Brownbird
A
One Act Play by Duncan Wells
Characters
Gizella
Bogdan
Morris Fletcher
…sir
Morris!
Morris:
Huh?
Gizella:
You are falling asleep?
Morris:
Ah…yeah…I..I think so…oh…wow. I feel real weird.
Gizella:
Have a drink of water.
Morris:
Yeah…yeah, a drink of water. That’s what I need.
Gizella:
Are you feeling sick?
Morris:
No…no…I’m fine…I’m ok, I…hell, I don’t know what it was…I just
got…I dunno…things started movin’ around the room or somethin’.
Gizella:
A dizzy spell perhaps?
Morris:
Yeah…it was weird, but I’m ok.
Gizella:
You are sure of that?
Morris:
Yeah…honest…I’m fine
…rabbit’s
good.
Gizella:
Yes, you told me already.
Morris:
Listen, if ah…if you’re really a gypsy…how come I don’t see no crystal
ball around here.
Gizella:
Ha!
Morris:
Wha’? Did I say somethin’ funny?
Gizella:
Sir Morris, crystal balls are nothing more that a prop used by circus fortune
tellers…glass baubles…something for these so-called predictors of the future
to stare into while spinning their untruths. It keeps them from having to look
directly into your eyes.
You
have heard that the eyes are the windows to the soul?
Morris:
Windows? Mirrors? Somethin’ like that.
Gizella:
Windows sir Morris…windows…and it is true. The eyes will never lie…they
always speak the truth…we have no control over them…they function
independently…they are the undoer of every dishonest human being…they will
always tell on you…and the only escape…is to gouge them out.
Morris:
Gouge them out? Holy Jesus, that’s sick!
Gizella:
Sick? Humph! Imagine, this coming from a man who brutally murdered three women.
Morris:
What’s that?
Gizella:
Nothing, sir Morris, nothing. I was simply thinking out loud.
Morris:
I ah…I used to know this guy and ah…whenever he lied, his eye used to
twitch. Funny, wha’?
Gizella:
No, sir Morris…it is not funny.
Honestly, I am not the least bit amused by you.
Morris:
Oh…sorry.
Gizella:
There is no need to apologize. We are two different people from two different
worlds. We can understand each others differences if we choose to but neither of
us should be expected to laugh at what was meant to be a joke if we do not get
the joke and I do not get the joke.
Morris:
Well, it wasn’t really a joke. I was
just tellin’ you about this guy I used to know who…aw, never mind. Forget
it. You’re impossible to have a conversation with. The minute I start one you
go off talkin’ craziness.
Gizella:
The moon is full.
Morris:
Yeah, like that’s all I need. A full
moon.
Gizella:
The stars are flung wide and far across the sky…
Morris:
Aww christ! This is crazy!
Gizella:
Millions of tiny pin prick holes…do you see them?
Morris:
Naw, I don’t wanna see them.
Gizella:
The sky is black sir Morris, but there is daylight just beyond it…the stars
prove that.
Morris:
Ha! That a fact now.
Gizella:
Believe what you want sir Morris, but do not
make fun of me. I see things…I see things that you do not understand, but because
you do not understand that is no
reason for you to laugh.
Morris:
Ok, so, what do you see?
Gizella:
I beg your pardon?
Morris:
When you looked into my eyes. Through the windows
to my soul. What do you see?
Gizella:
I saw what you think
Morris:
Did you really.
Gizella:
Yes…I did….really…and what you
think, sir Morris…it is evil.
Morris:
Well, maybe you just have to learn to see the good in people.
Gizella:
The good?
Morris:
Yeah, the good!
Gizella:
You want me to tell you the good?
Morris:
Yeah, I do.
Gizella:
Then I will tell you the good sir Morris. I will tell you the good!
I saw a good twelve year old boy…one
who ran errands and one who shoveled snow filled walkways, one who chopped
kindling wood for a seventy two year old woman named Missus Coglin…
Morris:
What?
