Read Vertigo Park and Other Tall Tales Online
Authors: Mark O'Donnell
Ahh! A great step toward independence is a good-natured stomach!
(She grabs the bag of bread he is holding and turns off the flame under the frying pan. She carries the baby to a nearby basket and lays it there to sleep. As she does
,
P
LATO
defends himself.)
Socrates says, “Bad men live that they may eat and drink, whereas good men eat and drink that they may live.”
(
H
ATTIE
stares the old windbag down in withering Alice Kramden fashion.
)
H
ATTIE
:
Shut up!
(Awkward moment.
P
LATO
gathers himself and makes a pettish observation.)
P
LATO
:
What is the prime of life? May it not be defined in a woman’s life at about … twenty years?
(She could brain him for this, and picks up a rolling pin, but a coughing fit seizes her, and then, lumbering male noise is heard at the door. A key rattles in the lock, and the door opens, revealing
G
EORGE
, H
ATTIE
’s utterly soused lout of a husband. Lipstick kisses decorate his flushed face, and his clothes are wrinkled. He leaves the door open, and staggers in, giggling.
H
ATTIE
collars him angrily.)
P
LATO
(warily)
: An overtaxed patience gives way to fury!
(This is a personal problem, so
P
LATO
turns away, to the kitchen counter.
H
ATTIE
shakes
G
EORGE
furiously, but he just giggles helplessly.)
A fit of laughter which has been indulged to excess almost always produces a violent reaction.
(
P
LATO
’s toast pops up. He removes, butters and eats it, all as the couple wrangle close at hand. They jostle him inadvertently, so he feels compelled to advise them again.
)
Submit to the present evil, lest a greater one befall you!
(At this bromide, the supine character on the couch stirs, removes his newspaper covering, and sits up. It is
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
,
the seventeenth-century author of maxims, plummy and foppish, self-delighted, deliberate and sly, in a full peruke. He addresses
P
LATO
as a lesser competitor.)
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
:
Nothing is given so profusely … as advice!
(He puckers his lips, as if to say “Touché!”
H
ATTIE
and
G
EORGE
tumble over the couch as they fight.
G
EORGE
is no longer laughing, but gasping for breath as
H
ATTIE
tries to strangle him.
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
clucks his tongue.)
Philosophy triumphs easily over past evils and future evils, but present evils triumph over it!
(
H
ATTIE
grabs a large kitchen knife and stalks
G
EORGE
,
who tries a new tack by weeping crocodile tears.
)
G
EORGE
:
Honey, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
:
Hmph! Hypocrisy is the homage that vice pays to virtue.
(Amazingly
,
H
ATTIE
is touched by
G
EORGE
’s contrition. Panting and heaving, they embrace. Suddenly, however, she finds a long blond hair on his shoulder.)
P
LATO
:
Even a single hair casts its shadow!
(Pause. He cites his source.)
Publilius Syrus.
(The fight resumes.
H
ATTIE
breaks a bottle over
G
EORGE
’s head. He falls to his knees, but she leaps to
his throat and begins to strangle him. He collapses, and she pauses.)
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
:
Jealousy feeds upon suspicion, and it turns into fury—or it ends as soon as it passes from suspicion to certainty.
(
H
ATTIE
straddles her fallen husband and ponders momentarily. Will her passion pass? Instead of recovering, though, she suddenly goes at him with renewed vehemence, violently pounding his head against the floor. Then, just as suddenly, she stops, seized with the realization of what she is doing.
G
EORGE
lies ominously still. Fearfully, she puts her ear to his chest to listen for his heart.
)
H
ATTIE
:
Oh my God!!
(
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
huddles with
P
LATO
for safety.
)
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
:
Our repentance is not so much regret for the ill we have done as fear for the ill that may happen to us in consequence.
H
ATTIE
:
George!… (
G
EORGE
briefly regains consciousness. After a tense pause, he speaks, slowly and with difficulty, in bursts.
)
G
EORGE
:
Who … are … those … guys?…
(He dies.)
H
ATTIE
:
I thought they were friends of yours!
(She collapses weeping on his body.)
P
LATO
(to console her)
: The soul of man is immortal and imperishable.
(This nugget of nobility clinches the title as far as he’s concerned, and he simpers defiantly at
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
over
H
ATTIE
’s head.
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
stares at his rival unimpressed.)
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
:
We all have strength enough to endure the misfortunes of others.
(
P
LATO
decides to overlook this feeble cut.
)
P
LATO
:
You are young, my son, and therefore, refrain a while from setting yourself up as a judge of the highest matters.
