Prologue to "The Trial of Westward Ho"

            (MRS. HO and SUNNY HO meet before an arras.  Furtive.)

MRS. HO

Did you read the plays that your brother wrote?

SUNNY

What do you mean?

MRS. HO

Those called, “The Provinces.”

SUNNY

I glanced them over.

MRS. HO

He wrote them in your name.

SUNNY

What do we do?

            (SUNNY’s MAN FRIEND calls from offstage.)

                   MAN FRIEND (Offstage)

            (Loudly)
Sunny, are there noodles?

SUNNY

Wait a minute, Yicheng!  My mother is conspiring!
            (To MRS. HO)
What do you propose to do?

MRS. HO

I will bring up a suit to him in a court of law.

SUNNY

Really?  I know that you and he have been . . . strange, lately.  But a court of law?

MRS. HO

We are misrepresented.

SUNNY

Well . . . .  Who will be your lawyer?

MRS. HO

A man I met once on a street.

SUNNY

Who will be your judge?

MRS. HO

The Pope in Rome.  Only a pope will be adequate.  But not a recent pope.  One from the Renaissance.

            (The arras quivers in expectation.)

                     MRS. HO (Continued)

            (Seeing the arras)
Shhh!

SUNNY

You don’t think . . .?

MRS. HO

I have letters to write.

            (Exeunt, severally.)

            END OF PROLOGUE.

"Christmas Horror" by Westward Ho

            (Two dandies, MAUVE and HALLWARD, sit around the fire.)

HALLWARD

You know, Mauve, in our age, the Victorian age, it is common to tell ghost stories on Christmas Eve.

MAUVE

Then don't keep your tongue in your head:  tell one, Hallward.

            (HALLWARD thinks for a moment.)

HALLWARD

I think the greatest horror is that our age will come to an end; and people will tell it years later in breathy whispers, guessing at our actions with whitewashed assertions punctuated by, “Did you know?” and “Can you believe it?”

MAUVE

            (Snorts)
Is that the best you’ve got?  You might at least tell of a man who can pop his eyeball from his head and swing it like a yoyo.

            (MAUVE does so.)

HALLWARD

Good show, old friend!  Good show!  A right Victorian Christmas!

            (MAUVE replaces his eye.  HALLWARD has a sherry.  Snowflakes fall. 
            Chestnuts roast.)

            THE END.

"Gallery of Women" by Westward Ho

            (An AUTHOR walks through a gallery of the WOMEN whom he has created.)

AUTHOR

Ah, you my dear, sweetheart!  Did my words catch the glint in your eye?  And, old neighbor.  Your acid tongue stings worse and with more purpose in my prose.  And you, dear sister.  Your eyes stare fish-like even now.  Do I capture them well?  And, mother.  You, mother.  You.

            (The MOTHER moves.)

MOTHER

I am still when I choose and I move when I choose. 

AUTHOR

So you are.  So you are.

MOTHER

I do not stand like a fossil, bones re-hinged and joints moving as you desire.  I speak my mind.

AUTHOR

I long for it so to be.

MOTHER

Your sister and I, and all the other women, we have thoughts, feelings, which none but we can express.

AUTHOR

And so you do.  Which is as it should be.  For a responsible author brings in the voices of others.

            (He helps his mother back to her stand and dusts off her rickety joints.)

            THE END.

Play Fragment VI: "White As Snow"

            (Found on a pot by Mrs. Ho.  Type on onion skin.  This play has a title.)

            (Tabernacles.)

AARON:  Brother, one of us should go out and get Miriam.

MOSES:  Let her remain.

AARON:  I heard the jackal.  Your sister cannot abide in the scorching [. . .] call her back.

MOSES:  If you go, I will smite [. . .]

            (AARON waits, then [. . .])

"Peanuts" by Westward Ho

            (Ethnographic monologues.)

ELEPHANT

I love peanuts!  I’m not afraid to say it.  In a world of dread and drear, it’s good to make pleasant remarks.  My life is an ode to peanuts---their savory goodness.  Each breath I take, a longing for peanuts.  To feel the soft crunch between my teeth!  To swirl the delicious mash around my gums!  Is there anything like a peanut!  Oh, peanut! my, peanut!  If I weren’t a pantheist, you could be my only god!