Gizella:
A woman too old and too feeble to take care of herself. I saw a good
twelve year old boy who accepted no reward, none whatsoever…a boy who was
happy only to sit at her kitchen table as she served him home-made oatmeal
cookies…
Morris:
Oh my God!
Gizella:
I saw a little boy crying…a little boy who locked himself away in his room for
two days when he found out that she passed away…that’s what I saw!
Morris:
How the hell do you know this stuff--
Gizella:
Because I, sir Morris…I…have
the power of knowing.
Morris:
Oh my God…
Gizella:
So, tell me, what happened to that little boy sir Morris?
Morris:
Oh my God…
Gizella:
Do you know?
Morris:
Missus Coglin…oh…my…God…
Gizella:
Oh please…stop your crying sir Morris…I am not finished…because, when I
looked into your eyes I saw what you feel too. I saw what you feel…and it is
nothing. You… you…are a
frightened man.
Morris:
Leave me alone.
Gizella:
You are scared.
Morris:
I am not!
Gizella:
Yes…you…are!
Morris:
I’m…I’m not scared of anything and…and I’m not scared of any one,
and…and…and that includes you.
Gizella:
Humph…me you say…you are not frightened of me? Oh…really…hmmm…if this
is true…if this is true, sir Morris, if you in all truthfulness do not fear
me, then why should you even think to mention it? Is there some question in your
mind? After all, I am but a woman
whereas you are a man…a man of brute strength…a man with neither fear, nor
feelings…a man without a heart.
Morris:
I got a heart.
Gizella:
Funny, I did not see one when I looked into your eyes. I must have missed it. It
must have been hiding behind the blackness of your soul.
Morris:
Ok, whoa! Time out, ok? Let’s just stop this craziness.
Gizella:
There is no…
Morris:
I said stop the craziness!
Pause.
She steps back as if in total surprise.
Gizella:
You are angry again.
Morris:
Damned right I’m angry. I come here thinkin’ I got lucky…thinkin’ I got
away from the cops and then I find out I’m stuck in…in some kind of fantasy
land with…with…with…
Gizella:
A gypsy?
Morris:
Yeah, alright, whatever the hell! A gypsy! I mean, christ! You got ghosts
floatin’ around here, you knew my name and everything else about me before I
even walked in the door. You even know stuff about me that I forget, stuff that
I never talked to anybody about, ever! You…you talk in these crazy circles,
I’m havin’ dizzy spells and all you do is you keep goin’ on about the moon
and the stars like everything is normal and tellin’ me I got no heart
an’….damn is this rabbit ever good.
Pause.
He eats. He calms down.
Gizella:
Sir Morris?
Morris:
Yeah?
Gizella:
Did you know there are people in this world who, when a family member dies, they
carry the body to a sacred mountain and leave it there for the vultures?
Morris:
Hey, I’m eatin’ here, ok?
Gizella:
If the vultures pick the body clean then it is considered a sign of good luck
for the family.
Sir
Morris?
Morris:
I said I’m eating, ok?
Gizella:
Yes…you eat.
Morris:
More water.
Gizella:
Do you believe me when I tell you that you will be successful in eluding the
police.
Morris:
Believe you? I’m bankin’ on it.
Gizella:
Do you believe me when I tell you that Lutheria walks among us?
Morris:
Aww, I don’t wanna talk about that stuff anymore.
Gizella:
You believe in her sir Morris. I know
you do.
Morris:
Ok…ok, alright…I believe she’s here. Happy?
Gizella:
Good! Honesty, sir Morris…honesty, is always the pathway to personal freedom.
Now, would you care for a change of clothing?
Morris:
You’re the one who knows the answer to everything, so, why don’t you
tell me. Do I wanna change my clothes?
Gizella:
Oh sir Morris…
Morris:
Just…just answer the question, ok?
Gizella:
Tsk! Yes, you would like a change of clothing…the ones you have on are wet and
uncomfortable. They are also a size too small for you but that is
understandable…after all, they do not belong to you.
