Mr. Burns and Other Plays. Anne Washburn
Isn’t this part of Manhattan so nice? It’s like a village. Like a little village.
A: So far I like all of the parts of Manhattan I’ve seen
B: . . . Slow motion—
A: —from our hotel
E: Remember I was so nice to Martin? And Martin hated me on sight and that proved my point.
C: If you say “microwave” or anything related to the microwave, like rubbermaid, brodware, or tupperware—
B: Well I feel like—
F: Well that’s good—
A: If you have a hundred dollars—
E: Mommy, it’s really fun but it’s scary.
Beat.
But it’s really fun.
D (Singing lightly):
“dust in de wind”
JEREMIAH:
The young lions roar upon you, and yell
and they make your land waste
your cities are burned without inhabitant
C: This girl Bowen right?
A: Oh god not this again
C: Fucking tits. Perfect rack right?
D (To a child): Yeah that’s the Verrazano Bridge. You can see it all the way from here because it’s big. It’s a Big Bridge.
F: That hurt, I mean she really bumped me.
C: Right. Whatever. I still say you’re gay.
G: I’m gonna stop off here at the restroom
JEREMIAH:
They that did feed delicately
are desolate in the streets:
they that were brought up in scarlet
embrace dunghills
C: Whoops! Are you okay?
F: Uh . . . yes. Yep. Yes I am.
E: They can hear your voice saying “shit” on the first reel
F (To a child): And he’d love it—about the hobgoblins and everything
D (Precise): Yes, he would.
C: We’re not really free. The government tries to trick us.
JEREMIAH:
Thus saith the Lord:
Behold,
I will give this city into the hand of the King of Babylon
and he shall burn it with fire.
E: I always have the same strange sick sad feeling when I see a mad prophet which is this: what if he is right. I always sort of think: he’s right!
B: I know. I do too. I think: that’s my own mad spirit, cut loose somehow from my own body, striding through the streets expressly to warn me.
E: Oh. I don’t think that. But that’s interesting.
B: I do, actually, sort of. For fun, mainly. I always stand far back. I think—what if he grabs me, what if he looks into my eyes, what if they’re my eyes. And then I have to leave off everything I’m doing and wear bad clothes and go barefoot through the street raving too.
Bit of a pause.
I don’t really believe this. But I think it for fun.
E: I like it. I like it. It’s exciting. I might start thinking that too.
You never know do you. It could be true.
JEREMIAH:
Therefore thus saith the Lord concerning the prophets that prophecy in my name;
I sent them not
neither have I commanded them
neither spake unto them:
they prophesy unto you a false vision
and a thing of nought:
the deceit of their heart
they say: Sword and Famine shall not be in this land . . .
by Sword and Famine shall those prophets be consumed!
THE NON-PROPHET: What people don’t realize (Takes a sip from his little espresso cup) is that you do have a choice.
You do not have to become a prophet.
And I’m not saying that God isn’t insistent . . .
. . . he is very insistent . . .
And persuasive. But you can, ultimately, if you are determined, you can say:
take this particular cup from my lips, I won’t do it. And He will pass on.
What are the consequences of this. Well I don’t pretend to know. My features look the same, my skin, I don’t see it in my eyes; the world sounds as it always has, I dream as before, I don’t smell . . . unusual.
It may be that now, none of my prayers are answered. I don’t know. I haven’t dared to pray.
What I know is that He is Resistible, and that those who become prophets, agonize though they might, have on some level made a decision.
B: But what is it like to be a prophet?
HANANIAH: It’s a delight.
E: You can’t ask that question!
HANANIAH: No I don’t mind. It’s a delight. I’ll suddenly find myself speaking. The only part I mind is the waiting, and wondering when I’ll speak next.
But it’s like: at a party when the tray comes around and you take something wonderful from it. And then you think: when will the tray come around again? And what will be on it?
But it’s like a good party. Where there’s an endless supply of trays. And the waiters are efficient.
B: Are the waiters angels?!
E: You can’t ask that!
HANANIAH: Why not?
E: What are the waiters?
HANANIAH (Laughs): I don’t see them. I don’t know. I don’t know much, honestly. I only know what I know after I’ve said it.
A serene—for Hananiah—pause in which no one says anything.
THE NON-PROPHET: Do you know, I had dinner with the Devil once. I was in an inn, and he was in the inn, and the inn was full, so we ate dinner at the same table.
He didn’t say a word, he was exhausted. I ordered beef, he ordered lamb.
F: How did you know it was the Devil?
THE NON-PROPHET: After dinner they brought round a brandy and, he had eaten a lot very quickly, and he revived a little and he made a sort of half play for my soul. I think, just, nothing serious; out of habit.
Hananiah and the girls have been listening in to this conversation.
Hananiah smiles in a quicksilver meaningful sort of way.
HANANIAH (To the girls): These are strange times to be alive.
THE NON-PROPHET (Whipping around to speak to him directly): I’ll say.
They look at each other for a moment.
The sound of breakage. Everyone freezes, then turns toward:
BARUCH: The light glitters off the freshly sharded off of the
infinitely