BOY WITH AN ALLERGY

Peanuts, you will kill me . . . why do I know you?  Once, I tasted.  Too young to understand---though someone should have taught the reflex---and there you were, on the counter, tempting with your salty smell.  I remember your deliciousness, as you slid past my throat.  But then, the closing---oh, the closing!  The stifling!  The drawing of the curtain!  And the dying---oh, the dying!  But that first taste was too alluring.  And, often, I want more.  But you have brought me to the brink too much.  Now, your goodness is tainted by cruel intentions.  And, when I taste your skin, I taste my choking.  So, peanuts, I am almost done with you.  Almost.  But not quite.  For still, each time you pass my lips in illicit encounter, there is a fleeting moment, a rapturous memory of my first taste.  Peanuts, I will die for you!

PEANUT

Dig me up.  Roast me.  Eat me up.  My death fills me with tuberescence.

            (Can be performed free of charge on National Peanut Day.  Contact the author for
            more details.)

            THE END.

"The Provinces, Part IV" by Sunny Ho

            (The airport.  Airplanes zoom overhead.  The YOUNG WOMAN enters.  Her
            MOTHER is waiting for her.  She sits with hands folded.)

YOUNG WOMAN

Mother.  You do not embrace me.

            (The MOTHER rises and presses her daughter to her breast.)

MOTHER

            (Stepping back)
Your brother is out with the car.

YOUNG WOMAN

My husband is getting the luggage.
            (Pause)
My husband . . .

MOTHER

I know.

YOUNG WOMAN

You will like him?

MOTHER

I like his parents, so I will like him.

YOUNG WOMAN

Are you happy for me?

MOTHER

Are you happy?

YOUNG WOMAN

I have never known such happiness.

            (The MOTHER looks into her daughter’s eyes.)

MOTHER

Then perhaps things are not as they were.  Your father . . .

YOUNG WOMAN

What about him?

MOTHER

He was a father to you.  And this man . . . your husband . . .?

YOUNG WOMAN

He is . . . to me . . .

MOTHER

Good for you, dear.

            (The MOTHER embraces her daughter, more casually this time.)

YOUNG WOMAN

He is coming.

MOTHER

I will meet you at the car.

            (She leaves quickly.  Sounds of feet on tile as strangers pass by.)

            THE END.

"The Provinces, Part III" by Sunny Ho

            (A room with a telephone.  The YOUNG WOMAN and the MAN sit near it.  THE
            MAN’S MOTHER enters.)

THE MAN’S MOTHER

            (In her native language)
Was that your mother?

YOUNG WOMAN

            (In the other’s language)
Yes.

THE MAN’S MOTHER

            (In her native language)
Do you think I should speak to her?

YOUNG WOMAN

            (In the other’s language)
Not yet, thank you.

            (The YOUNG WOMAN and the MAN sit stock still.  Pause.)

THE MAN’S MOTHER

            (In her native language)
I will check on the dinner.

YOUNG WOMAN

            (In the other’s language)
I will help momentarily.

            (THE MAN’S MOTHER leaves.)

                         YOUNG WOMAN (Continued)

            (In her own language)
She sounded strange.

MAN

Your mother?

            (The YOUNG WOMAN nods.)

                    MAN (Continued)

Did you tell her?

YOUNG WOMAN

She knows.

MAN

Is she joyful?

YOUNG WOMAN

            (Shakes head, looks down)
Surely, she planned it.  But now she is lukewarm.  As though regretting.

MAN

She has been away from here too long.

            END OF PART III.

"The Provinces, Part II" by Sunny Ho

            (A brook in a field.  The sun is bright.  The air is crisp.  There are lots of
            flowers.)

GUIDE

These waters are curative.

YOUNG WOMAN

I am falling behind in my studies.

            (The FLOWERS start to sing.)

THE FLOWERS

LOVE IS COMING, SUNNY HO!
LOVE IS COMING---DON’T YOU KNOW?
HOLD YOUR HORSES!
DROP YOUR FORCES!
LOVE IS COMING; HERE YOU GO!

            (A beautiful MAN canters on.)

MAN

My mother told me I would find you.

YOUNG WOMAN

Is your mother my mother’s friend?

MAN

Of course.

            (She grows wobbly beneath his stare.  He also grows wobbly.)

YOUNG WOMAN

And they were both so right.

MAN

Both so right.

            (They fall into each others’ arms.)

THE FLOWERS

LOVE IS GROWING; FEEL THE TRANCE.
LOVE IS GROWING; NOW YOU DANCE.

