Authors: Lorraine Hansberry
Les Blancs (33 page)
—R
OBERT
N
EMIROFF
A Fable in One Act
“Lullaby baby
What’s rustling there?
Neighbor’s child’s in Poland
Mine’s who knows where”
—Bertolt Brecht
from
Mother Courage
HARACTERS
An elderly and scholarly hermit.
A party of children of about nine or ten years old.
The scene is a vast rocky plain at the edge of a great forest.
I
A plain somewhere in the world; darkness and wind. The
HERMIT
appears from left—an old and bearded man in the residue of manufactured garb and animal skin—he walks with a stick and carries his life’s possessions in a bundle. He surveys the area as best he can in the half-light, shuffles to an outcropping of rock at right and crawls up into a crevice and goes to sleep. As he sleeps, the light comes up slowly and the
CHILDREN
appear, on their knees, in stark silence. They are stalking a small creature. The most arresting thing about them, aside from their appearance, which is that of naked beasts with very long hair, is their utter silence—for not one of them is beyond the age of ten. The old man sleeps on. The light is that of dawn
.
Presently, the
CHILDREN
pause, as instinctively still as their quarry. One of them rises with a rock in hand and lets it fly; then, as one, the
CHILDREN
rise and run screaming to the animal which has been successfully stoned, and violently fall to fighting over it. They really
fight
one another; there is nothing to suggest the mere games of children. And, moreover, those who are strongest triumph
.
Among the more savage of the group is a little girl who is wiry and tough and skillful in the fighting. She achieves her share as do one or two of the others, while the remaining children glower and whimper like unfed puppies watching them consume the raw meat; those who are most frail or slow are also, noticeably, the thinnest
.
At the sound of their noise the old man is roused and sits up rubbing his mouth and his beard and his eyes. He shifts his position to see out the cave. He does this while the
CHILDREN
are still actively fighting. He cannot altogether make out what they are fighting about. That is, he cannot see that they
eat
it
.
HERMIT
(
Dryly but loudly
)
Well, I see you haven’t changed, to say the least.
Animals!
Down unto the fourth and fifth generation of you, that’s what.
(
Grumbling
)
Well, what did I expect? What, indeed, did I expect?
(
The
CHILDREN
freeze in astonishment at the sound of his voice
.
He feels gingerly about for a foothold, shifting bundle and stick, and starts down from the rocks—which were easier ascended, even in the dark, than
descended
at his age
.
At the first move, one of the boys stoops, apprehensively, for a rock. The others are taut—ready for flight
)
Why the devil don’t you give an elderly gentleman assistance? I see that your manners haven’t changed either. Well, no matter: the only thing you ever did with manners was hide your greater crimes. How very, very significant, how significant indeed, that the very first thing I should see upon my return is the sight of little hooligans abusing a creature of nature! With the blessings of your elders, I am sure, I am sure!
(
He halts and gestures for assistance to the closest youngster
)
You
—I am talking to
you
, my little open-mouthed friend—
(
The
CHILDREN
merely continue to stare. He shakes his stick
)
Ah, you don’t like that, do you!
(
He gives a surprisingly sprightly jump, for his years, and clears the incline neatly—but then totters a second for balance
)
There we are! What do you think of that!
(
Breathing heavily from the exertion
)
And now if you undisciplined little monsters will be kind enough to give me directions to the city, I shall make myself absent from your admirable company.
(
They stare
)
You there—with the eyeballs! Which way to the city?
(
Holding the courtesy deliberately
)
Please
. I should like with your cooperation to reach some outpost of, if you will forgive the reference, “civilization” by nightfall. What is the nearest town? I no longer recall these points, apparently, and have got myself utterly lost …
(
The
CHILDREN
stand fixed
)
Do you hear?
(
He takes a half-step toward one, who immediately draws back
)
What you need, my little zombie, is a well-placed and repetitive touch of the cane! But I suppose that anything as admirable as that is still forbidden?
(
Looking around at all of them
)
Well, close your mouths and go away, little uglies, if you won’t be helpful. I am sure your doting parents are anxious for you—for some ungodly reason. Why are you all got up like that anyway? Is it Halloween? Dear Lord, don’t tell me I’ve come back just in time for
that!
Well, I wonder then if you might interrupt your mute joke long enough to tell an old man just one thing. If only I might persuade you quite what it would mean to me … You see, I should very much like to know—
(
Deep pause
)
What
time
it is. You think that’s silly, don’t you; yes, I rather thought you would. That a chap might go off and hide himself in the woods for twenty years and then come out and ask, “What time is it?”
(
He laughs
)
But, you see, one of the reasons I left is because I could no longer stand the dominion of time in the lives of men and the things that they did with it and to it and, indeed, that they let it do to them. And so, to escape time, I threw my watch away. I even made a ceremony of it. I was on a train over a bridge … and I held it out the door and dropped it. Quite like—
(
He gestures, remembering
)
—this. But do you know the very first thing I absolutely had a compulsion to know once I got into the forest? I wanted to know what time it was. Clearly I had no appointments to keep—but I
longed
to know the hour of the day! There is, of course, no such thing as an hour, it is merely something that men have labeled so—but I longed to have that label at my command again. I never did achieve that. Ultimately I gave up seconds, minutes and hours, too … Ah, but I kept up with days! I made a rock calendar at once. It was a problem too: the wild animals would knock over the rocks. Finally, I gave up and made a game—a game, ha!—of keeping up with the days in my head. It got to be a matter of rejoicing that the seasons came when I knew they would.