Morris:
Oh, man! I’m gettin’ dizzy again.
Gizella:
They found him sir Morris…they found the man you killed today.
Morris:
Oh, man, this gotta stop.
Gizella:
Of course, you did not have a choice did you. You had to kill him. After all you could not continue on the run wearing
prison garb. You would have been too easily identified. He was walking
alone…he looked to be approximately the same size as you. It was an easy kill,
was it not?
Morris:
Whoa…wow…this is weird.
Gizella:
Are you alright?
Morris:
Yeah…yeah, I’m ok. Just these dizzy spells. Weird.
Gizella:
And so sir Morris, as I was saying; you killed a man for his clothes?
Morris:
Humph! Yeah…yeah, I did but he wouldn’t be dead now if he didn’t put up
such a damned fuss about it. I mean, all I wanted was his clothes. It was his
own damned fault.
Gizella:
This is your explanation?
Morris:
Yeah, so what?
Gizella:
This is how you justify murdering an innocent man? You blame it on him?
Morris:
You just don’t get it, that’s all.
Gizella:
You are probably right sir Morris, because I do not get it. Maybe I should find comfort in accepting the truth that
one does what they do because that is exactly what they are.
Morris:
I yams what I yams.
Gizella:
I beg your pardon?
Morris:
Popeye. He always used to say that. I yams what I yams.
What,
you don’t know who Popeye is?
Gizella:
No, I am sorry. I have not had the pleasure.
Sir
Morris?
Morris:
Huh?
Gizella:
Are you feeling sick again?
Morris:
Uh…I just…I just keep getting that dizzy feeling.
Gizella:
You are probably just tired. Come here and splash your face with cool water.
Oh!
There you are…you are fine…you are just a little weak…over here…watch
your step…here you are.
Morris:
Maybe…maybe there’s somethin’ wrong with the rabbit. How old is it?
Gizella:
It is fresh meat sir Morris. I would not feed you something that would cause you
sickness. Now, here, let me help you with your jacket.
Morris:
Naw…go, I’m fine. I can…I can get my own jacket.
Gizella:
Ha! Such an independent one…stubborn like a mule upon a plough
He
removes his jacket and soaks his face and hair. She attempts to dry him but he
takes the towel from her to do it himself.
Morris:
Never mind the insults. You sound like my old man. Just let me take care of
myself, ok?
Gizella:
As you wish.
Morris:
Any idea what time it is?
Gizella:
It is approaching 11 o’clock.
Morris:
How do you know that?
Gizella:
Here…see?
Morris:
See what?
What,
the moon? You can tell the time by lookin’ at the friggin’ moon?
Gizella:
The moon, the sun…yes, of course.
Morris:
Where the hell did you learn that?
Gizella:
I learned it the same way every other child learns to tell time sir Morris. I
learned it from my parents.
Morris:
This is nuts.
Gizella:
Oh, stop it please. I have become so tired of listening to you speak about me as
if there is something wrong with me.
There is nothing wrong with me…there is nothing odd about me…it is you, sir
Morris…it is you, not I who has a problem dealing with your surroundings.
Morris:
Look, ah…what’s you name anyway?
Morris:
What? What’s so funny?
Gizella:
Sir Morris, you have thought, finally, to ask my name? After allowing you
through my door, after inviting you into my home, offering you food, comfort and
escape, it has finally crossed your
mind to ask my name?
Morris:
Look…just…just tell me, ok? I don’t need to get into any big discussion
over it.
Gizella:
Gizella.
Morris:
Gizella?
Gizella:
Gizella Bogdan…it is Hungarian.
Morris:
From Hungary.
Morris:
Well, no, I was just askin’.
Gizella:
Well, of course…where else?
Morris:
Gizella…ha! Gizella the gypsy.
Gizella:
They sound very nice together. Do you not think so?
