Read Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang Online

Authors: David Henry Hwang

Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang (11 page)

MA: What role?

LONE: Gwan Gung. I’ve been telling you.

MA: I don’t wanna play Gwan Gung.

LONE: You’ve shown the dedication required to become my student, so—

MA: Lone, you think I stayed up last night ’cause I wanted to play Gwan Gung?

LONE: You said you were like him.

MA: I am. Gwan Gung stayed up all night once to prove his loyalty. Well, now I have too. Lone, I’m honored that you told me your story.

LONE: Yes . . . That is like Gwan Gung.

MA: Good. So let’s do an opera about
me
.

LONE: What?

MA: You wanna party or what?

LONE: About you?

MA: You said I was like Gwan Gung, didn’t you?

LONE: Yes, but—

MA: Well, look at the operas he’s got. I ain’t even got one.

LONE: Still, you can’t—

MA: You tell me, is that fair?

LONE: You can’t do an opera about yourself.

MA: I just won a victory, didn’t I? I deserve an opera in my honor.

LONE: But it’s not traditional.

MA: Traditional? Lone, you gotta figure any way I could do Gwan Gung wasn’t gonna be traditional anyway. I may be as good a guy as him, but he’s a better dancer.
(Sings)

Old Gwan Gung, just sits about
’Til the dime-store fighters have had it out
Then he pitches his peach pit
Combs his beard
Draws his sword
And they scatter in fear

LONE: What are you talking about?

MA: I just won a great victory. I get—whatcha call it?—poetic license. C’mon. Hit the gongs. I’ll immortalize my story.

LONE: I refuse. This goes against all my training. I try and give you your wish and—

MA: Do it. Gimme my wish. Hit the gongs.

LONE: I never—I can’t.

MA: Can’t what? Don’t think I’m worth an opera? No, I guess not. I forgot—you think I’m just one of those dead men.

(Silence. Lone pulls out a gong. Ma gets into position to begin. Lone hits the gong. They do the following in mock-Chinese-opera style.)

I am Ma. Yesterday, I was kicked out of my house by my three elder brothers, calling me the lazy dreamer of the family. I am sitting here in front of the temple trying to decide how I will avenge this indignity. Here comes the poorest beggar in this village
. (He cues Lone)
He is called Fleaman because his body is the most popular meeting place for fleas from around the province.

LONE
(Singing)
:

Fleas in love,
Find your happiness
In the gray scraps of my suit

MA: Hello, Flea—

LONE
(Continuing)
:

Fleas in need
Shield your families
In the gray hairs of my beard

MA: Hello, Flea—

(Lone cuts Ma off, continues an extended improvised aria.)

Hello, Fleaman.

LONE: Hello, Ma. Are you interested in providing a home for these fleas?

MA: No!

LONE: This couple here—seeking to start a new home. Housing today is so hard to find. How about your left arm?

MA: I may have plenty of my own fleas in time. I have been thrown out by my elder brothers.

LONE: Are you seeking revenge? A flea epidemic on your house?
(To aflea)
Get back there. You should be asleep. Your mother will worry.

MA: Nothing would make my brothers angrier than seeing me rich.

LONE: Rich? After the bad crops of the last three years, even the fleas are thinking of moving north.

MA: I heard a white devil talk yesterday.

LONE: Oh—with hair the color of a sick chicken and eyes round as eggs? The fleas and I call him Chicken-Laying-an-Egg.

MA: He said we can make our fortunes on the Gold Mountain, where work is play and the sun scares off snow.

LONE: Don’t listen to chicken-brains.

MA: Why not? He said gold grows like weeds.

LONE: I have heard that it is slavery.

MA: Slavery? What do you know, Fleaman? Who told you? The fleas? Yes, I will go to Gold Mountain.

(Sound of gongs. Ma strikes a submissive pose to Lone.)

LONE: “The one-hundred-twenty-five-dollars passage money is to be paid to the said head of said Hong, who will make arrangements with the coolies that their wages shall be deducted until the debt is absorbed.”

