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The first Production of Patient #1 will be in the Spring of 2008 at York Theatre Royal (Artistic Director, Damian Cruden). The first U.S. Production will be in the Autumn of 2008 at the Odyssey Theater, Los Angeles (Artistic Director, Ron Sossi).
FOR HAROLD PINTER
"Patient #1 is a powerful, disturbing and continually gripping drama which caused me to weep for America." Ronald Harwood "...nothing less than the startling image of a horror stamped upon the heart of a masterpiece. M.C. Gardner
MISE-EN-SCENE
Patient #1" is the confidential in-patient, designated in-house name assigned to the former President of the United States George W. Bush by the psychiatric staff of an elite private clinic. The clinic is isolated from and virtually unknown to the public. The clientele over the years has included some of America’s and the world’s most Very Important Persons. The style and spirit of the large office in which the action takes place is deluxe Spanish Modernismo circa 1930. There are two entrances, Stage Left and Stage Right. A large desk/table is Centre Left; a fireplace, Left; and a small table, chair and couch Centre Right. Almost the entire Upstage Wall is a picture window. Through the Window can be seen a wide lush lawn, semi-tropical flowers, vegetation and, at the horizon, a flash of ocean. The sound of waves is constant but very far away. Also, in the distance, the ringing of an old Mission’s bells.
DONALD FREED *Donald Freed has been awarded the 2006 PEN DRAMA PRIZE for his Devil’s Advocate. Donald Freed’s plays, prizes, books, and films include: Inquest (directed by Alan Schneider); Secret Honor (directed by Robert Altman); Circe & Bravo (with Faye Dunaway, directed by Harold Pinter); The Quartered Man; Alfred and Victoria (A Life); Veterans Day (with Jack Lemmon and Michael Gambon); The White Crow; Eichmann in Jerusalem. Three Rockefeller Awards; two Louis B. Mayer Awards; Unicorn Prize; Gold Medal Award; Berlin Critics Award; NEA award for "Distinguished Writing"; Hollywood Critics Award; Jonathan R. Reynolds Prize. Agony in New Haven; Executive Action (novel and film with Dalton Trumbo and Mark Lane); The Glasshouse Tapes; The Spymaster (B.O.M.); In Search of Common Ground (with Erik Erikson, Kai Erikson, Huey P. Newton); The Existentialism of Alberto Moravia (with Joan Ross); Death in Washington: The Murder of Orlando Letelier. New books, plays, and films include: Is He Still Dead? (with Julie Harris as Nora Joyce); Love and Shadows (from the novel by Isabel Allende); Sokrates Must Die (with Edward Asner); a novel, Every Third House, and Hamlet (in rehearsal). Donald Freed lectures in the Masters of Professional Writing Programme at the University of Southern California; is Playwright in Residence at York Theatre Royal, and Artist in Residence at the Workshop Theatre, University of Leeds, U.K..
"Donald Freed is a writer of blazing imagination, courage, and insight. His work is a unique and fearless marriage of politics and art." Harold Pinter "Donald Freed is the most political and pertinent of all American playwrights." Studs Terkel
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PATIENT # 1 became an international reality when Damian Cruden of York Theatre Royal, and Ron Sossi of the Los Angeles Odyssey Theatre, together with Professors Ron Marasco, Chair of Theatre at Loyola Marymount University, and Jon Farris, Emeritus Chair of Theatre Arts at Denison University – when all of these notable American and British artists combined to prepare the play for production in the fateful American election year of 2008. The first reading of the work was held in Los Angeles by Cinda Jackson at her Lost Studio Theatre in the spring of 2006. In November 2006, a staged reading followed in the Workshop Theatre at the University of Leeds. At Leeds, the brilliant Artistic Director of York Theatre Royal, Damian Cruden, signalled his interest in what was bound to be a problematic project, given the toxic relationship of the U S and the U K in the Middle Eastern disasters of Mr. Bush. Damian Cruden’s response to any political problems the work might provoke was to argue for a U K / U S co-production with tours in England and America! This vision of courage and creativity is the hallmark of Mr. Cruden, and when Ron Sossi, Ron Marasco, and Jon Farris learned of the plan they travelled to England, by plane and e-mail, and the deal was done! The important Mercury Theatre in Colchester, England, joined Damian Cruden to help sponsor the U K tour. We all believed, with Matthew Arnold, that "The Theatre is Revolutionary, organise the Theatre!" We also know that this U K / U S combination would constitute a new theatre entity and that a "New Theatre", in Albert Camus’ words, "changes History". And, finally, what choice did we have, since we were each of us seized of Antonin Artaud’s dictum that "We are not free and the sky can still fall on our heads and the Theatre has been created to teach us that first of all". We believed all of this. We always had – and I trust we always will.
ACT ONE
THE OVERTURE:
A sound capsule of the Bush years: 2000 – 2008 from the Point of View of the broken ex-President: music, voices, terror, "Shock & Awe".
SCENE ONE:
A brilliant December morning, 10 a.m.. Birdsong, ocean waves. A SECURITY AGENT runs past, outside, the U.S. picture window. The agent is dressed in a tailored dark grey suit and wears black sunglasses. As he trots, the agent mutters into a miniaturised cell phone. In the quiet can be heard birdsong, waves and the beat of a helicopter chopping in, then out. THE DOCTOR enters his office from Left. He moves like a man afraid of having a stroke, cursing under his breath. He sets down his topcoat and a small suitcase; studies his desk and office, curses, "Sonsofbitches". He forces himself to stop, to breathe, to regain control; then, very deliberately, he exits with the coat and suitcase. The Doctor re-enters and takes a box of Kleenex and a bowl of candy from his desk drawer; he is still fighting for control. He wears expensive Brooks Brother’s slacks and a cashmere sweater, a blue oxford shirt, an "old school" tie, and loafers. He reacts to the sound and shadow of the helicopter, waits for it to pass, listens to bells from a distant mission, then goes to work, muttering epithets, again. The sound of a motorbike passing by out of sight breaks the quiet. Then stillness again. At his desk, the Psychoanalyst fumes over a case file, then reaches toward a small tape machine. He reaches, then reacts to the sight of his hand shaking; pulls back, bows his head, shuts his eyes—centers his powers of intention, initiates a yoga breathing exercise, and tries again. Doctor reads file on desk. Then, speaks into tape machine. DOCTOR Wednesday, December 17 – He breaks off, once again, to take command of his rage… DOCTOR (cont’d) Wednesday, December 17, 2009, continued… I am reading from the cover sheet of a file, page Roman Numeral I, dated December 8, 2009… mmm … The heading, ah, is, ah – it indicates that the file, this file, has been generated by, ah, quotes, "Homeland Security", colon: Distribution Eyes Only, colon: ah, FBI; CIA; DIA; DEA; DoD; NIH; ONI; SS; G2; JCS; CID; NSA; MI6; and, ah … five other acronyms that I do not recognise… "Eyes Only". And, every other line, every line and every word on this covering page has been redacted. Completely blacked out! … "Eyes Only" … The Psychiatrist stops