All in the Timing
Page 4
DON: Lornly.
DAWN: Ding. Very lornly. So won’t you teach me Unamunda? I do have a little money saved up.
DON: Froyling di Vito …
DAWN: I’ll pay. Iago pago.
DON: Froyling, arf mangey, mangey deep-feecountries. [There are many, many difficulties.]
DAWN: I’ll work very hard.
DON: Deep-feekal, Froyling.
DAWN: I understand. P-p-please?
DON: Eff du scoop.
DAWN: “Scoop” means “want”?
DON: Ding.
DAWN: Then I scoop. Moochko.
DON: Donutsayev deedeena vanya. [Don’t say I didn’t warn you.] Dollripe-chus. Boggle da zitzbells. Arf raddly? [All right. Buckle your seatbelts. Are you ready?]
DAWN: Yes. I’m raddly.
DON: Raza la tabooli. Kontsentreeren. Lax da hoover, lax da hoover. Epp echo mi. [Clear your mind. Concentrate. Relax your mouth. And repeat after me.] (Picks up a pointer.) Shriek.
DAWN: Shriek.
DON (pointing to himself): Ya.
DAWN: Ya.
DON (points to her): Du.
DAWN: DU.
DON (points to “HE” on the blackboard): En.
DAWN: DU.
DON: Ogh!
DAWN: I’m sorry. Squeegies.
DON: Video da problayma?
DAWN: Let me begin again again, Mr. Finninneganegan. You see? I said your name. I must be getting b-b-b-better.
DON: Okeefenoch-kee. Parla, prentice: Ya.
DAWN: Ya.
DON: Du.
DAWN: DU.
DON: En.
DAWN: En.
DON (points to “SHE” on the blackboard): Dee.
DAWN: Dee.
DON (points to “IT”): Da.
DAWN: Da.
DON (“WE”): Wop.
DAWN: Wop.
DON (“YOU”): Doobly.
DAWN: Doobly.
DON (“THEY”): Day.
DAWN: Day.
DON: Du badabba?
DAWN: Ya badabba du!
DON: Testicle. [Test.]
DAWN: Al dente? [Already?]
DON: Shmal testicle. Epp—alla togandhi. [Small test. And—all together.]
DAWN (as he points to “I, YOU, WE, HE, YOU, THEY”): Ya du wop en doobly day.
DON AND DAWN (DON points to her, then “IT”): Doo da! Doo da!
DAWN (sings from “Camptown ladies sing this song”): Ya du wop en doobly day—
DON AND DAWN (sing together): Arf da doo-dah day!
DON: Bleeny, bleeny, bonanza bleeny!
DAWN: Riddly-dee?
DON: Indeedly-dee. (DAWN raises her hand.) Quisling?
DAWN: How do you say “how-do-you-say”?
DON: Howardjohnson.
DAWN: Howardjohnson “to have”?
DON: Doppa.
DAWN: So— (Indicating “HE, YOU, SHE.”) En doppa, du doppa, dee doppa.
DON: Ding!
DAWN (faster): En doppa, du doppa, dee doppa.
DON: Ding!
DAWN (faster still, swinging it): En doppa, du doppa, dee doppa— day! [They.]
DON: Bleeny con cavyar! Scoop da gwan? [Want to go on?]
DAWN: Ya scoop if du do.
DON: Dopple scoop! (Points left.) Eedon.
DAWN: Eedon.
DON (pointing right): Ged.
DAWN: Ged.
DON (pointing up): Enro.
DAWN: Enro.
DON (pointing down): Rok.
DAWN: Rok.
DON (right): Ged.
DAWN: Ged.
DON (up): Enro.
DAWN: Enro.
DON (left): Eedon.
DAWN: Eedon.
DON (down): Rok.
DAWN: Rok.
DON: Argo …
DON AND DAWN: Ged eedon rok enro, ged eedon rok enro! [Get it on, rock and roll, get it on, rock and roll!]
DON: Krakajak!
DAWN: Veroushka?
DON: Veroushka, baboushka.
DAWN: This is fun!
DON: Dinksdu diss is flan? [You think this is fun?]
DAWN: Flantastico!
DON: Ivesing onda kick. [Icing on the cake.] (He holds out his hand.) Di anda.
DAWN: Di anda.