(Ma bows to Lone. Sound of gongs. They pick up fighting sticks and do a water-crossing dance, using their sticks to imitate oars. Dance ends. They stoop next to each other and rock.)

MA: I have been in the bottom of this boat for thirty-six days now. Tang, how many have died?

LONE: Not me. I’ll live through this ride.

MA: I didn’t ask how you are.

LONE: But why’s the Gold Mountain so far?

MA: We left with three hundred and three.

LONE: My family’s depending on me.

MA: So tell me, how many have died?

LONE: I’ll be the last one alive.

MA: That’s not what I wanted to know.

LONE: I’ll find some fresh air in this hole.

MA: I asked, how many have died.

LONE: Is that a crack in the side?

MA: Are you listening to me?

LONE: If I had some air—

MA: I asked, don’t you see—?

LONE: The crack—over there—

MA: Will you answer me, please?

LONE: I need to get out.

MA: The rest here agree—

LONE: I can’t stand the smell.

MA: That a hundred eighty—

LONE: I can’t see the air—

MA: Of us will not see—

LONE: And I can’t die.

MA: Our Gold Mountain dream.

(Tang/Lone dies. Using the movement language of Chinese opera, they mime the following: Ma throws his body overboard. The boat docks. Ma exits, walks through the streets. He picks up one of the fighting sticks while Lone becomes the mountain.)

I have been given my pickax. Now I will attack the mountain.

(Ma does a dance of labor. Lone sings:)

LONE:

Hit your hardest
Pound out your tears
The more you try
The more you’ll cry
At how little I’ve moved
And how large I loom
By the time the sun goes down

(Ma stops dancing.)

MA: This mountain is clever. But why shouldn’t it be? It’s fighting for its life, like we fight for ours.

(Lone/Mountain picks up a stick. Ma and Lone/Mountain do a battle dance. Dance ends.)

This mountain not only defends itself—it also attacks. It turns our strength against us.

(Lone does Ma’s labor dance while Ma plants explosives in midair. Dance ends.)

This mountain has survived for millions of years. Its wisdom is immense.

(Lone and Ma begin a second battle dance. This one ends with them dancing together: Ma has subdued the mountain. Lone breaks away, does a warrior strut.)

LONE: I am a white devil! Listen to my stupid language: “Wha che doo doo blah blah.” Look at my wide eyes—like I have drunk seventy-two pots of tea. Look at my funny hair—twisting, turning, like a snake telling lies.
(To Ma)
Blah blah doo doo tee tee.

MA: We don’t understand English.

LONE
(Angry)
: Blah blah doo doo tee tee!

MA
(With Chinese accent)
: Please you-ah speak-ah Chinese?

LONE: Oh. Work—uh—one—two—more—work—two—

MA: Two hours more? Stupid demons. As confused as your hair. We will strike!

(Sound of gongs. Ma is on strike.)

(In broken English)
Eight hours day good for white man, all same good for Chinaman.

LONE: The strike is over! We’ve won!

MA: I knew we would.

LONE: We forced the white devil to act civilized.

MA: Tamed the barbarians!

LONE: Did you think—

MA: Who woulda thought?

LONE:—it could be done?

MA: Who?

LONE: But who?

MA: Who could tame them?

MA AND LONE: Only a Chinaman!

(They laugh.)

LONE: Well, c’mon.

MA: Let’s celebrate!

LONE: We have.

MA: Oh.

LONE: Back to work.

MA: But we’ve won the strike.

LONE: I know. Congratulations! And now—

MA:—back to work?

LONE: Right.

MA: No.

LONE: But the strike is over.

(Lone tosses Ma a stick. They resume their stick battle as before, but Ma is heard over Lone’s singing.)

LONE:	MA:
Hit your hardest	Wait.
Pound out your tears	I’m tired of this!
How do we end it?
The more you try	Let’s stop now, all right?
The more you’ll cry
At how little I’ve moved	Look, I said enough!
And how large I loom
By the time the sun goes down.