(
Looking down
)
Or, at least, that’s how it was for the first fifteen years. Because, naturally, I lost track. I accumulated a backlog of slipped days which, apparently, ran into months because one year, quite suddenly, it began to snow when I expected the trees to bud. Somewhere I had mislaid a warm autumn for a chilly spring. I almost died that year; I had lost a season.
(
Boastfully, for his new-found audience
)
Consequently, among other things, I expect that I must be the first adult you have ever met who did not know his age. I was fifty-eight when I went into the woods. And now I am either seventy-eight or perhaps more than eighty years old. That is why I have come out of the woods. I am afraid men invent
timepieces
, they do not invent time. We may give time its dimensions and meaning, we may make it worthless or important or absurd or crucial. But ultimately I am afraid it has a value of its own. It is time for me to die. And I have come out to see what men have been doing. And now that I am back, more than anything else just now, you see, I should very much like to know—what time it is.
(
The
CHILDREN
stare
)
Ahh …
(
Stiffening and shaking his finger at them
)
But you must not for one second take that to mean that I
regret
my hermitage or do in any wise whatsoever return repentant to the society of men. I return in comtempt!
(
More quietly
)
And, if one must tell everything—
curiosity
. Not love! Not once, not once in all those years did I
long
for human company. Not once!
(
He flicks his fingers at them in sweeping gesture, settles himself on the ground and spreads a small cloth
)
Get along, then; go ahead: shoo! I am going to have my breakfast and I prefer privacy.
(
He first looks to the setting-out of his food and then up again to see them still standing, apparently transfixed
)
I am quite serious about it and will become stern with you any moment now! The diversion is OVER! Toddle along to your—
(
Nastily
)
—mummies and daddies.
(They do not move)
Do you
not
understand the language merely because it is literately spoken? I don’t wonder—recalling the level of study. Shall I employ sign signals?
(
Gesturing impromptu hand signals
)
GO A—WAY!
Andale!
SCRAM!
(
They do not move, and he is angry
)
All right. But you might as well know that you do not frighten me. I shall eat my breakfast and be content whether you stay or go. And when you recover your tongues, I will accept your directions. I must confess I do not remember this plain at all. I could have sworn that the forest continued for many miles more. But then my memory has to cover a long span of time. You little folk are the very first human souls that I have seen in twenty odd years. Well, what do you think of that!
(
He points to the woods, roaring proudly
)
I’ve been in there, in the forest: for twenty-odd years! Deep, deep in the forest. I am
a hermit!
(
Showing off, stroking his beard
)
What do you think of that? Just like in books!
(
To another child
)
What is your name? You look like a pupil of mine. But, I suppose he would be a little older by now. I am Charles Lewis Lawson. Professor Charles Lewis Lawson. I was an English teacher.
(
He lifts out a handful of food from his bundle—begins to place it on his cloth: as swiftly the
CHILDREN
throw themselves upon him and the scraps of food. In the scramble he is knocked over. Those who get some wolf it down, and the old man gets himself aright in time to see one of them gulp down the last morsel. He reaches out tentatively to the child as if, in outrage, to recover it, but the child gnashes his teeth—like a cur. Others pick up his bundle and empty it and paw about in the articles in a cruelly savage search for more food. The old man turns from one to the other frantically
)
Animals! … Animals! …
I’m an old man! Don’t you know anything!
(
The
CHILDREN
fall back a short distance and now lounge about, still watching him
)
Oh, all that I have missed, all that I have undoubtedly missed!—(
Bitterly
)
—in the society of men!
(
He gathers up his things angrily
)
Well, why don’t you laugh? Go ahead. Go ahead. Go ahead! It is a great game to beat up an old man and take his food from him, is it not?
(
In a curious rage about it
)
I can see that nothing at all has changed. Damn you! And damn your fathers!
(
He sinks down and pouts rather like a child himself
)
Why did I come out; why, why, why …!
(
The
CHILDREN
sit and watch him and do not move. Then, presently
)
Well, are you all still with me? You must be looking for your grandfather. Or Santa Claus. Well, I am neither!
(
He gathers up his things and stamps off right; the
CHILDREN
sink down where they are and freeze as the lights come down—and then up again. The old man comes on from left, having gone in a circle on the plain. The
CHILDREN
are stretched out where he left them, asleep. They rouse
)
Oh, there you are. I was hoping I would find you again. Certainly haven’t been able to find anyone else. Just this interminable plain. Now, look here: I must have directions to the city. You must end this little joke of yours and talk to me. I will admit it: I am impressed that you can hold your tongues so long. Well, I will have to stay with you until you tire of it. Or, until your parents come.
(
He is mopping his brow and smiling at them. They look back at him and say nothing. He looks at each one separately
)
Listen, I happen to know that you are not mute, because I heard you screaming before.
(
He neatly arranges a pile of dry twigs, dead leaves, and begins to twirl a flint. He works hard at it and, presently, as the first thin stream of smoke arises, the
CHILDREN
silently lean forward, fascinated
)
Pretty neat, eh? You get good at it if you stay in the forest long enough. I will tell you the truth though. There was not one time
that I ever made a fire like this when I did not fancy myself an Indian scout on television. My word, television! I suppose the Images walk right into the living room by now and have supper with you.