recording. He leans his head on his hand and stares hollow-eyed, blindly, into space. Breathes. Performs a yoga exercise and chants a mantra in order to revive himself: DOCTOR (cont’d) …ooo – ne – ma – ne – pahd – ne – ooommmm… Repeated three times; building in resonance, until he is prepared to resume recording. DOCTOR (cont’d) December 17, 2009, continued … In my absence, I have – (stops the tape, breathes, starts again) Mm, while I was travelling – (stops – starts) I have, em, returned to find a, quote, "Legat 405 Order", close quotes, from the Department of Homeland Security, quotes, "Remanding", close quotes, a certain, quotes, "Citizen of the United States of America", close quotes, to the, quotes, "Custody of the above named…" etc., etc. Concluding that – (he stands, reading) the said, quotes, "citizen", is, quotes, "Hereinafter referenced in the above named category as, quotes (stops, curses silently, starts again) "Patient Number One." Close quotes. The Doctor walks slowly to the door, Right, and peers into the darkness. Then he goes into a corner, lowers his voice, and resumes his recording. DOCTOR (cont’d) Wednesday, December 17, 2009 continued: am I to understand that during my absence and before my return, and before I have examined the instant case file of this so-called "Patient Number One," a "protected client"—that someone has put this man on a psychotropic regime that includes: Valium, Xanax, Lorizipam, Effexsor, Risperidone, Olanzapine, Amisulpride, Prolixin, Zoloft, Paxzil, Lithium, Zyprexa, Haldol, and sonofabitch, Uroxadal?! And that this has been done without any consultation with me—to a Patient who is mute, of whom you write, quotes, he may be feigning an autistic state, close quotes—and that there is, quotes, the possibility of a deception— A knock at the door. At the sound of a tap on the door, Right, the DOCTOR clicks off the Tape. The Doctor crosses to the door, Right, and opens it to the SECURITY AGENT. The Two men stand in the doorway for a moment – suddenly The Agent darts into the doctor’s office: circles, inspects, and races out again. The PHYSICIAN is further outraged, then staggered at what he sees coming toward him and in to the office doorway: The AGENT backs in leading PATIENT NO. 1, with hand signals and body language, the way an airport technician signals directions to a plane as it taxis on the tarmac. In the doorway, the Agent smoothes the Patient’s hair and straightens his bath robe. The psychoanalyst stares as the Agent employs more hand signals and gestures to, literally, guide the Patient through the doorway and into the office. The ex-President is almost robotic, paralysed by conflicting waves of fear and need. DOCTOR (cont’d) (sotto voce) …Jesus Christ… The Ex-President wears a robe and slippers; his hair is long and grey, his face is covered with stubble; he is heavily medicated; and yet he continues to attempt to walk as he did in public life – the cowboy hero with the bulging biceps, the brass balls, the stiff fingers – a caricature of machismo twice over. To top off this mad apparition, the Patient has a bandage plastered across his temple. The Doctor tries to peer past the Agent to catch the Patient’s eye, but each time the Inmate shifts his head to avoid the Analyst’s probing gaze. DOCTOR Thank You. Pause. The Agent takes a step toward the DOCTOR, who stops him with, DOCTOR (cont’d) Please wait. The Agent hesitates, looks at both men, then backs out, speaking into his wire: AGENT ... "Ranch Hand" at eleven hundred hours—do you copy?—That's a Roger—negative—negative—(off)—negative... The Agent stays just outside the door, watching. Silence. The Patient stares like a heavily medicated statue, drooling slightly. DOCTOR Make yourself at home – Mr. President… The PATIENT stands fixed. The DOCTOR studies him, noting the small bandage on the Patient’s temple. He steps closer to examine the bandage. DOCTOR (cont’d) …Mm…They tell me you’re quite a bike racer. (Pause) Dirt bike, is it? The DOCTOR’S voice and diction is well bred, mid-Atlantic. Pause. He reaches to inspect the bandage, the PATIENT jerks his head back. The DOCTOR retreats several steps. A helicopter sound in and out. Silence. DOCTOR (cont’d) Keeps you fit, does it? And they tell me you’re making good use of the "Fitness Centre." So, you’re, ah, comfortable, quite comfortable here—are you? (Pause) Runs in the family, eh? Your dad—parachuted from a plane on his, what?, eightieth birthday? Quite a man. (Pause) "Healthy mind in a healthy body"? It’s a good old saying. The DOCTOR takes a step closer. Silence. Suddenly the Psychoanalyst reaches down and tries to shake the Patient's hand. The PATIENT stiffens in terror, but cannot extricate his hand. The DOCTOR grips and holds on as he talks; the two men are locked in a stationary agon, an immobile wrestling match. Why is the cowboy he-man no match for the older Care Giver? Is the Patient trying to pull away or, secretly, clinging to the Medicine Man? The Doctor pumps and jerks the Patient’s hand. Trying to throw the ex-Leader off balance, testing for a deception.
DOCTOR (cont’d) A great honor to meet you in person, again, sir... Almost ten years. Palm Beach…Well… Looking forward to working, ah, working together... Chopping wood—ha-ha—teamwork, ah, yes, clearing brush—Ha!—I remember hearing you say, ah, on television, once, that, ah—when you—it struck me—When you and the Vice-President were questioned, ah, together, in "executive session," is that the phrase? —after the first attack on New York—that you—and you insisted that the two of you face them together—the Commission—that you wanted it that way— President and Vice-President together—so that, ah, I think you put it, so that "they," the committee, could, ah, "see our body language." Was that it? Your body language— a-ha…
Just as suddenly, the DOCTOR lets go. But the Inmate clings to the Doctor’s wrist! The Medico is shaken, as is the Agent watching behind his dark glasses. The Agent signals and begins the backwards ushering out of the drooling Patient, leaving the Doctor staring in deep confusion at his own wrist, as the Sick Man’s grasp finally loosens and he is led away. The DOCTOR stares after them. Silence. The loud ignition of the dirt bike cracks through the office and the police dogs bark.
DOCTOR Son-of-a-bitch!
The DOCTOR stares out, lost in the horror of the situation… Again, he seeks relief in a Yoga exercise, then he makes a telephone call. Again, his hand trembles as he picks up the receiver; he wills himself to dial. He looks at a framed photo on his desk…
DOCTOR (cont'd) (raising his voice) …Good morning…Is she available? (45 seconds pass)...Mother—hello—I’m back—yes, I’m here…Well, I’m here...Mmm—No, I’ll call you—Yes—No, I’ll call you—Can’t talk now—. Cannot talk now! We cannot talk! – What?…I can’t – Hello, Mother – can you – Can you hear me now? – Hello, there’s something – Mother? – Something wrong – Mother? Something wrong!
The MOTOR BIKE cracks back across the day, drowning out the Doctor, plunging the room into darkness.
SCENE TWO: In darkness the bike reverberations fade into the sound of a storm. Lights up on a storm scene: 10 A.M. the next day. The DOCTOR is turning on lamps in the office. He goes to his desk and begins to dictate. A roll of thunder, and another sound coming closer—the DIRT BIKE. The DOCTOR listens, waits for the noise to pass then dictates. He stands warming himself before a low fire, as he speaks into a small portable microphone.