Morris:
Wha’? Yeah…sure…whatever…humph! Listen Gizella, how come you’re being
so nice to me? How come your so..so, relaxed…so sweet, so…so weird? I mean,
what’s goin’ on? You’re not afraid of me. You know who I am…you know
everything about me and you’re treatin’ me as if I’m some kind of house
guest.
Gizella:
I should be afraid?
Morris:
Of course you should be afraid. I’m a murderer for God’s sake. You’re a
woman livin’ alone here in the middle of no where. As it stands I got nothin’
to lose. Who’s to say I can’t go nuts right now? Who’s to say I can’t
wig out and tear this place apart…because I’m nuts remember? I could kill
you and…
..oh..oh…ahhh
God! Oh…hell…damn…that hurts.
Gizella:
Sir Morris, are you alright?
Morris:
Gimme a sec…oh…oh, wow! That
ever hurt…like appendix or somethin’. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong
with that rabbit?
He
regains his composure and catches his breath.
Gizella:
I assure you, sir Morris, there is nothing wrong with the rabbit.
She
offers her hand to help him up. He accepts.
It
is your tight clothing. They are causing you discomfort. Here put this on.
Morris:
What? I’m not putting that on. It’s a dress.
Gizella:
It is a night shirt. It is not a dress. It is for your own comfort. You cannot
expect to sleep in such confinement as what you have on. Now put-it-on!
Morris:
Christ! You’re not expecting anyone are you?
Gizella:
Company? No…no, I am not.
Morris:
You better be sure about that because I don’t want anybody comin’ in here
and finding me dressed in this.
Gizella:
You can change in there.
Morris:
Ok, but nobody’s coming, right?
Gizella:
I just told you…no.
Morris:
Ok…alright…
…you
don’t have any asprin do you?
Gizella:
Asprin?
Morris:
You know…asprin? I think I’m coming down with something. I have a headache.
Gizella:
Medication?
Morris:
Yeah, ok, whatever…asprin, medication, tylenol, pot, coke.
Gizella:
Now who is talking in circles.
Morris:
Look, do you have anything or not.
Gizella:
No, sir Morris, I do not.
Morris:
Well, when you get sick…when you get a cold or a headache, whatta ya do?
Gizella:
I have never had a cold or a headache.
Morris:
Well, then how about casting a magic spell?
Gizella:
A magic spell?
Morris:
Yeah, a magic spell. You got one that can fix me up? Make this feeling go away?
Gizella:
No, I am sorry, I have no magic spells that can remedy your situation. Some water perhaps?
Morris:
What the hell is it with you and your water?
Gizella:
It will help you feel better.
Morris:
I already had water and lots of it. I
don’t want any more, ok?
Gizella:
As you wish. I was simply offering…that is all.
Morris:
Look, you ah…you never told me yet why you’re not afraid of me.
Gizella:
You will not harm me. This I know for certain.
Morris:
That’s not an answer.
Gizella:
No, you are absolutely right sir Morris, it is not an answer, but it is
the truth, is it not? You have no intention of harming me.
Morris:
(He sighs) Yeah…alright…I don’t…you’re right, ok? You’re right.
Gizella:
Of course I am right. Was there ever any doubt?
Pause.
He crosses to the imaginary rabbit, takes a piece and eats it. She smiles.
Morris:
So, since we got all night, tell me…what happened to your family…your
parents?
Gizella:
They passed away…fourteen years ago.
Morris:
Both of them?
Gizella:
Yes, both of them.
Morris:
They both died? Like, fourteen years ago, the same year?
Gizella:
The same day.
Morris:
Oh…what a car accident, a fire…something like that?
Gizella:
No, it was simply old age.
Morris:
What, are you puttin’ me on? They both died the same day of old age?
Gizella:
Yes. Is there something wrong with that?
Morris:
Naw, that’s too much of a coincidence.
Gizella:
You mean it is not normal?
Morris:
Aww, man…ha! This is just too weird.
Gizella:
What is too weird?