DON (palm): Da palma.
DAWN: Da palma.
DON (index finger): Da vinci.
DAWN: Da vinci.
DON (middle finger): Di niro.
DAWN: Di niro.
DON (thumb): Da bamba.
DAWN: Da bamba.
DON: (leg): Da jamba.
DAWN: Da jamba.
DON AND DAWN (doing a two-step): Da jambo-ree.
DON: Zoopa! Zoopa mit noodel!
DAWN: Minestrone, minestrone! [Just a second!] Howardjohnson “little”?
DON: Diddly.
DAWN: Howardjohnson “big”?
DON: Da-wow.
DAWN: Argo …
DON: Doppa du a diddly anda? [Do you have a small hand?]
DAWN: Iago doppa diddly anda, dusa doopa doppa diddly anda. [I have a small hand, you don’t have a small hand.]
DON: Scoopa du da diddly bop? [Do you want a little book?]
DAWN: Oop scoopa diddly bop, iago scoopa bop da-wow! [I don’t want a little book, I want a big book.]
DON AND DAWN: Oop scoopa diddly bop, iago scoopa bop da-wow, da-wow, da-wow!
DAWN: Ya video! Ya hackensack! Ya parla Unamunda! Ya stonda en da rhoomba Epp du stonda mit mee. Da deska doppa blooma.
DON: Arf da boaten onda see!
DAWN: Yadda libben onda erda
DON: Allda himda—
DAWN: —enda herda
DAWN AND DON: Dooya heara sweeta birda? Epp da libben’s niceta bee! Wop top oobly adda Doop boopda flimma flomma Scroop bop da beedly odda!
DAWN (really wailing now): Arf da meeeeeee! Arf da meeeeeee! Arf da meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
(They collapse in a sort of postcoital exhaustion as the lesson ends.)
DON: A-plotz, Froyling. A-plotz! [A-plus.] Wharf das gold for yu? [Was that good for you?]
DAWN: Gold formeeka? Das wharf gland! Wharf das gold for yu?
DON: Das wharf da skool da fortnox!
DAWN: Nevva evva wharfda bin so blintzfal! Nevva evva felta socha feleetzee-totsee-ohneeya! Da voonda! Da inspermation! Da cosmogrottifee-kotsee-ohneeya! [I’ve never felt so blissful! Never felt such happiness! The wonder! The inspiration! The cosmic satisfaction!]
DON (doesn’t understand): Squeegie, squeegie. Cosmo … ?
DAWN: Grottifeekotseeohneeya.
DON: Off corset!
DAWN: Oh my galosh!
DON: Votsda mattress, babbly?
DAWN: No tonguestoppard! No problaymen mit da hoover!
DON: Vot diddle-eye tellya?
DAWN: GOOMBYE ENGLISH, BELLJAR UNAMUNDA! Oh, sordenly ya sensa socha frill da joy! [Suddenly I feel such a thrill of joy!]
DON: Uh-huh …
DAWN: Ein shoddra divina! Ein extahz! Ein blintz orgazmico! [A divine shudder! An ecstasy! An orgasmic bliss!]
DON: Dawn …
DAWN: My slaveyard! (She rushes to embrace him, but he slips aside.)
DON: Police! Froyling di Vito!
DAWN: Du gabriel mi a balloontiful grift, Don. A linkwa. Epp frontier ta deepternity, iago parla osolomiento Unamunda! [You gave me a beautiful gift, Don. A language. And from here to eternity I’m going to speak only Unamunda!]
DON: Osolomiento?
DAWN: Epsomlootly! Angst tu yu. [Absolutely! Thanks to you.]
DON: Um, Dawn … Dot kood bi oon pogo blizzardo. [That could be a bit bizarre.]
DAWN (suddenly remembering): Mock—da payola!
DON: Da payola.
DAWN: Da geld. Fordham letsin. [The money for the lesson.]
DON: Moooment, shantz … [Just a second, honey.]
DAWN: Lassmi getmi geld fonda handberger. [Let me get my money from my purse.]
DON: Handberger?
DAWN (holding up her purse): Handberger.
