Falling Out of Time (9 page)

ELDERLY MATH TEACHER:

You have become your death

so much that sometimes I must wonder

(Forgive me, have I crossed a line?

Best to be quiet? To ask? You know,

my son, I am a gentlemen, yet find myself unsure

how to address you … May I use the second person?),

but tell me, speak it clearly,

show no pity:

if they were to allow you—
they
,

there
—if you were given liberty

to choose—

would you come back?

Come back to this?

To me?

DUKE:

Or, as Rilke wrote of Eurydice,

are you, my child,

abundant with your own death,

which fills you

like a sweet and darkened fruit
?

While I,

a bothersome Orpheus,

try to pull you

over here

against your will?

ELDERLY MATH TEACHER:

Just one more, if I may?

(Whom else can I ask

but you, my teacher

in these mysteries?)

Tell me just what is the thing

in us, the living,

whereby we can become

completely dead

within an instant,

in the blink of our own death?

And give up everything,

be given up on,

as though a primal law

that always lurked inside us

suddenly appears and rises

like a shadow from the depths: around it

still the ruins mount,

and comfortably it settles in,

a haughty landlord long in charge,

its stony glare—which does not miss

a thing, yet sees nothing—

declares with just

a hint of triumph

in its smile—

“Death, my friends, is what is true!”

WALKERS:

When we meet … What will we tell them

when we meet? I, gentlemen
,

have already made up my mind:

I shall not tell him of his brother
,

born after his time. In her room

we changed all the pictures
.

We couldn’t bear it any longer
.

I ended up giving his dog

to a boy on the street
.

(silence)

WALKING MAN:

And after some time,

whatever I do, you

fossilize.

Then I must

carve you,

time and again,

out of the layers of stone

in which you are

cast. I must try very hard

to want it—

must carve myself for it, too,

must fight—

while my whole being

shouts: Let go, it’s best

this way. Let human nature

do as it will, you must

accept his fate, respect

his border—

But then I soon suspect

myself: perhaps deep down

I long for you

to fossilize?

To bleed no more.

To not be

so awake, so sharp,

white-hot and

everdead.

But no less painful

are the times when I succeed,

when my imagination

cleaves the hunk of stone until

it cracks, then crumbles,

falls around you,

and then suddenly

you are there:

naked,

breathtaking,

glowing in the palm of rock,

or merely standing,

limp

and incidental,

you look this way

and that, embarrassed, without knowing

that I watch you: present,

so present,

neither promising nor

disappointing, only

coolly beating with the pulse

of your calm being.

Just warm

enough.

And living.

Maddening.

WALKERS:

When we meet, if

we meet
,

what shall I tell him?

What shall I tell her?

Do you think they know?

Know what? That they

are dead
.

DUKE:

In August he died, and

when that month was over, I wondered:

How can I move

to September

while he remains

in August?

WALKERS:

Perhaps we’ll simply

face them, when we meet
,

without a word? Perhaps

he’ll say that now he understands

I only hit him

for his own good? I might sing her

the song I sang when she was

just a baby. I want to get there

soon, dear God. I’m afraid

he’ll be a stranger

to me. Rock-a-bye, baby
,

in the treetop, when the wind blows …

Just to be there

with her, just to be. I wish

I could take him

a bowl of tomato soup
.

WALKERS:

We look up, we know

just where to look, to the fire
,

the small fire
,

the constant flame
,

day and night it walks

with us, we’re used to it
.

I, my friends, call it:
the blaze.

Forget it, those are just small embers
,

not anymore, not anymore
,

look at the fire, inside
,

it’s alive, it’s like life—

Don’t move, wait, don’t anger it
,

it’s opening
,

peculiar, now

stretching out, slowly

slowly reaching hands, arms
,

my God, what is this
,

fingers—

WALKERS:

The air trembled loudly, the arms

of fire bristled, froze briefly in a glowing
,

burning crystal, then started once again

to spin, to flower in wild blossoms
,

then up above exploded

in a rush of molten fire, waxed

and roiled, above our heads

the fingers spread, lines of fire

flooded, slashed through

shadows, images, and suddenly

like whips they lashed, leaped, caught—

caught whom—the words—

the words? The miserable words
,

they devoured all the it-cannot-be
,

they swallowed all of it in fire, everything

went up inflames, we shouted

bitterly, a black-and-yellow flame

shot up from deep inside us, then

we fled—

kept still—

we screamed—

we froze, while she—

her flames of lionesses
,

dragons
,

snakes, we promised

silence

yet we screamed, we vomited

a brew of words, horrendous

words, it cannot be
,

it cannot be,
and she—

keeps thickly rising, bustling
,

rounds of fire chasing us, and

now inside us, eyes of red

and black, they open
,

tracking us, tongues

burning, let her come and burn
,

damn words, she blackened memories, and scenes

we have not dared to see for years, she ate them, gulped
,

a huge fire, swallowing and scorching, lapping

in our gut
,

we barked, we wailed

at the mad fire, take everything
,

take all of it, burn it to ashes

while we suffocate in the smoke

of words, the furnace—

Weary
,

empty, standing
,

tripping, faces

blackened as she dies

down finally
,

then silence
,

silence, tiny flames

abating, sated
,

shhhhh …

asleep

(pause)

What, what was that?

Was I dreaming? Sleeping?

Look at me! I’m breathing!

So light of limbs now suddenly, the body

floats on air … Tell me, madam, am I

dead? Alive?

Your face, my woman. Touch me
,

touch. How strange
,

it’s smooth, just like

it was

before—

Want—

I want—

I

want, we want

to wake up
,

to wake out

of it, to wake into the light, I want

to dip, to bathe my everything

in light—

You—

All of you—

Who cannot hear—who do

not answer—lying heavy

on our hearts—drawing

out our blood—sucking every drop

of life from us—collecting

tax—a coldness tax—

from every moment of our laughter—

light—forgetfulness—

distraction—you who whisper

back each word we say from here

And why?—Have you considered that?—Why did you

become dead?—How could you be

incautious?—You weren’t careful like we were—

Why did you go and pick up that disease?

And war
,

why did you go to war?—

And to the waves—

The razor—

And how is it that you

are dead, while we

managed to stay alive?—Have you ever wondered

what that means?—Perhaps it is not chance

that you are there while we are here?—

Might you have even done something that made you

be this w-w-way?—

You know what? We don’t even want to trouble ourselves

with these thoughts!—We don’t even want to

think of you!—We’ve thought of you

enough!—We’ve thought enough

of everything. Before it happened

I didn’t even know there were

so many thoughts!—Ahh, how many

years, dear God—how many tears—

So take—take—take your bundled bones—

and get out—get out of our lives—

Do you hear? Our lives!—

You
,

All of you there—

Die now!

WOMAN ATOP THE BELFRY:

Quiet

has come.

The distant town

slammed shut

at once.

As though

there, too,

they all stopped

breathing.

WOMAN ATOP THE BELFRY:

He left

and he came back,

he searched their faces

for all

that had been lost.

He ran

and circled

them,

and suddenly—

he fell.

WOMAN ATOP THE BELFRY
(singing softly):

When I tell you yes,

you will embrace

the no,

embrace

the empty

space of him,

his hollow

fullness—

(pause)

There you are no longer

alone,

no longer

alone,

and you are not

just one there, and

never will be

only

one—

(silence)

WALKING MAN:

There

I touch him?

His inner self?

His gulf?