DOCTOR …Thursday December 18, 2009: Regarding Patient Number One: am I to understand that the client has permission to continue riding his machine, despite the extraordinary level of his medication — a literal liquid blackjack – that is causing obvious EPSE, "extra paranatal side effects", and constitutes a clear and present danger to – ah, because some crackpot at Langley has written, ah, here, that, ah, quotes: "Patient Aetiology indicates, ah, Equophobia" – Ha! that’s meant to be "fear of horses", Ha! – quotes, "Equophobia leading to overcompensation on motorbike", close quotes! The sonsofbitches! The DOCTOR breaks off as PATIENT #1 and the SECURITY AGENT, wearing complete rain gear, run past the U.S. Window. The Agent runs backwards, as always, holding a black umbrella to shield his Master DOCTOR (cont’d) The client is in the hacienda, as we speak,—the extreme danger! Unthinkable that I should, that the Clinic should be placed in this position—(he lowers his voice) with a client who has a notorious reputation as a prankster and a provocateur who for all we know may be here to create some kind of deception (a knock on door) to be used as a defense before some future national or international tribunal— Another knock at the door. The DOCTOR stops his dictation, breathes deeply, performs a quick yoga exercise, and goes to open the door. DOCTOR (cont’d) Please come in. PATIENT # 1 and the SECURITY AGENT enter dripping wet. The DOCTOR signals the AGENT to leave. Instead, The Agent wipes rain off The Patient. The Patient stands, again, in his frozen posture. DOCTOR (cont’d) Will you take off your slicker and stand over here in front of the fire? The PATIENT is locked in his pose. The Doctor still cannot get past the Agent to look the Client in the eye. Thunder and Lightning, and then heavy rain. DOCTOR (cont’d) Family coming down for Christmas, Mr. President? Rain. The DOCTOR moves closer, the PATIENT is shaking. DOCTOR (cont’d) You have a chill. The PATIENT’S shaking becomes violent. The DOCTOR goes to the door and calls, DOCTOR (cont’d) Please take the Patient to the infirmary. The AGENT stares. Soldier, this man is shaking with ague. The AGENT stares Do you understand English?!—Take the man out of here! To the nurse. The AGENT backs the PATIENT out. The DOCTOR follows. DOCTOR (cont'd) —Then come straight back! I’ll call the nurse. (on telephone) …Seňora—Problema: Patient Number One is on his way to you, now.—Numero Uno. Muy importante: get a Doctor, and a witness, and find out—momento—whether or not he is actually as ill as he seems or whether he is…Exactamente!—"faking"!: falso, frodo, pretendienta, actor! (lights flicker) And then call me directly. Not the Doctor. You! Compañero! The storm builds again and the lights flicker and fade to black as he talks. SCENE THREE: In the dark the storm fades to a dripping silence. Lights up on an overcast scene, thirty minutes later. Mission bells in distance. The SECURITY AGENT stands in the doorway. The Doctor sits listening to someone on the telephone. DOCTOR …Bueno. (he hangs up. Pause) They’ll keep him overnight for observation…Let’s review the bidding, Mr., ah, Mr. Coe, is it? John Coe? AGENT Yes, sir. Affirmative. DOCTOR Sit down. You came in day and date with the, ah, Patient? AGENT Roger. (he does not sit) DOCTOR (pause) Is "Coe" your actual, ah—in other words, is "John Coe" your "John Doe." Pause. Then the AGENT turns to leave. DOCTOR (cont’d) One moment. AGENT Sir. DOCTOR Where you going? AGENT I can’t leave him. (pause) DOCTOR You’re S.S., aren’t you? AGENT Repeat? DOCTOR S.S.—Secret Service. You came here with him—you work for him, or his family, or the government, or somebody. AGENT That’s a Roger. DOCTOR Somebody other than this clinic? The AGENT salutes smartly, wheels and exits. DOCTOR (shouting) Is that a "Roger"?! The Doctor goes to the window, studies the sky— cursing under his breath—then a yoga exercise, and then to telephone. Christmas music rising under. DOCTOR (on telephone) ….Hello. I need a boat for Key Largo. Christmas music up, lights down as the clinic staff sings "Auld Lang Syne", and Voices call out "Happy New Year 2010!"
SCENE FOUR: January 4, 2010, 10 a.m. Tableau: AGENT in doorway; PATIENT #1 in his rigid pose; DOCTOR watching, standing Centre… Bright sunlight and birdsong. DOCTOR Happy New Year, Gentlemen. (to Patient) Feeling better? How’s the head?...They tell me you watched all the games…Big turkey dinner. First class chef, El Jefé; all the, ah, "trimmings." Food agree with you? (pause) Mr. Coe? AGENT Repeat. DOCTOR Is the, ah, "chow" to your specifications? AGENT Affirmative. DOCTOR "American Plan." (to the Patient) Well—shall we sit down and put our feet up? (silence) Shall we start the ball rolling with a little New Year’s chat? (silence) Mr. Coe, I have to step out for a minute. Please have the patient seated when I return. (pause) Otherwise I will be leaving.—I will disappear. Desaparacido. —I will be gone! The Doctor exits, Left. Silence. The Agent breathes heavily, in deep conflict. Finally, he tries to back the Patient to the settee, Down Right. But as the Agent attempts to seat the ex-Commander in Chief, the Patient continues to follow his warder so that they make a complete circle around the couch. At last the Agent manages to "drop off" the Patient on the couch. The Sick Man sits staring up at the Agent, like a lost child. The Doctor now stands in the doorway watching. DOCTOR Thank you...You may leave, now. Pause. The Agent exits. The Patient looks after him, his eyes remain fixed on the open door. The Doctor brings a chair and sits near the Patient. DOCTOR (cont'd) …He’s a fine young man. And he cares about you. We all do… You were pretty sick, there, for about a week, weren’t you?—But you’re completely restored now. Mrs. Gonzales took good care of you. I was in touch with her every day…Can you look at me, sir? Your, ah, S.S. man will be coming back in a few minutes…I’ll call him—if you’ll look at me. Very slowly the Patient turns his head an inch or two toward the Doctor but does not make eye contact. That’s good, that’s champion. Thankyou. I’ll call Mr. Coe back now—in just a few minutes. The Doctor takes a candy for himself and offers one to the patient. No response. DOCTOR (cont'd) No? These were President Reagan’s favourite brand. You looked up to Mr. Reagan—you wrote in your book—you remember your book?—called him by his nickname—when you were a lad—used to call him the "Gipper"—remember?—and "The Big Guy"? The DOCTOR leans in, his voice warm and concerned. DOCTOR (cont'd) You knew them all. Quite a life. You wrote that you had "all the luck"—in your book…And now this, hmm?...But you have time ahead of you, a lot of time, and a great many people out there, like Mr. Coe, who still believe in you. You have the rest of your life waiting for you. Think of your stay here as just the, ah, "half-time", uh, rest period. Then back out on the field. You leading the cheers—like always—like at Andover—like at Yale. The PATIENT reacts— slightly – to the word "Yale." The DOCTOR leans in. DOCTOR (cont'd) Good old Yale…I’ll tell you a secret: You and I have some things in common. Can you guess? Shall I give you a hint? Pause. The DOCTOR hums a phrase of the Yale "Whiffenpoof" song. The PATIENT reacts making a small plosive "P" sound four or five times: "P—P—P—P.") Yale ’57—that’s me. Same fraternity, too, same as you, DKE. You see? I was a "DEKE", so we can talk, Yale-Man to Yale-Man…I was a Deke, like you, except they made you President of the House. But I know the drill, all the secrets. Hm, didn’t we burn DKE, in Greek, Delta Kappa Epsilon, burn it into the new boys’ butts with cigarette, ah, butts, hmm, "Rite of Passage", that sort of thing? But your year got caught, ’68, and the New York Times called it "torture" in a headline—I have the clippings, here—and you were suspended—temporarily—but you fought back, said it was all just "Yale Tradition"—and so it was, so it was. And your Dad, he stood by you, and your mother, especially your mother. So, we were both Deke-Men, but I had the good luck to be there in the ‘50s. But the one who had it all was your father, the golden