Morris:
Nothin’…everything…nothin’, never mind. I have to stop actin’
surprised at everything because nothin’ here makes any sense. It’s
just…it’s just…I dunno, it’s like I’m havin’ a dream or somethin’…it’s
just too crazy. I don’t…I don’t even want to think about it any more.
Gizella:
Sir Morris?
Morris:
Yeah?
Gizella:
The robe…it is very becoming.
Morris:
I look like one of the Ku Klux Klan.
Gizella:
I think it looks lovely.
Morris:
You got anything else around here to eat?
Gizella:
I could make you a sandwich.
Morris:
Yeah? Whatta you got to make a sandwich with?
Gizella:
Rabbit.
Morris:
Oh for Christ sake knock it off! Is that all you got around here is rabbit and
water?
Gizella:
Yes it is…I am sorry.
Morris:
Precisely…precisely? Oh, man! I’m…I’m dizzy again…I’m…I’m dizzy,
I…I have to sit…
Gizella:
Let me help. You do not look well…you are weak.
She
helps him. He accepts. He lays his head upon the table. She crosses to the
window and stares out. Long pause. Morris tries to lift his head each time he
speaks but is forced into laying it down upon the table as if it is too heavy
for him to hold up.
Morris:
Your…your…
Gizella:
Sir Morris, you are trying to say something?
Morris:
Your…your sister…
Gizella:
Lutheria?
Morris:
Lutheria.
Gizella:
Sir Morris?
Morris:
Huh?
Gizella:
You are sleepy.
Morris:
Yeah….yeah…
PAUSE
Gizella:
We were sisters sir Morris. We loved each other…we did everything
together…we worked together…we played together…we helped with the cooking
and the cleaning…Momma taught us everything we needed to know about taking
care of the home and how to make things right for Papa…she was a good woman
and he was a good man…he was a hard working
man…and he loved Lutheria and I…he loved us with all of his heart…Papa was
a trapper, sir Morris…he was a trapper, a hunter, a gatherer and a survivor.
We were taught much about survival by him, and by Momma too…survival…it is
our way of life…it is something we were born into…
Gizella:
Sir Morris?
Morris:
Huh?
Gizella
crosses behind him and rubs his head affectionately. Pause.
Gizella: My poor, poor dear sir Morris…
…Lutheria
and I danced…we sang…we played happily as children…as children often
do…we danced along our secret pathways through the forest…singing songs
and…rhyming rhymes…
Gizella
begins her rhyme. Lutheria’s voice is heard reciting the rhyme along with her.
During the rhyme, Morris becomes aware of Lutheria’s voice. He is groggy but
desperately struggles to lift his head and to get up from the table.
Once
in darkness
Sleeping
vista
Crept
a swarthy
Gypsy
brood
Rabid
eyed
He
found a-lying
In
quinary and alone
From
the shadows
Lept
upon them
Dagger
drawn reflecting orb
Wife
and swarthy
Ravened
daughters
Sat
that night to feast a gore
And
soon the Kris had called upon him
Come
young gypsy
Your
evils bear
But
wife and swarthy
And
ravened daughters
Made
escape to good satyr.
Morris
struggles without
success to get up, eventually does succeed, falls across the table pulling all
that is with it to the floor revealing the butcher’s cleaver which has, until
this moment, been concealed by the over hang of the table cloth. Gizella crosses
the stage to help him to the chesterfield.
Gizella:
Please, sir Morris, it is obvious that you are in no condition.
Morris:
She’s here, I…I heard her.
Gizella:
You heard who?
Morris:
I…I heard her…Lutheria…your sister…you heard her…you heard her…
Gizella:
Sir Morris, you are suffering delusions. Lutheria is not here. I have not seen
her. I have not heard her.
Morris:
Your rhyme…your rhyme, I…I heard her…stop this…stop this
now…please….
Gizella:
The fever is affecting your thinking. Please, be still…you need rest…you are
not well.