            (The MAN and WOMAN dance.  Metal instruments play.  They spin around,
            faster and faster, madly in love.)

YOUNG WOMAN

Mother said I’d find centrifuges---

MAN

Mother said I’d find you---

            (Spinning.  Spinning.  Collapse to embrace.)

YOUNG WOMAN

            (Panting)
A physics of desire.

GUIDE

            (To the audience)
They call this place the field of love.

            END OF PART II.

"The Provinces, Part I" by Sunny Ho

MOTHER

Here is a ticket.  You are vacationing in the provinces.

YOUNG WOMAN

But I don’t want to go---

MOTHER

I have bought it with your father’s life insurance.

YOUNG WOMAN

I would rather stay and study centrifugal forces.

MOTHER

There are centrifuges in the provinces.

YOUNG WOMAN

Can my brother go instead?

MOTHER

It was your father’s dying wish.  I will hear no more of it.

            END OF PART I.

Overheard Voices III, recorded by Westward Ho

            (My teacher says that overheard voices can be more interesting than what we
              make up ourselves.  I doubt it.)

WOMAN

What do you think of my brother?

MAN

He didn’t say hardly a word to me.  He just, he just looked at me over the table.

WOMAN

Yes, he can do that.

MAN

I tried to say something that might be of interest.  I tried sports.

WOMAN

Oh, Yicheng.  He knows nothing about sports.

MAN

I understood that.
            (Looks furtively)
Should we . . . ?

            (The MAN begins speaking in another language.  The WOMAN responds in the
            same language, then switches back to English.)

WOMAN

He’s not here.  Besides, he can understand what we’re saying.

            (The MOTHER enters.)

MOTHER

Shhhh!  Don’t you know he is always listening, always lurking?

Overheard Voices II, recorded by Westward Ho

            (My teacher says that overheard voices can be more interesting than what we
            make up ourselves.  I doubt it.)

MAN

How did the exercises go?

ANOTHER MAN

Not well.  I don’t think well ---

MAN

Why?

THE OTHER MAN

I just don’t think I did it well.

MAN

As long as you’re a listener.  You have to be a listener.  ’Cause you have to really listen, to how people really talk---you know?  Because, like we talked about, it’s not what’s said in plays that matters.  It’s what’s left to the imagination.

WOMAN

I liked mine.

MAN

Great, Molly.  Can you tell us what you heard?

WOMAN

            (Gets her paper)
I did one at the Red Lobster.  And this father was talking to his little girl.  Should I read it?

MAN

Yeah.

WOMAN

Okay.  “Do the lobsters have to die?”  “I don’t know, sweetie; they don’t all die.”  “But will this one die?”  “I guess.  If someone eats it.”

MAN

Is there more?

Overheard Voices I, recorded by Westward Ho

            (My teacher says that overheard voices can be more interesting than what we
            make up ourselves.  I doubt it.)

WOMAN

And the music filled me with the spirit.  That kind of music always fills me with the spirit.

OTHER WOMAN

I know ---

WOMAN

I just had to play.  I went . . . I went to the organ.  And I played it.

HUSBAND OF THE OTHER WOMAN

Did you?

WOMAN

I really felt the Lord.  It was good worship.

HUSBAND OF THE OTHER WOMAN

Amen.

"The Waitress Speaks of Christianity" by Westward Ho

            (The WAITRESS is sorting sweetener packets.  They fall.  She puts her hands to
            her head.)

WAITRESS

          I cannot think. 
            No; not sick.
            I must tell you what happened in the car to me today.  I was driving for work; and a cat ran before the car.  It was a yellow and gold cat.  It came suddenly into the street.  Maybe chasing a rabbit or another cat.  But it ran fast and sudden. 
            I didn’t hit it, but another car did.  It was a blue car, with a tag on the back that was a Christian thing---something read, “If heaven happens, this car will be empty because we will be in heaven.”  I don’t know if they go to heaven, but the cat, I hope, does.  They kept to driving, if you can believe it.  They kept to driving. 
            I could not look.  But then I did; and the cat was not dead.  It was dragging its legs behind and making the loud meow.  I said to myself, “Archaeopteryx, it is not a Christian thing---”
            Yes, you know my name.  Why is it new every time? 
            I said, “Archaeopteryx, it is not a Christian thing to leave the cat not dead and having pain.”  And so I decided that I would run it with my car tire.  And I did, or tried.  I closed my eyes and prayed a prayer and went straight over.  At least, I pray I did.  I did not look.  But I pray the cat died with the tire.
            It is not a Christian thing to leave a creature like that.  I hope the cat is in heaven.
            (She looks to her sorting)
            Hey, these pinks things had said they caused the cancer.  Do they not cause the cancer no more?
            (Looking up)
            No; my stories are not all sad. 
            Sometimes sad.  I don’t know.