boy, in the ‘40s. Now, those were the days—raccoon coats, ukuleles, white bucks… So let’s talk Deke-Man to Deke-Man, Yale-Man to Yale-Man. And—I have a little treat to share with you. (leans in) I have a tape of "Rudy Valle and his Boys"—their original recording. Way before your time, but when you were a cheerleader in ’68 you used to play that record for all the DEKE new boys—we all did—when you were the Deke-in-Chief. Hm? You ready? You remember Yale? "Skull and Bones"? You remember. The DOCTOR to his desk to turn on the prepared tape cut. DOCTOR (cont'd) Ready: (Out pours the scratchy sentiment, in all its adolescent power, of Rudy Valle and his Band. The DOCTOR hums along softly, tries to encourage the PATIENT, but the PATIENT only stares away, into the past, and makes the small, tight popping "P’ sounds.) "To the tables down at Mory's Yes, the magic of their singing We're poor little lambs who have lost our way Gentleman songsters off on a spree The DOCTOR stops the tape after the first time through. DOCTOR (cont'd) "Little black sheep"…You’re a little black sheep, who’s gone astray—that’s all…so let’s sing one verse for old times sake, shall we? You and I…You and your Dad. He and his Dad. All of us. All the way back. The DOCTOR resumes the recording, sings along, but the PATIENT only stares. The DOCTOR, head to head with him, thinks he sees a tear on the Younger Man’s cheek. The music plays out. Silence. The DOCTOR studies PATIENT #1, who, again, makes the tiny "P" sound. Then, the DOCTOR signals for the Agent. The AGENT enters. The AGENT guides the PATIENT out. As he exits, the ex-Leader cranks up his cowboy caricature of a body image, as usual.) DOCTOR (to Agent) You come right back. (Agent exits.) (into tape) January 4th 2009, uh, 2010-2010. Immediate Suicide Watch indicated for Patient Number One. However, no further increase—repeat, no increase—of medication dosage. He switches back to the "Whiffenpoof" tape. Listens for a minute, a deep sigh. "Son-of-a-bitch." Turns tape off. Takes off his glasses. With profound irony he recalls and sings a snatch from Kipling, then an old school parody of the Yale song: DOCTOR "…To the legions of the lost ones to the cohort of the damned..." … "Bright college days…Ivy covered professors in ivy covered walls…To-o-o the tables down at Mory's (wherever that may be)…We will cut all our classes and cheat on our exams, and we’ll ‘pass’ and be forgotten with the rest." The Analyst is wounded, lost in memory… The Agent appears in the doorway. The two men stare at each other…helicopter over and out. DOCTOR He needs our help now. AGENT Repeat? DOCTOR (pause) He wept. AGENT (pause) Repeat. DOCTOR He wept…He’s a person…Do you understand what I’m telling you?—I would not vote for the man at gunpoint, but he is a person. Do you copy, Mr. Coe? AGENT (pause) A person? (The Agent always pronounces the article as a long A.) DOCTOR A Person. A Homo Sapiens. AGENT Negative! DOCTOR A human being… AGENT A human being? DOCTOR That’s a Roger. ("Whiffenpoof" song, under, as lights fade.) SCENE FIVE: The Doctor’s voice in darkness: "January 7, 2010". Lights up on rain. The Patient sits staring: "P – P – P – P". The Doctor studies him. Time passes. Lights down. SCENE SIX: The Doctor’s voice: "January 8, 2010". Lights up: Patient’s eyes are closed: "P – P – P – P…" The Doctor sits, silent, head on hands. Thunder. Lights down. SCENE SEVEN: The Doctor’s voice: "January 9, 2010". Rain. The Doctor studies the Patient. After a silence, the therapist tries an experiment: he sings a verse and chorus of an old Christian hymn. DOCTOR "What have I to dread, what have I to fear Leaning on the everlasting arms? I have blessed peace with my Lord so near, Leaning on the everlasting arms. Leaning, leaning Safe and secure from all alarms, Leaning, leaning Leaning on the everlasting arms." Silence. Rain. Lights down. SCENE EIGHT: The next day is overcast at 10 a.m.. The PATIENT is, again, seated; staring. The DOCTOR is at his desk watching and listening to the barely audible pops from the Patient. Morning sounds including far away ocean waves. Unobserved, the CLINICIAN takes a series of photographs of the LUNATIC from various angles…. PATIENT —P—P—P;—P—P—P— Then, the DOCTOR picks up a children's book from his desk and moves with stealth behind the PATIENT. The Analyst holds the book in front of the staring Inmate and reads softly into his right ear, as if to a child. As the DOCTOR reads, the outer office door opens silently and the SECRET SERVICE AGENT'S head eases into view. He stares and spies. DOCTOR ...Ah, now the three bears walked through the kitchen and into the bedroom and, ah... and the Mama Bear said, "Somebody's been sleeping in my bed and it's..." DOCTOR quickly switches over to confide a message into the PATIENT'S left ear. DOCTOR (cont’d) – Sir. Mr. President. Sir, CINCON is reporting a plane crashing into the New York World Trade Centre – Sir? The DOCTOR switches back to PATIENT’S right ear. DOCTOR (cont’d) – Then the Papa Bear said, "Look, someone's been lying in my—" Quick switch back to PATIENT’S left ear. DOCTOR (cont’d) Sir!—Sir! CINPAC confirms a second plane's crashed into the World Trade Centre—Sir! Back to right ear. DOCTOR (cont’d) – And the Baby Bear cried, "And there he is!" Is something happening? The Clinician is up on tip-toes... But the Patient only stares and makes his sound. All three men peer out toward the audience, into the distance. PATIENT —P—P—P—P... The DOCTOR whirls and flexes to hurl the book against the wall. To contain his fury he freezes into a statue. Thus, statuesque, he meets the gaze of the SECRET SERVICE AGENT, whose protruding head stares, then slowly disappears... Then, the Physician breathes again and drops the book into the waste basket; brings a chair over and sits next to the Prisoner. Church bells in the distance. PATIENT P—P—P— ; P—P—P— DOCTOR I believe, sir, that you are trying to say something. Some other people around here think that you’re, ah, "taking the piss," as we say in England, taking the piss out of me and the staff by playing little games and riding your bike at speed—but I don’t. And so, today, I’m going to toss you some words and I want you to sling any answer or idea you get from my words right back to me. You simply say the first thing that comes into your mind, and don’t censor yourself. Remember: no one—can control—their thoughts—so don’t even try. The PATIENT appears half asleep. The Doctor picks up a clip board from his desk. DOCTOR (cont’d) Ready? "Shock and Awe"… "Guantanamo"… "Skull and Bones"… The PATIENT snores, appears to be asleep. The DOCTOR rises and begins to pace. He lifts his voice. DOCTOR (cont’d) "Abu Ghraib"… "Waterboarding"… "Torture"… "White phosphorous"— "Shake and Bake"… "Osama Bin Laden"…"The World Court"…"Hate Crimes"…."Democracy" (Patient snores)…(The Doctor crosses off words - muttering, "Gay Marriage","Virgin Mary", "Organ Failure"). The DOCTOR kneels and confides into the Patient’s ear. DOCTOR (cont’d) …"Buddy", your dead pup "Buddy"… "Pappy"… "Mammy"(Patient sticks out his tongue)… "Pappy and Mammy"(Doctor checks off more words… "Dick Cheney"… "Body Language"… "Dick’s body language"… "Al Gore"… "Bill Clinton"… "Hilary Clinton"… "Hilary Clinton’s body language"…"Electric Shock"…) "Rendition"… "Abortion"… "Cocaine"… "Ghost Detainees"... "Taking the gloves off"... "Pump and Dump"..."Lebanon, the Cedars of Lebanon, the destruction of Lebanon..." … "the surge – the surge, the surge, the bloodsurge!" The DOCTOR tries to contain his frustration. The Patient makes low vomit sounds and sticks his tongue out whenever his mother is mentioned. In response to other words he snores or pops his Ps. DOCTOR (cont’d) "Date Rape"… "Bush Exploration", "Arbusto Energy", "Spectrum 7", "Enron", "Harken Oil"—and all your other bankruptcies! You’re perspiring, sir—so am I – I will not torture you! (louder) "9/11:… "2/13 and the Second Attack on Chicago"… "Anthrax"… the late "Saddam Hussein"… "Dick Cheney", the late "Dick Cheney"(snores)—wake up, son…"Hurricane Katrina"… "Barbara Bush"… "John F. Kennedy"… "Lee Harvey Oswald"… Will not torture you! …"Iraq"… "Iran"… "Malcolm X"… "The Black Panthers"… "Barbara Bush!"