Morris:
But I…I heard her, I…oh…I…heard…her…
Gizella:
There, there…you are fine…you are going to be alright…you need rest…lie
still…lie still…
Morris:
No…no…stop…get away…
Gizella:
Sir Morris…
Morris:
Get away I said…stop…stop…no more…no…no more…
Gizella:
But I am trying to help…
Morris:
Go…go…please…go…Lutheria…Lutheria!! Oh…oh, God…oh God,
please…please get me out of this…
Gizella:
God will not help you sir Morris..
Morris:
Stop it…stop it…please, get me out of this…oh…
Gizella:
Papa he…he built us a bird house…he built it in such a manner that by
unhooking two small latches the roof could be removed…it was quite
unique…were only seven years old at the time…the woods surrounding where we
lived then, and now…have always been
a nesting ground for a particular species of brownbird…a very pretty bird…it
was Lutheria’s idea that we invent a game…a game in which we could use this
bird house that Papa built for us…this bird house with the removable roof …Lutheria
had Papa fashion a small door for us…one that would attach to the front of the
bird house…and so he did…it slid up and down…up and down over the tiny
hole through which a brownbird would fly…in and out…in and out of the bird
house…attached to the tiny door was a length of fishing twine…this fishing
twine lead from it’s attachment to the bird house door through the branches of
the tree to the ground below…where stood, Lutheria, with twine in hand…my
job was to climb the upper branches of the tree…high above to watch the bird
house…to see if a bird had passed through the opening…and when one did, sir
Morris…the very second that his tail
feathers disappeared inside …upon my
signal…Lutheria would pull the string and trap the brownbird inside…sir
Morris?
Morris:
Huh?
Gizella:
Are you listening?
Morris:
Brownbird…
Gizella:
Brownbird…yes, sir Morris…brownbird.
Gizella:
I would then swiftly cross the branches of the trees to the bird house, remove
the roof, reach inside and capture the tiny bird in my hand. I would climb all
the way to the ground below, hand it to Lutheria…she would snap it’s neck,
place it in a basket…and we would do it all
over again…
Gizella:
You are not listening sir Morris
…sir
Morris?
Gizella:
Sir Morris?
Oh,
you are not dead sir Morris…your heart is still beating….you are listening
and you hear every word I say…your eyes are opened wide and you can see me as
clear as the moon in a cloudless sky…you are frightened…here allow me to
wipe away this tear… there, there…do not cry, for you will soon be among the
angels of hell…come with me now sir Morris….Lutheria is waiting
Pause.
She begins dragging his dead weight body from the chesterfield across the stage
to the tree trunk chopping block. She
speaks to him throughout the crossing of the stage.
Oh
sir Morris…such a sad closing to such a sad, sad tale….is it not?
I…the
frail and gentle soul…and you the strong…the brutish…the violent…the
hate-filled and heartless human being…rendered defenseless by his
unwillingness to believe…his refusal to understand what even the tiniest bird
of the forest has learned…the wind can carry you only for so long…then you
must find refuge among the trees…
She
positions him face up across the block with his neck in the middle of the block
before continuing. She brushes his face gently with her hands.
Oh
sir Morris…sir Morris…I see through your eyes and into your heart the desire
you have to reach up and place your hands around my throat…but you know now,
that this could never be…and the beating of your heart…the beating of your
heart sir Morris…it tells me you are frightened….close your eyes…pretend
you are sleeping….pretend you are sleeping…
She
rises up from the chopping block and crosses to retrieve the cleaver. During the
course of the journey from the chopping block to the cleaver and back she
recites the following poem.
Lutheria!
Oh,
Lutheria!
I
have spied a tiny brown bird.
I
have him in my hand
I
will bring him to the ground
Do
you see what I have captured?
Do
you see what I have brought you?
To
place inside your basket
Are
you proud?
Are
you proud…of me now?
She
returns to the chopping block with the cleaver. Down upon her knees she sings.
Sing
a song of sixpence
A
pocket full of rye
Four
and twenty brownbirds
Baked
in a pie
Cleaver
raised lights fade
Brownbird
Duncan Wells
Copyright 1980