            THE END

"Milky Way" by Westward Ho

            (A backdrop of painted butcher’s paper, streaky black with glitter stars.  In front
            of it, a lovely stream flows over a black cloud of crumbly papier-mâché.  The
            stream is gorgeous---an icy twist of shiny silver and pearly white.  A little ELF
            puppet jumps on the scene.  It is a mimeographed image, colored in crayon and
            cut poorly from paper, affixed to the end of rakeless rake.  The ELF skates down
            the frozen stream.)

ELF

SKATING DOWN THE MILKY WAY,
STRETCHED FROM FINITE LAND TO SPACIOUS SEA.
SKATING DOWN THE MILKY WAY.
DRINK THE DRINK AND FLY AND SKATE WITH ME.

            (The noise of blades on ice.)

            THE END

"The Lady and the Toad" by Westward Ho

            (A misty, sally garden.  Everything is grey and vaguely discernible.  A young
          LADY rushes on, flummoxed by troubles, overwhelmed by care.  She holds a
          tattered newspaper before her, a broken umbrella behind.  Her trench-coat tails
          whip.  Her mascara runs rivulets.  She collapses, a tearful heap, on an old worn
          bench.)

            (A small drab TOAD, crouched nearby, croaks up at her.)

TOAD

You are flummoxed by troubles? overwhelmed by care?

LADY

Yes.  My ---

TOAD

Please don’t.  Nothing comes of cataloguing.

            (The LADY weeps anew.)

                  TOAD (Continued)

I am a woman like you, you know, ground by the molten drips of the world.  O, the stories  . . . But I am done cataloguing.  Now, I only remember at large.  So many sorrows and sins.  How often I suffered that which, before, had been unthinkable---only to wake up the morning, the bad thought thunk.  Worse than sufferings caused by others, though, were those brought on myself.  O, what I thought I never would do, yet did!  How stony cold, how like a closed door, are punishments deserved.  More times than I can count, I have been set apart---as a creature, as another---with no one to blame but me.

            (The LADY weeps afresh.)

                       TOAD (Continued)

But, when one has withstood all one can dream to withstand---O, only then---one realizes that happiness is just a creature of the happy mind.  Yes, I could swim to the bottom of the lake, without leaving time to rise---but to what end?  I am happy enough, no longer cataloguing, just watching the world and its flies.

            (The LADY dabs her face and considers a moment.  Then her eyes narrow on the
            TOAD.  She stands quickly and moves to stomp it dead.  The TOAD, used to
            attacks, jumps aside, losing only a little to the heavy foot.)

                      TOAD (Continued)

Ah, my long, slender fingers!  Gone!  Ah, but who is to blame?  You? myself?  Who cares?

            (The TOAD hops away behind the bench.  The LADY . . . well, the LADY . . . 
            Who cares?)

            THE END

"The Waitress at the Seafood Restaurant" by Westward Ho

            (She is sitting in a booth.)

WAITRESS

            When I saw you last, I was telling you of the troubles.  But, now, I am having the more happy times---or so I was thinking.  I am . . . on vacation, if you can believe. 
             It was a strange thing.  This man came often to the coffee shop---his name was Weston or Wesley---and he told me that he wanted to do something wonderful for me.  I doubted him, you know.  But he kept to it.  He asked me when I was happy, truly.  I told him something silly.  I don’t know why, but I told him:  I remember, just before Coelacanth was married, we all went away for the weekend.  I don’t remember what for---maybe for Coelacanth.  Or maybe Father got a moneyprize.  But we went to Hamilton, Ontario, and we had supper at a fine seafood restaurant.  It was my first time to have salmon.  Now, I have salmon many times since, but I never like it.  Sometimes---as usual---there is something not good:  skin too like a mirror and it peels from the flesh wrong.  But this salmon in Hamilton---it was like heaven.
            I told this to Weston or Wesley and he told me that he was getting a ticket and taking me.  I doubted it.  But here I am.  It’s not the same restaurant, I don’t think.  That one must have closed.  And the salmon, it is not good.  Like a dirty river.  But it is nice to . . . to . . . have something.
            But now I worry.  I have not seen Weston or Wesley in a long time.  Twenty minutes?  He took me here.  He took me, and I think he left me at this restaurant.  I am wondering why I came.  I think it was a mistake.  But why would he play the game and take me here to leave me here?  And where is he?  A mistake.  I should not have took time from work, even if he paid.  And I don’t know how I will get back.
            Oh, but here he is.  They were in the restroom.  That is all.  And they are back now.  Back now.