... "Capital Punishment"! ... "Family!"…"FLORIDA—FAMILY!" Dancing with frustration DOCTOR (cont’d) …Terror…Ter/ror—Remem/ber Ter/ror? The Cheapest Word in the English language! The DOCTOR swears furiously to himself, draws the drapes closed and shouts— DOCTOR (cont’d) Wake up, boy! Tomorrow’s the big game! The PATIENT starts, makes the "P" popping sound, louder now. PATIENT P—P—P— DOCTOR Damn straight. You Yell Leaders get moving now. Ready? Let’s go. The Doctor vocally mimes stadium crowd sounds and band marching music. PATIENT P—P—P— DOCTOR C’mon you DEKE’S, it’s game time! The DOCTOR starts into a cheerleader routine in a an urgent effort to mobilise the PATIENT. DOCTOR (cont’d) Bingo, Bingo, C’mon, kid, let’s hear it! "Rah—Rah—Siss—Boom—Bah!" The Doctor sings and laughs in pain. "Bah! Bah! Bah!" –Ha—Ha—Ha! DOCTOR tries to lift PATIENT to his feet. PATIENT P—P—P— DOCTOR Good, that’s it, that’s champion. You cheerleaders, altogether now! "…When the sons of Eli break through the line, The DOCTOR sinks down, spent. The PATIENT sits staring out: "P—P—P"…He makes his sound in the silence. DOCTOR goes to door, brings in the lurking Agent, gestures them out. Silence. Alone, the DOCTOR tries to recover. Then, he stares out and attempts to imitate the PATIENT’S popping "P" sounds. Tries again, racking his brain: Remembers hand shaking routine with PATIENT in first scene — acts it out: "P—P—P..." The Doctor, now, tries walking and standing like the Patient—suddenly he sits in the Patient’s chair in No. 1’s posture, hands over crotch. "P—P—P—P"…What? What does it mean? The DOCTOR’S entire body arches with his effort to penetrate the secret of PATIENT #1: "P—P—P: Pappy, Poppy: P—P—P…" Then he tries "P-uppy," and "P-lease," and "Stop," and "Please Stop"… The DEPTH PSYCHOLOGIST, on the rack of his memory and his life—suddenly the meaning of the secret breaks through—like an electric shock—and his hair stands on end, his flesh shivers up in bumps. He sinks down into himself. Tears run down his cheeks. PATIENT #1’s voice breaks out of his, the Doctor’s, mouth, in a final shaking sob on the last "Help." DOCTOR "P—P—P…HelP, HelP, HelP…" END OF ACT ONE
ACT TWO
SCENE ONE: Early January, 2010; 11 p.m.. THE DOCTOR and THE AGENT enter the office from opposite doors, L. and R. The Agent wears a T-shirt and a shoulder holster, no coat and tie, or shoes or socks. Low thunder. Cold moonlight bathes the Doctor’s office. A low fire burns on the hearth. The DOCTOR turns on two lamps, still leaving deep shadows. DOCTOR Sit down. I had to wake you. AGENT I can’t… DOCTOR He’s asleep. He will not wake up for at least three hours. I guarantee it. AGENT I can’t…. (moves to door) DOCTOR He’s safe. For the moment. He’s asleep. (Pause) Talk to me – how does he sleep?... Does he walk in his sleep?—sit down, please. Bells from the Old Mission in the distance. The Agent stands. DOCTOR (cont’d) The Old Mission…Are we Catholic? AGENT Repeat? DOCTOR You Catholic? AGENT …Decline to state. DOCTOR Quite right…So, does he—walk in his sleep? AGENT Negative. DOCTOR No? How do you know? Do you sleep? AGENT Affirmative. DOCTOR With him? In the same suite? On the floor? AGENT Affirmative. DOCTOR On a pallet. I know. (Pause) Does the patient talk in his sleep? AGENT Negative. DOCTOR And you’d know, wouldn’t you? Because you’re right there, with your gun next to you on the rug, and you’d hear him, and you’d be up and moving in the moonlight and— AGENT That’s a— DOCTOR That’s a Roger—and you’d check him out, and tuck him in if he were— AGENT That’s a— DOCTOR That’s an affirmative—because, in fact, he does "talk." He makes sounds—like this, "P—P—P"… That’s a fact, isn’t it, officer? I’ve read his lips.—Sit down, officer. That's an order. The AGENT stares. Compromises: "Sits" without actually touching the chair with his body. They stare. Ocean waves, distant. DOCTOR (cont’d) He talks. That's an affirmative fact. A fact. A true fact. The truth. That’s why I insisted you drop in tonight. The truth. The time has come for the truth. (Pause) " P—P—P—." You know what that means? (Pause) He’s calling for help: "HelP—HelP—HelP"…And that’s what we’re going to do. You and I, we’re going to help him. Before it’s too late… You know why we’re going to help him? …Because if we don’t—save him—he’s going to die—because we will have to kill him. AGENT (leaping up) Negative.DOCTOR "Negative." In the extreme. Because when he dies—don’t move—when we let him die—They are going to come here to get us—you and me—and the photographs of the three dead bodies will flash around the world: his, and yours, and mine. And they will I.D. you as John Coe a.k.a. John Doe a.k.a. Richard Roe and, then, they’ll add on one more name—a long one—that includes the cognates "Abu", and "Ben", and "Ali", and "Muhammad"…Muhammad... And I’ll be revealed as a "terrorist sleeper agent, known to the authorities as ‘Dr. Death’"…End of fable…You may have noticed that none of the staff returned after the New Year break. Except for the nurse and kitchen crew, and they’ll be gone the day after tomorrow. He touches buttons on the telephone, turning the speakerphone on. Sound of recording "You have reached a number that is no longer in service…" (this message is repeated three times) So … we can still call out, but no-one can call in … So, we’ll be here all alone. Just the three of us. The three bears. So—sit down, John Doe, and I’ll brief you. (speaking into the Agent’s ear) A) he’s a moral idiot. B) he’s being medicated to death. Shh! And if I cut out his meds he could go berserk—homicide, suicide—so either way, we’ll be blamed. You and me…Now, sit down. AGENT …Are you a U.S. citizen? Silence. The Agent does not move. The Doctor takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, sighs deeply, and sits. DOCTOR (cont’d) It’s late…. "P—P—P…Help." We’re going to help him because he’s been a sleepwalker all his life. Never had a chance. They—the "Family" and the "Friends"—they put those chants and those cheers and that fake Texas accent in his mouth and they hard-wired him to steal the Presidency, steal the country, steal what’s left of the world’s oil, and then this kleptocracy of kin folk programmed him to kill himself on that goddamn bike of his at Camp Victory—except that their perfect puppet started to actually believe the word salad that they had force fed him all those years, and he somehow got it into his tortured—I say "tortured"—reptilian brain that for some inscrutable reason Jesus Christ did not want him to die—You were there, Mr. Doe. You saw it happening—You were there when he refused to retire to the ranch, and they were compelled to hustle him into a certain lobbyist’s private jet—with just a "special-ops nurse", a Dick and Jane Fourth Grade Reader, a copy of The Three Bears, and you, yourself, Mr. Roe—and brought him here to kill himself. The AGENT lurches to his feet. AGENT Negative! The DOCTOR rises: face to face. DOCTOR Kill himself, sir! Make him a martyr. Concentration Camps (sings) "from California to the New York Island." (Pause) You took an oath, Mr. Coe, to "preserve, protect and defend" this country and this man. Affirmative? You did. So did I. Well—America, the America we thought we lived in, is no more—America is— AGENT America—is— DOCTOR No more. She died. She broke down and she died... Look at me...What am I doing? The Psychiatrist reaches for Agent’s dark glasses. Rebuffed, he, then, mimes a cowboy drawing and firing two six-guns. But the "cowboy's" knees are shaking in extreme fear. DOCTOR (cont’d) Do you copy, Mr. Coe?—Watch again... This little act is the new universal symbol for the U.S.A., for our country: extreme aggression, extreme fear. Pathological, infantile paroxysms of homicidal rage and panic.