a

village; I came to its other end.

This happened in Spain where drama is reality. I kept on walking.

When I raised my head, I saw a massive house, a house so grand it seemed to be a force detrimental to the existence of human beings . . .

I have nowhere else to go but home.

The Beginning of Inside: Before The Beginning Of The World Lulu: The inside of the house - downstairs - was a huge room.

Inside this extended kitchen there were three women. Lulu, to the women: I'm looking . . . Witch-Bitch: Are you looking for someone special, dear? Lulu: The first old woman was hideous. She was a hundred years old if she was a day. Her skin, hanging in long folds, couldn't have been skin which any man or woman would want to touch.

And her breasts, visible through shreds of some material, vomited down as my grandmother's breasts used to wave here and there on the waters of her bathtub.

Old age appals me. Lulu: I'm looking for a friend.

Thin Witch: Yes yes yes. Your little friend's been here. Lulu: The second old hag wiggled her finger-frankfurter at me while her head kept on bobbing as if someone had almost succeeded in cutting it off or as if she was listening to rock'n roll. This biddy was as fluffy as a puffed-up parrot: She had

fluffed-up or watered-up skin so white it seemed about to burst and flood the world.

The two old women chattered to each other about my friend with such rapidity I could neither tell what they were saying nor did I know about whom they were talking. I thought I heard the names of cards.

I drew up whatever courage I had from my solitude and asked them for food. I was hungry.

The oldest hag asked me if I was looking for someone special. Her sister chimed in: Wait until the morning, the morning, she said, when the world will be able to begin . . . Lulu, to the two sisters: I'm looking . . . Lulu: A young girl, the only other person in this world, brought a bowl of steaming broth and a piece of bread to a wood table. She watched me like a starving cat, a beast of wet sexuality. If I moved, she would eat me. Already her eyes ate me so deeply, these eyes were empty, They contained nothing. She gave me my food and squatted on the ground.

She said, 'The archbishop once slept here', spat on the floor, and rubbed her left thumb in the spit until the spit disappeared.

I replied I wasn't looking for an archbishop. Young Girl: You've been looking for a long time, haven't you? You're tired, aren't you?

The archbishop once slept here. Lulu: She spat on the floor and rubbed her left thumb in the spit until the spit disappeared. The puffy old dame told me I'd have to give them money if I wanted to sleep there. Since I was tired, I gave them money. They wanted all my money so I could wake up in the morning.

The young girl handed me an oversized plastic motel key. She told me I could sleep in the archbishop's room, a holy room.

Through The Rooms:

Lulu: I was following the young girl up some stairs.

At the top of the stairs was a long dark hallway. Rooms branched off of the hallway. As we passed by each room, I had to look inside, I had to see, but I didn't know why I had to look.

The first room was the room of childhood:

When I was a child. My parents owned a summer house by the Atlantic Ocean. I would spend my days playing on the beach. A number of us - girls - formed a gang. Our purpose was to tease boys our age either by kissing them (mentally killing them) or by burying them in sand (physically killing them). The boys were weaker than us.

On this beach, a woman, who is sitting on a fat woman's lap, is looking down at an earringed man. The earringed man smiles and hands the first woman a fish. The first woman thanks him for the fish.

I am sleeping on the top of an ocean full of monsters, of double-fish. On top of a headless man, a man who is only his sexuality, who's lying on one double-fish, a woman sits. She sits on him; she is a pirate. I am lying on top of the ocean of monsters, but I'm safe because I'm on a ship. When I was a child, I wanted to be a pirate. Young Girl: This isn't the archbishop's room. Lulu: The second room was the womb of art:

An artist, who's a man, is sitting on the floor and holding an easel or a mirror. He can only stare at what he sees. All he sees are women.

To his left, a woman wearing silvery armor is standing in absolutely calm water. Behind her a male corpse's legs are sticking out from the calm water. In front of her a young woman whose tits are lovely and who's wearing a slight pink slip is holding the black oar upward: Either butch or fern, the women the artist sees are warriors.

Behind the pirates, the men do the more menial work: rowing and flute-playing.

The women the artist sees on his right are all enslaved or imprisoned: A woman who's a mother is sitting locked up in a tiny bird-cage. Big-beaked bird is guarding her. This cage rocks on a row-boat on the same sea as the pirate sea. I see. Another woman, in front of the row-boat, is crawling dog-fashion out of the sea on to a sliver of sand or security. Because all men are above women, a lowly hotel valet bearing a king's crown on a silver platter is riding the bitch.