Brownbird

A One Act Play by Duncan Wells

Characters

Gizella Bogdan

Morris Fletcher

Pause. Gizella looks to Morris

…sir Morris!

Morris: Huh?

Gizella: You are falling asleep?

He tries to snap out of it

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.

The water seems to bring him back to life

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

He continues to eat his imaginary rabbit

…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.

Pause. She is staring directly into his eyes throughout the following dialogue

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!

She walks away from him speaking mostly to herself.

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 looks through the window toward the sky

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.

Pause. He laughs at her.

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?

He is weeping

Morris: Missus Coglin…oh…my…God…

Pause. She regains her composure.

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!

He gets the towel to wipe his tears

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.

Morris ignores her. He is eating as if he is starving

Sir Morris?

Morris: I said I’m eating, ok?

Gizella: Yes…you eat.

Morris: More water.

Pause. Gizella fills his glass

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.

Pause

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.

He holds the table. The room is spinning

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.

Pause

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.

She gets his robe

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.

Gizella doesn’t understand

What, you don’t know who Popeye is?

Gizella: No, I am sorry. I have not had the pleasure.

Morris falls back in his chair

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.

He gets up, stumbles but she catches him and helps him toward the basin

Oh! There you are…you are fine…you are just a little weak…over here…watch your step…here you are.

Pause. Morris seems intoxicated.

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?

She takes the robe with her and crosses to the window

Gizella: It is approaching 11 o’clock.

He looks for a clock

Morris: How do you know that?

Gizella: Here…see?

Morris: See what?

Pause

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.

She walks away

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.

Pause. She shakes her head with pity

Morris: Look, ah…what’s you name anyway?

She smiles and laughs

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.

She stares at him

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?

He approaches her slowly as if posing a threat

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…

He clutches his stomach and falls to the floor writhing in pain. Gizella walks away calmly and allows him to get through it on his own.  She is smiling. Long pause.

..oh..oh…ahhh God! Oh…hell…damn…that hurts.

Gizella: Sir Morris, are you alright?

He sits on the floor

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!

He takes it

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.

She directs him to the other room

Gizella: You can change in there.

Morris: Ok, but nobody’s coming, right?

Gizella: I just told you…no.

Morris: Ok…alright…

He exits and speaks from off stage. Gizella fills his bowl again.

…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?

He returns

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.

Pause

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.

Pause

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.

He picks at the rabbit again but throws it back on the platter.

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.

He gasps for breath. Pause

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…

No response

Gizella: Sir Morris?

Morris: Huh?

Gizella crosses behind him and rubs his head affectionately. Pause.

Gizella: My poor, poor dear sir Morris…

Pause

…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….

He is now on the chesterfield and gasping for breath

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…

She crosses to the basin, wrings out a cloth and returns to wipe down his face

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…

Long Pause. Morris catches his breath. He lies quietly, staring fish-eyed toward the audience. He hears her every word, but is unable to move as if paralyzed.

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.

Pause

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…

Pause. She crosses directly to him

Gizella: You are not listening sir Morris

Pause

…sir Morris?

She shakes gently shakes him. His arm falls away from his body toward the floor.

Gizella: Sir Morris?

Pause

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