—Watch again, cowboy... You understand, at last, what we've become? AGENT (pause) Negative. DOCTOR In psychiatry we call that answer a "A Psychoanalytic Yes"... Countries can go mad, too, John – whole nations – and they can go into deep depressions, too – and burn down their rotten repossessed homes – and die of broken hearts, too … And, now, she's dying. America. She's dying, but I can't treat her in this clinic--I can only treat him, and, with your aid, sir, that is what I intend to do. Do you copy? Shhhh. Don't answer yet. You took an oath, you swore on a Bible, that you believe in word for word, to give your life for him, didn't you? AGENT (a whisper) Roger. DOCTOR Roger. And you’re willing to die for him here and now, tonight – to take a bullet for him —that’s a Roger, isn’t it? AGENT (pause) Repeat. The Doctor grips the Agent’s shoulders. The Agent is trembling. DOCTOR Because you’re a brave young man, and you love what used to be your Country—the remnant. And you love him, the man, you still love him—that’s the truth. AGENT (shaking) Decline to state. DOCTOR Steady. And you’re a brave patriot who’s sworn to help me bring him and this Country back to life—because you believe in the Resurrection and the Life, don’t you, son? AGENT Repeat? DOCTOR And so does he. So does he. And that is why you have to help me bring him back to life. Because he’s the son. He’s the "Son of his Country." Because he’s a death in our family. Because he knows deep in his dead heart that he was never really born, let alone born again; that he’s only been a shadow and a sleepwalker and a cheerleader in other people’s American nightmare. And you’re going to help me raise him from the dead, right here, and when you do that then you, too, will be born again—because now, tonight, we are no longer in Florida—we are the last two men in the United States of America! And we have all the Power—John— and all the responsibility! The DOCTOR braces the AGENT. They speak in strangled tones. DOCTOR (cont’d) So, will you?—Will you—help me? Will you give me the key to his wardrobe closet—where he keeps his boots and his cowboy toys and costumes—God help us! Will you?…Is that a Roger, Mr. Doe?! AGENT Repeat? DOCTOR (planting each word) You have to dress him in his cowboy costume—wait!—You have to give me that key, because if he dies—you are history! There’ll be no one here. There’s a hurricane coming—Hurricane Xantippe, that mean anything to you? No. Well, trust me when I tell you there’s a shitstorm coming… He’ll be dead, the phones and the computers’ll be down—I’ll be gone—country’s been under martial law, in everything but name only, for the last two years. We have lost our Republic, sir! Habeas Corpus is gone, the "Great Writ" is gone, with the wind, and there will be no one left to "Produce the Body"…And no one in Washington D.C., the City of Lies, will know your name, Mr. Doe…So, tonight, you give me the key, and you do what you have to, to shake him out of that stupor—and it’s not an act or a deception, you were right—wake him up before this shitstorm hits, or get right away into that swamp out there and I’ll kill him myself, Texas style—before they, "They", get him – Homo Amerikanus, the last of his line—R.I.P. I will not let him linger. He will not be tortured or tormented while I’m still here. I will not do it. He’s in our hands but we will not torture him. We do not torture, sir. We are Americans. And we do not torture!…Rest in Peace, Mr. Coe. Do it, Mr. Doe—that’s a Roger, Mr. Roe! Silence, then the Helicopter in and out, the chopper’s beam raking the office. Police dogs bark in the distance. AGENT Show me your I.D… DOCTOR Repeat? AGENT Are you a certified M.D.? DOCTOR I told you: I was "Dr. Feelgood"— and now I’m "Dr. Death". And you’re "John Doe"; and his code-name was "Ranch Hand"—ha!—and also "Commander in Chief": all lies, Mr. Coe, except for "Hurricane Xantippe"—that’s her real name—in fact the last truthful public utterance in this country took place before you were born: Dallas, Texas, November 22, 1963: the President’s wife, her name was Jacqueline Kennedy, cried out after the fifth shot—"They’ve killed my husband!"…They had. And she knew who "They" were… And so do I. The AGENT backs into a deep shadow. AGENT …Are you a Illegal Alien? (The DOCTOR turns out lamps: All moonlight, now.) DOCTOR I’m the one who tells you who you are. (Pause) Are you sitting down?...You’re a "sampling error." An expendable statistic. Number One’s last Praetorian Guard. When he was turned into a national joke and his poll numbers sank to 1, you were the One. You were with him when he snuck into Baghdad carrying a plastic turkey in the dead of night, and you were there to give him first aid when he ran over that policeman on the golf links in Scotland, on that goddamn bike—and most of all you were in Family Quarters when the "Second Wave" hit Chicago on 2/13, and he tried to kill himself on that same goddamn infernal— AGENT May-Day—Ranch Hand—May-Day! The AGENT moves to confront the DOCTOR. Face to face in front of the window, in moonlight. DOCTOR (overlapping) - And now They – the ELITE – want us to do it: You and me—the Spook and the Liberal—who love him and hate him, respectively—so that, then, They can start all over again with the "Third Wave" or the "Reichstag Fire" or whatever they decide to call it next time. AGENT May-Day! DOCTOR Precisely. So you have to choose: between me and nothing. Because, Yes, like Dr. Frankenstein, I am a "certified" physician. And my first duty, as you may know, is to "do no harm." I’ve done enough "harm". I don’t intend to do any more—unless you force me to it…But, as I say, I’ll be gone.The Doctor opens the door. DOCTOR (cont’d) ...You can walk out—if you want to...You're free. So am I. That's the point. It comes down to us. You love the man. I hate him. That's what "They" are counting on: that you and I will kill each other and that he, yesterday's Hero of the Free World, will be cut down in the crossfire. You copy? AGENT Negative. DOCTOR Then go! The AGENT marches to the door, then halts, drops to the floor and executes ten push-ups. Then he rises and stands as if trapped in the doorway, facing away from the DOCTOR. DOCTOR (cont’d / overlapping) Good. You're preparing. Your body has a mind of it's own. So your three million year old body is stripping for action... Before your body decides what it's going to do, I want you to copy this: The Psychoanalyst moves to the AGENT. Stands behind and talks quietly into the Younger Man's ear. DOCTOR (cont’d) You and I have nothing in common. Nothing. Zero. Except that we each in our own way refuse to be slaves. I know you "copy" that. And that is why I do not believe that either of us is prepared to do "Their" bidding. Now, if you will sit down, again, I will tell you, at last, just who "They" are. The DOCTOR brings the two chairs centre and he sits and waits. Mission bells. Then, the AGENT turns and walks very slowly to the facing chair. DOCTOR (cont’d) Thank you, son. But the AGENT turns his chair directly away from the Psychologist before sitting. DOCTOR (cont’d) That's good. You're getting ready to face "Them." ...Well—"They" are the "Undead", the "Wise Men" of the New York Times together with their Academic battalions, and all their media rent-a-cops—who want Bush the Younger to be the scapegoat who takes the fall for all this horror, and allows us still another make-over so that we can be beautiful again… And I was one of them —not just a "good German", Mr. Coe; I was a "Great German" – I gave them their psychological vitamin shots, I helped the horror to happen. I am "Them"...Now, we come to you, sir. The New York Times and I wanted a scapegoat, while you and Lord Rupert Murdoch and his Armies of the Right wanted a martyr. You were a Neo-Con dog face and you never knew it... That's about it. The Left wants an idiot in the family, while the Right looks for a traitor. The AGENT does not respond. Low thunder building.) DOCTOR (cont’d) Are you sleeping? Agent Coe? (Pause) Gun! AGENT Gun! The Agent, still facing away, fans a phantom crowd with his gun, as in a dream. DOCTOR (cont’d) "Pump and Dump"—like Guantanamo. This was his "Rendition!" They "disappeared" him here, like a goddamn vegetable, right here in Florida at the scene of the crime where the sons-of-bitches stole the presidency for him in the first place—Will you stand up, son, will you turn around, for Christ's sake! The Agent slowly turns in his chair; The Doctor faces the revolver. DOCTOR (cont’d) "…And the Madman cried, ‘My name is Legion, for we are many…’" The Doctor’s words stop the Agent; he raises the pistol to his own head. …And Jesus said, ‘Come out of the man!’"