            (The WAITRESS smiles a return greeting.)

            THE END.

"You're a Receipt"

            (MRS. HO is putting together a diorama.  WESTWARD confronts her.)

WESTWARD

Mother, the last pottery play . . . I think it was just a receipt.

MRS. HO

            (Not looking up)
I think you’re a receipt.

WESTWARD

We have to be more careful if we---

MRS. HO

You’re the one who does the posts.

            (She makes the final adjustments.  It’s a beautiful diorama---a garden scene like
            the ones Sunny saw in the provinces.)

            THE END.

Play Fragment V: "Ousel of Food"

            (Found on a pot by Mrs. Ho.  Faded blue type on yellowed paper.)

[---]OUSEL OF FOOD

C 23, 1975

[---]DUCE[:]               0.19

[---]ODUCE[:]            0.19

[---]ODUCE[:]            1.19

[---]EASONAL[:]       0.59

DELI[:]                       0.29


SUBTOTAL[:]            2.45

SALES TAX[:]           0.03

TOTAL[:]                    2.48

AMT TENDERED[:] 3.02
CHANGE [. . .]
THANK YOU FOR [. . .]

"Heady Heady Head, Part II" by Westward Ho

CHILD

My mommy asked what I wanted for Christmas and I can’t believe she got it.  It’s a pickled head.

HEAD

I want a body.  I want a body.

CHILD

Well, I want a head that looks more like me.

            THE END

"Aunt Berthe's Secret" by Westward Ho

MOTHER

Sally, it’s time you learned the awful truth.

            (SALLY coughs on her scone.)

SALLY

What truth?

MOTHER

The antonym of falsehood.

SALLY

Not what’s truth, but what truth---?

MOTHER

About your aunt Berthe.

SALLY

She was like a mother to me, when you were in the institution.  Is there a secret behind her death?

MOTHER

Is there ever, Sally.  I suppose you know how she died---

SALLY

Suicide.

MOTHER

            (Simultaneous with her daughter)
Suicide.
            (Disconcerted pause)
Well, I guess you knew.

SALLY

I figured, with the family history and all your attempts---

MOTHER

We’re not---

SALLY

Really, it would be more remarkable if she didn’t commit suicide.  Why, you’re doing it right now.

MOTHER

I am simply cutting my scone---

SALLY

So what’s the secret?

MOTHER

It’s not that she killed herself, but how she did it.

SALLY

Pills?

            (MOTHER stares incredulously.  She blinks.)

MOTHER

Pills?  Would I mention it if it were pills?  No; much more shocking.  You’ll never think of her the same.

SALLY

Well, tell me---

MOTHER

An oriental rug.

SALLY

What?

MOTHER

An oriental rug.

SALLY

That doesn’t make---

MOTHER

She ate it.  She took a knife and fork and ate the whole damn thing.  Fibers expanded and burst her digestive tract.

SALLY

Oh, god---

MOTHER

When they found her, it was a pool of blood, with elegantly colored threads in the corners of her mouth.  And the remnant was hanging from her lips, as if she’d vomited it up.

SALLY

Oh, god.  I remember.

MOTHER

You what?

SALLY

I came in from playing.  I wanted an ice cream.  But she hadn’t died yet.  She looked up, and she croaked---

MOTHER

If I hadn’t been in the institution---

SALLY

I know.  I put it out of my mind, but . . .  Why did you bring it up?  Why would you expose me again, you loon?

MOTHER

Lately, you’ve been sleepwalking---

SALLY

Dr. Theos said---

MOTHER

Well, you’ve been sleepwalking.  I’ve seen you.

SALLY

Oh, god---

MOTHER

You come into my room; and---how do I say it?

SALLY

Oh, god.

MOTHER

You look . . . hungry for rug.

            (Dum dum dum---shocking music.)

            THE END.