(Fog, smoke, incense. A withered man, with turban, speaks. A corpulent woman,
with fur and brooch, responds.)
THE FORTUNE-TELLER
One does not put new wine in old wineskins.
THE WOMAN
Really? Doesn’t one?
THE FORTUNE-TELLER
No.
THE WOMAN
Really?
THE FORTUNE-TELLER
(Wearily)
The skins will burst.
THE WOMAN
I had no idea. I had better buy bottles. Do I need to sterilize them, like for canning?
(THE FORTUNE-TELLER closes his eyes. More smoke. THE WOMAN inhales
a good portion.)
THE END.
(Marching.)
SOLDIER 1
I had a dream last night.
SOLDIER 2
Don’t tell---
SOLDIER 1
A whirl of smoke and guns and color---
SOLDIER 2
Enough---
SOLDIER 1
A giant bayonet came---
SOLDIER 2
A giant bayonet?
SOLDIER 1
And pushed me in a grave. What does it mean?
SOLDIER 2
(Shrugs)
It can mean many things.
SOLDIER 1
Will I die today?
SOLDIER 2
Possible. More likely, you had the dream to show your fear of the day’s battle.
SOLDIER 1
I’m not---
SOLDIER 2
Your dream says otherwise. But, because you had it, you’ll reflect back on your fear. And since you have something to reflect on, you’ll likely live.
SOLDIER 1
Really?
SOLDIER 2
Now, I’m more likely to die. You’ll think back: “I told Tommy; and, that very day, he got killed.”
SOLDIER 1
No.
SOLDIER 2
Quite possible. Or, I suppose, you might get killed; and I might think back on this exchange we’re having right now. Regardless, one of us dies.
SOLDIER 1
No.
SOLDIER 2
Which is why I wish you’d kept your dreams to yourself.
(Marching.)
THE END.
MOTHER
Sunny is back from the provinces.
A mother says veloo.
Sunny is back with a man friend.
A mother says veloo.
Sunny, you were gone so long:
Join me in my called-for song.
MOTHER and DAUGHTER
Veloo. Veloo.
MOTHER
And your man friend?
DAUGHTER
He is very kind. But we must not talk of him yet. How are you? And my brother?
MOTHER
We have missed you. I am making a meal for you. Can I husk this corn?
DAUGHTER
Let me help.
THE MAN FRIEND
I would also like---
MOTHER
No, no. We will do it.
(They husk quietly.)
MOTHER (Continued)
(To THE MAN FRIEND)
My son is in the other room. You should meet him.
(Quietly, to DAUGHTER)
You think?
DAUGHTER
(Under breath)
As well now as ever.
(THE MAN FRIEND leaves.)
MOTHER
You must tell me about him.
DAUGHTER
First, about you.
MOTHER
What?
DAUGHTER
I know what you are doing.
MOTHER
What do you mean?
DAUGHTER
This cuts too close to the bone. It is too close to life.
MOTHER
Veloo.
THE END.
THE SCHOLAR
The Psalms say that Leviathan, that great biblical water beast, was moved by the Lord from the sea to the desert. I should say that the body of Leviathan was moved to the desert. Don’t you see? Clearly, the ancient Israelites had encountered huge bones in desolate settings and sought an explanation. These bones, I believe, were from dinosaurs. Leviathan itself, I believe, was none other than a whale. After all, as Aristotle would point out, whales are too large to be taken in at one viewing. Therefore, no ancient could have known what one looked like. Nor could any moderns until quite recently. As proof, the whales of Edward Lear, that noted Victorian illustrator, look very odd indeed to the modern eye. In conclusion, Leviathan was a whale when alive; and a dinosaur when dead.
(A WHALE has been sitting and listening. It has a mixed drink. It attempts to
clap its flippers.)
THE WHALE
(Hear, hear!)
Arf! Arf!
(Suddenly---and quite sadly---THE WHALE chokes on a cocktail sword and
dies. It becomes a dinosaur.)
THE END.
(A literary gathering. A velvet salon. Or, perhaps, a basement. FRIENDS of
WESTWARD HO are sitting around. Maybe they smoke or do something else.
Among them is WESTWARD’S MOTHER, seated in a straight-backed chair.)
A FRIEND
I love the word “damask.”
ANOTHER FRIEND
Westward is going to speak.
(WESTWARD HO moves to the pulpit---a coffee table---where he clears his
throat. Spotlight on WESTWARD. He carries a shoebox.)
WESTWARD
“The Woman Who Sang the Blues” by Westward Ho.
(As he speaks, he turns the shoebox around. A tiny flashlight invades the top so
that light shines in. The effect is a miniature stage. Within in, a tiny WOMAN,
with striking footwear, is splayed out on her couch. The room shows signs of
looming abandonment.)
WESTWARD (Continued)
(Declaiming)
The life of the woman who sang the blues
Was mysterious; but she left some clues:
A note from a lover
Beneath a chair cover,
And a pair of Nazi-red shoes.
(The WOMAN IN THE SHOEBOX appears to glance slyly. Of course, she
cannot move. The performance finished, lights go back to normal.)
A FRIEND
Very good. I need to refill my drink.
ANOTHER FRIEND
I saw goat cheese in the kitchen.
STILL ANOTHER FRIEND
I love going out of a Saturday night.
(The FRIENDS drift off. WESTWARD is left with his MOTHER, in her straight-
backed chair. They look at each other.)
WESTWARD
I know what you’re thinking.
MRS. HO
You do?
(She gestures to the shoebox)
That was creative use of my things.
(She sits up straighter.)
MRS. HO (Continued)
I love whatever you do.
(WESTWARD walks out suddenly, ostensibly to get some goat cheese.)
THE END.