…But I’m not Jesus…We’re not gods. We’re not even human beings. The Agent’s gun hand falls. AGENT (a murmur) Negative. DOCTOR (looks up) But we’re here. And there’s no one else… I’ll do it—out of hatred for "Them"! But what I'm trying to tell you is that my hate and loathing for "Them" isn't enough. It's all over unless you can do something—out of love—for him!—Do you copy?! The AGENT stands, turns, faces the Healer. The Doctor is near exhaustion. He limps closer to the Agent. DOCTOR (cont’d) I’m going to tell you your story, John Coe: you and all the other John Does – in your millions – loved him, and lived through him, and stepped forward to take the bullet for him – when it came. And, now, it’s come, the bullet, the slow motion bullet. And you have to take it for him. Today! AGENT "May – Day"? DOCTOR "May – Day"….You ready? …."Psycho-Drama." AGENT Repeat. DOCTOR "Psycho-Drama!" We’re going to create a psycho-drama. You and I are going to be actors in a psycho-drama. And we are going to strip him. We have to do that. Naked. You will go undercover. You will become a "cowboy," so that we—you and I—can get in to the hell where he lives and unpack that bundle of secrets. Listen carefully: I have taken him off his medication. He will be in a state of nature. He will be dangerous. Out of control. You may have to kill him… You copy? I’ll be with you, in this psycho-drama, but you’re the only one he trusts. You’re the key. AGENT Repeat. DOCTOR ...The key? The AGENT produces the key, the Psychiatrist reaches for it—but the Guard does not, cannot, yet, let go. They stand, each holding half of the key. DOCTOR (cont’d) I have a 98 year old mother out on Key Largo. Twelve Years ago, when Time magazine put me on the cover with the "Ten Most Celebrated Healers to the Sick and Famous," she, Mother, confided to me that "this"—shitstorm—was coming. And then she, of course, quoted Nietzsche: (thick Irish brogue) "Boyo, you are hangin’ in dreams on the back of a tiger." And then she moved right out to the Key – to die. And that’s where I’ll go, after the storm—and, then, desaparacido. "Disappeared." You know all about that. But you won’t care about any of it because—unless you give me this key—you’ll be out there, naked, in the swamp, and the jungle, hauling the dead body, of the Commander in Chief, a half-step ahead of an alligator with jaws like this— The DOCTOR opens his arms wide, making alligator jaws. The arm/jaws, in the moonlight, throw enormous shadows on the adobe walls. Mission bells toll midnight. Darkness on the frozen AGENT—key still in hand. SCENE TWO Six a.m., six hours later; the DOCTOR sleeps at his desk. Through the window can be seen and heard the preliminary and premonitory sounds and signs of the approaching Hurricane: drizzle, black sky, low thunder, hot morning wind, swaying palms, creaking wood, slamming doors. The DOCTOR bolts up from his nightmare. DOCTOR Jesus Christ! (He gathers himself and halts to his desk; turns on the radio. Low rumbling thunder; Mission bells. He dials a number.) RADIO NEWS …Category 5, according to sources in the Governor’s office, where we will be going momentarily. It is exactly eight minutes after six, Sunday, January 6th, and while we’re waiting, these headlines: London: Former Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice, who has— DOCTOR (into telephone) ...Mother?..."Mayday"... Mother? ... "Mayday!" RADIO NEWS (cont’d) ...been charged by the International Court of Justice with— The roar of the dirt bike wipes out the newscast. The DOCTOR hangs up the telephone receiver, kills the radio, speaks into a hand held tape recorder, as he hurries out, Left. DOCTOR (into tape) Psycho-drama in progress—Patient Number One is in the hacienda—6:08 a.m.— psychotic, pseudo-sexual episode now unfolding—Heroic measures indicated for abreaction… …(exits). The bike noise ratchets in, then out, followed by the sound of two men shouting, laughing and singing. AGENT C’MON, Sir, lead the way! Sir? C’mon (sings, and plays toy guitar.) "Home, home on the range—Home, home…" (Agent listens then bolts off to find the Patient.) Sir?! Off, the sound of the unmedicated Patient jumping out at the Agent. PATIENT (off) Yee—Hah! Next, the two men stumble past the Upstage window. They are costumed in complete cowboy regalia, including Stetson hats, boots and spurs, and toy guns for the Madman. They crash into and get stuck in the office door frame.) PATIENT Yee—hah! Get yo’ behind in here, Bubba! This here, is "DOC’S PLACE." I told you I knew where I was goin’, but, no, you don’t believe me, Amigo, you thought your old Companero was lost, you figured I was all hat and no cattle, thought I was plumb loco(leaps into office)—Ha!—Hey, Doc!—Wait’ll you meet the Doc, he’s— AGENT (louder) Hey, Doc! Sound of flushing toilet, and the DOCTOR re-enters, in a white medical coat. The Patient leaps back in terror—he has yet to ever look the Doctor in the eye—then pushes the Agent in between himself and the Alienist. PATIENT (behind the Agent) —Hey, Doc! Como esta, amigo. There’s the Doc, Bubba— some say he’s a Limey, some say somthin’ else—you know what I mean?— but I say he’s just ol’ Doc Tequila and when you get some of his white lightnin’ inside you, mi hermano, you’ll, by God, know you’re a man. ‘Cause when you hit home at old "Doc’s," here, you are drinkin’ with the he-men! Again, the Patient and the Doctor try, respectively, to avoid and to make contact. Then, the PATIENT and AGENT suddenly glare at each other. PATIENT (cont’d) Who you lookin’ at? AGENT Who you lookin’ at? PATIENT (beat) I axed you first. DOCTOR confides into his hidden tape recorder: DOCTOR "Paranoid Homophobic scenario" underway… AGENT (pause) Hey, Doc! The PATIENT breaks the staring match: he forces the AGENT to flinch by feigning an attack on his genitalia, then he laughs and grabs a small globe off the desk and begins a "football game" with the Agent—passing and running in extreme slow motion. The PATIENT’S voice is transformed into the whiskey organ of an old time Sportscaster. PATIENT (as Sportscaster and runner) "…Texas A. and M.’s ball on, this, the south side of the field. There’s the snap and it’s a handoff to Ray Whatley—and he’s away, "Mr. Outside"—downnnn to the twenty, to the tennn, to the five— The AGENT, at a sign from the DOCTOR, makes a slow motion tackle of the PATIENT before he can injure himself. The two lie together, panting on the floor. Doors slam in the rising wind. AGENT …Touchdown… PATIENT (happy as a child in grace) …Mission accomplished… The DOCTOR gives thumbs up sign. DOCTOR Drinks are on the house, boys. DOCTOR (cont’d; speaks into tape) "Aim-inhibited, Allo-Plastic, Acting Out of repressed Homoerotic hidden agenda—" The DOCTOR breaks off as the two Football Boys rise from the floor and resume their roles as cowboys. Now, the two cowboys fill up the room, their body and vocal imagery transforming the office into a hole-in-the-wall rural bar: "DOC’S PLACE." The DOCTOR watches and waits. Low thunder. PATIENT (grabs Agent’s ass) Say, Padner, put some dinero in that juke box. Arriba! The DOCTOR nods to the AGENT. AGENT (miming the juke box) Here you go. PATIENT Yes, sir. (listening in his head) That’s a good old tune. The DOCTOR and the AGENT watch as the PATIENT stands still, listening in the low stormbound silence Before the Patient can drop out of the psycho- drama, the Clinician takes up the toy guitar and begins a song: DOCTOR "…Who did you say it was, brother?..." Pause, then the Cowboy President reacts in full voice: PATIENT "Who did you say it was, brother?" Then, the Patient sings to the Agent, who joins in with him—brother to brother. PATIENT AND AGENT "Who did you say it was, brother? Who was it fell by the way? Their names I'm not able to tell you, I didn't hear nobody pray, dear brother, I heard the crash on the highway, The Analyst slips over to stand in and block the exit from the office, Stage Right. As the Patient begins to mime a fist fight, the Doctor signals the Agent to block the other doorway, Stage Left.