(This petty, mock-patient debate is broken up by
H
ATTIE
’s sudden, feverish, even hypnotic recovery. She bolts upright with feral urgency. For a moment she turns away from
G
EORGE
’s corpse to figure out some logistics.)
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
:
Neither the sun nor death can be looked at constantly.
(
H
ATTIE
drags
G
EORGE
’s body into the other room. As she disappears
,
W
ILLA
C
ATHER
pokes her head in through the open door. She wears a simple country dress and the tastefully worn expression of a classic pioneer novelist, but here she functions as a curious next-door neighbor, concerned about the commotion. She has flour-whitened hands, from the bread dough she has been kneading in her kitchen.
)
(
H
ATTIE
returns, possessed and wild-eyed.
W
ILLA
,
who is an earnest drag, looks to
H
ATTIE
for an explanation. Pause.
)
H
ATTIE
(finally)
: I killed him!! But I didn’t mean to!!
(She falls to her knees in mad, brief, presuicidal prayer. She is beyond chatting with boarders and neighbors now.
W
ILLA
recovers from her surprise, and regards
H
ATTIE
with strong, patronizing grace, like an old-fashioned teacher.)
W
ILLA
:
Sometimes, a neighbor we have disliked … lets fall a single commonplace remark that shows us another side … Another person, really … Uncertain, and puzzled, and in the dark like ourselves.
(
H
ATTIE
babbles incomprehensible prayers.
)
The Miracles of the Church seem to me to rest upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.
(She nods to her sage cohorts, a tad piously.)
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
(tartly)
: Old people like to give good advice. It is solace for not being able to provide bad examples.
(
W
ILLA
is basically impervious to this remark, and anyway
,
H
ATTIE
stands up suddenly and stumbles to the window. She has ceased even noticing her guests. She climbs onto the ledge desperately, and is seized with another coughing fit, one last reminder of earthly travail.
)
H
ATTIE
:
I’m sorry!!
(From the street below, we hear excited voices, a crowd assembling. Spectators call up to her anxiously.)
V
OICE
OF
G
OETHE
:
Miss, don’t! Calmly wait the morrow’s hidden season!
V
OICE
OF
W
ORDSWORTH
:
Look for the stars! The rainbow comes and goes, and lovely is the Rose!
V
OICE
OF
R
OBERT
L
EY
:
Strength Through Joy!
V
OICE
OF
E
RNEST
H
EMINGWAY
:
The world is a fine place and worth fighting for!
A
N
A
NONYMOUS
V
OICE
:
Jump!
V
OICE
OF
C
ARL
S
ANDBURG
:
I am the people! The mob! The crowd! The mass! Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
A
N
A
NONYMOUS
V
OICE
:
Jump!
(
H
ATTIE
,
miserable and confused, turns in to seek advice from the trio inside. She looks to them beseechingly.
)
P
LATO
(to his companions)
: Human beings live in a cave. They see only their shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the walls of the cave.
(
W
ILLA
and
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
murmur and nod. Their complacence dismays
H
ATTIE
,
and she begins to bawl like Lucille Ball. She turns back outward. The three visitors look at each other as if they’ve done all they can, and shrug.
)
V
OICE
OF
F
RANKLIN
R
OOSEVELT
:
We have nothing to fear but fear itself!
(But it’s too late.
H
ATTIE
jumps. Screams and uproar from the street below cover the sound of her tragic landing.)
W
ILLA
:
There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.
(A low siren is heard approaching in the distance. It makes
P
LATO
uneasy. He goes to the radio and turns it on.)
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
:
We may give advice, but we do not inspire conduct.
(He opens the abandoned bread package, takes out a slice, butters and eats it. The radio produces incongruous dance music, so
P
LATO
tunes it to another station. After a moment of static, he finds an interview show.)
V
OICE
OF
F
RANKLIN
P
IERCE
A
DAMS
:
Go, little booke!
and let who will be clever!
Roll on! From yonder ivy-mantled tower
the moon and I could keep this up forever!
A V
OICE
FROM
THE
S
TREET
:
Who saw her die?
I, said the Fly!
With my little eye!
I saw her die!
(The siren stops.
L
A
R
OCHEFOUCAULD
munches on his bread.
C
HRIST
appears in the window and grins in at the three assembled thinkers.
P
LATO
reflexively turns off the radio.
C
HRIST
speaks enthusiastically—almost singing, like Baby June Hovick—but rather jarringly, like a bad actor delivering the wrong line with great cheerful conviction.)