PATIENT AND AGENT Whiskey and glass all together, Now the DOCTOR, intervenes, adds his voice to the rendition— pushes, gambles for the break-thru! PATIENT—AGENT—DOCTOR I didn't hear nobody pray, dear brother, The Doctor signals the Agent to stop. The Patient stomps some imagined opponent to death. Then, he sinks to one knee, his hands held high above his head as if in surrender. He sings on, alone. PATIENT (alone) Give up the game an' stop drinking, Redeeming the promise for you. Slowly the Healer crosses to the broken Prisoner. The Patient listens to the approaching steps, cowers, waits for the axe to fall. Instead, the Doctor helps the Patient to stand. Silence. Low storm sounds. DOCTOR Alright, son—your turn. The Doctor motions to the Agent and both sit, Down Left and Down Right, respectively. PATIENT (pause, then a tired Texas voice) …My name is, uh, "George"—and I’m, uh, a alcoholic. The DOCTOR nods to the AGENT. DOCTOR and AGENT Hi, George. So, now, the office is a quiet Alcoholics Anonymous, A.A., meeting. PATIENT …And, uh, I’ve been sober, uh, going on, uh, about two weeks, here… The PATIENT is pale and trembling. This is the past, this happened. Low Thunder. The DOCTOR and the AGENT, each in his own way, are in the imagined or recalled scene with "George." PATIENT (cont’d) …so, like I told y’all last time— DOCTOR No. Stop. Tell the truth. Stop talking that "good ol’ boy" horseshit. You’re a child of the Ivy League. Remember who you are. Re-member. Frozen…The DOCTOR nods to the AGENT. AGENT (saluting softly, and slowly) You’re the man—George. When the Patient speaks again, his voice and diction has the educated New England tinged tone of his long ago youth—reminiscent of the young John F. Kennedy. PATIENT …Be myself? (a smile) "Mini-me"? My original nickname? "Junior"? "Shrub"? "Little George" and "George the Second"… or the one my mother invented when I… DOCTOR My God—Now he’s Jack Kennedy… The smile fades. The Boy hangs his head in shame. The DOCTOR signals the AGENT. The AGENT, in some pain, slowly crosses to the PATIENT and puts his arm around his shoulder. AGENT (a lump in his throat) Affirmative. The Agent resumes his seat. PATIENT …Anyway—hah—back then, when we first moved out, uh, West—my hero was Zorro and his black horse. Because, you know, my Dad had all those photos of himself as a star first baseman and a war hero—so I told my mom that I wanted to be like my Dad because he was, you know, a hero like Zorro—And Mom, she, she—she had mint on her breath—she, she laughed, she said, "Zorro? You mean Zero, don’t you? Your hero is Zero." Ho—ho, we all laughed… PATIENT #1, the Boy, is lost again. The AGENT, this time without prompting, whispers to him. AGENT Affirmative. The PATIENT’S mood begins to swing from humiliation to rage: He mops his face, hugs himself for control. PATIENT "Horseshit." The truth? Referring to Yale? Referring to Skull & Bones?...Here’s what they did to us—and you’re never supposed to tell, but I don’t give a goddamn anymore. They—and I’m not lying now—they make you strip buck naked, and all of you "initiates" climb down, together, into a big black vat of horseshit, hot horse manure, and they’re, they, the Old Boys, the Bonesmen are marching around the vat, slow, dressed up like skeletons and they’re chanting in German, you know, "Die, die, die to the Bone…" He sways, ready to vomit. AGENT (whispers) Repeat. PATIENT "Die…" Then—(fascist salute) "Long live Death!"…And, ah, then you, ah, crawl out and they, ah, wash you off, the Old Boys, and then they lay you—they, ah, they lay you in a velvet coffin, and then, you close your eyes and—later they sing a song about how, now (chants) "You’re Born Again—into the Bone"…And all the clocks—at Skull and Bones—they kept all the clocks five minutes fast…why did they do that? No one ever told me why they did that… And now, for the first time, the Patient has the courage to finally turn and look directly at the Doctor. The wind moans. At length, the Doctor signals to the Agent and the two stand on either side of the ruined Leader. DOCTOR Were you? Born again? PATIENT …No. AGENT (softly) Negative. DOCTOR No. PATIENT Later. AGENT (softly) Repeat. DOCTOR When? PATIENT Christ Jesus. AGENT Amen. DOCTOR No… No. That was a lie…So, do it now. PATIENT Help. DOCTOR Really do it. Tell the truth. Finish it. PATIENT Help. AGENT Repeat. DOCTOR Tell the truth! Kneel down—or stand up: I am giving you permission to be. Just tell the truth! The Doctor backs away and gestures the Agent to do the same. PATIENT Help!...Help! The Patient tries, in vain, to kneel. DOCTOR You. You. Only you. AGENT That’s a Roger. Alone, Center, the Patient reaches toward the other two, pleading for help. PATIENT (to Agent) Help? (to Doctor) Help? DOCTOR No! Don’t touch him! He has to do it—(to the Patient) You have to do it, Son—of your own free will—You have to help yourself—on your own—yousonofabitch—for once in your life! Doctor and Agent struggle to keep from helping the tortured Fallen Leader. PATIENT Help! DOCTOR No! PATIENT Help! DOCTOR Third time. Last chance, son. The AGENT slowly kneels. Storm rising. The DOCTOR watches. Doors slam. The PRISONER/PATIENT jerks as if shot. They wait for the PATIENT to kneel. He tries. Fails. Tries. Sways. Fails again. Wind rising. Thunder building. PATIENT (crouching) Please! DOCTOR (to the Agent) Wait – he’s alone, now. (to the Madman) Listen to me – Junior! – Listen: Stand up – if you truly believe in this insane bloodbath in the "Holy Land" – stand up! Get out – go there – yourself, and fight and die, with the poor bastards that you lied and tricked into that hell on earth – PATIENT Help me – DOCTOR I am! I am helping you. (to the Agent) He’s all alone now – we all are – so back off! (to the broken Cowboy) I’m telling you to stand up, or get down on your knees – get down and beg the world for your life – and never, ever, use the words "Jesus Christ", or "Democracy", again! PATIENT (searching for God) Help! DOCTOR Kneel down! - Or stand up! It doesn’t matter. He’s not there. Not for you, son – he’s not. The Patient makes his final effort. The Agent’s lips move in fervent prayer. AGENT "…Forgive us our trespasses…." The DOCTOR is willing PATIENT #1, the War Criminal, to stand or to kneel; and he, the war-torturer, in a torque of agony, at war with his own body, in the last extreme of torture, makes one final heroic effort in his birth pangs, as the Doctor groans. DOCTOR …Do it, you sonofabitch… He—the Boy, the Bones-man, the World-Criminal— he, cannot kneel, cannot kneel or stand to be born again—too late. PATIENT Da – Da – Daddy , help – help me. Da – Da – Daddy – Kill me – Daddy!… AGENT "…yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil…" AGENT sobs silently. The DOCTOR is wounded to the heart. Mission bells, far away, then louder thunder. PATIENT #1—the Executioner and the Victim in one racked and striated body—pulls himself away, at last, and stumbles toward the door. He has become an old man. In the doorway, Right, he twists up into his former fake cowboy image. And when he speaks, the voice and diction are, once again, the hollow, vicious braggadocio of his former false self—yet the lost boy still calls out from within. PATIENT …(to the Agent) Bubbaaaah!—let’s hit the trail—Arriba! Get-um-up, Scout—Let’s ride, Ranger! (to his Doctor/Father) So long, P-P-Pappy…hasta la vista, Doc! Completely lost in his damnation, he whirls out into the storm, whooping raw "Rebel Yells." The Doctor limps Center, cursing, "Sonofabitch"; The Agent crawls to him, praying. Far away, a storm warning bell—then, outside, the roar of the madman’s motor bike and his ghastly Rebel Yells merge into the fury of the hurricane along with the cries and curses of the AGENT and the DOCTOR: AGENT DOCTOR …Now I lay me down to sleep, Sonofabitch—Sonofabitch— I pray the lord my soul to keep—If I Goddamnsonofabitch— should die before I wake …I Sonofabitchsonofabitch—I’m a pray the Lord—Help—Help—Help! ... SonofaGoddamnsonofabitch!... With the Agent's final cry for help he is clinging to the DOCTOR—like a child to a Parent, like the Fool to King Lear in the storm. Then, a sudden silence as the gale sinks momentarily. AGENT P—P—P—P... DOCTOR (a murmur) I'm—a—son... Doors slam, again, like gun shots, and the Storm spikes with a howl drowning out the Two. The lips of the men move, unheard, in the raging slamming hurricane. Then—over all the sound and fury—the remorseless and terrific chopping of the giant helicopter.
-THE END-
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