DAWN (as she digs in her purse): “Ya stonda enda rhoomba epp du stonda mit mi …”
DON: Dawn …
DAWN (holding out money): Dots allada geld ya doppda mit mi. Cheer. [That’s all the money I brought with me. Here.] Cheer! Melgibson da rest enda morgen. [I’ll give you the rest in the morning.]
DON: I can’t take your money, Dawn.
DAWN: Squeegie … ?
DON: I’m sorry, but I—I c-c-can’t take your money.
DAWN: Du parla johncleese?
DON: Actually, yes, I do speak a little johncleese.
DAWN: Mock du parlit parfoom!
DON: Well I’ve been practicing a lot. Anyway, I—I—I—I don’t think I mentioned that the first lesson is free.
DAWN: Mock ya vanta pago. [But I want to pay.]
DON: But I don’t want you to vanta pago.
DAWN: Votsda mattress? Cheer! Etsyuris! [What’s the matter? Here! It’s yours!]
DON: I can’t take it.
DAWN: Porky?
DON: Because I can’t.
DAWN: Mock porky?
DON: Because it’s a fraud.
DAWN: Squeegie?
DON: Unamunda is a fraud.
DAWN: A froyd … ?
DON: A sigismundo froyd.
DAWN: Oop badabba.
DON: It’s a con game. A swindle. A parla trick.
DAWN: No crayola. [I don’t believe you.]
DON: Believe it, Dawn! I should know—I invented it! Granted, it’s not a very good con, since you’re the only person who’s ever come knocking at that door, and I’m obviously not a very good con man, since I’m refusing to accept your very attractive and generous money, but I can’t stand the thought of you walking out there saying “velcro bell jar harvardyu” and having people laugh at you. I swear, Dawn, I swear, I didn’t want to hurt you. How could I? How could anybody? Your beautiful heart … It shines out of you like?. beacon. And then there’s me. A total fraud. I wish I could lie in any language and say it wasn’t so, but … I’m sorry, Dawn. I’m so, so sorry.
DAWN: Vot forest?
DON: Will you stop?!
DAWN: Unamunda arf da linkwa looniversahl!
DON: But you and I are the only peepholes in the vooold who speak it!
DAWN: Dolby udders! Dolby udders! [There’ll be others!]
DON: Who? What others?
DAWN: Don, if you and I can speak this linkwa supreemka, anybody can. Everybody will! This isn’t just any language. This isn’t just a room. This is the Garden of Eden. And you and I are finding names for a whole new world. I was so …
DON: Happy. I know. So was I.
DAWN: Perzacto.
DON: I was happy …
DAWN: And why?
DON: I don’t know, I …
DAWN: Because du epp ya parla da dentrical linguini.
DON: Okay, maybe we speak the same language, but it’s nonsense!
DAWN: Oop.
DON: Gibberish.
DAWN: Oop.
DON: Doubletalk.
DAWN: The linkwa we parla is amamor, Don.
DON: Amamor … ?
DAWN: Unamundamor. Iago arf amorphous mit du. [I’m in love with you.]
DON: Amorphous … ?
DAWN: Polymorphous.
DON: Verismo?
DAWN: Surrealismo.
DON: But how? I mean …
DAWN: Di anda di destiny, Don.
DON: Are you sure?
DAWN: Da pravdaz enda pudding. (Points around the walls at the numbers.) “When you free fall …”
DON: “Find if …”
DAWN: “Heaven …”
DON: “Waits.”
DAWN: Geronimo.
DON: So you forgive me?
DAWN: For making me happy? Yes. I forgive you.
DON: Iago arf… spinachless. [Speechless.]
DAWN (holds out her hand): Di anda.
DON (holds out his): Di anda.
DAWN: Da palma.
DON: Da palma. (They join hands.)
DAWN: Da kooch. (They kiss.)
DON: Iago arf amorphous mit du tu.
(They are about to kiss again, when the door at right opens and a YOUNG MAN looks in.)
YOUNG MAN: Excuse me. Is this the School of Unamunda?
(DON and DAWN look at each other.)
DON AND DAWN: Velcro!
BLACKOUT
VARIATIONS ON THE DEATH OF TROTSKY
This play is for Fred Sanders, first appreciator of the comic possibilities of mountain-climbers’ axes
Variations on the Death of Trotsky was first presented at the Manhattan Punch Line Theatre (Steve Kaplan, artistic director) in New York City in January 1991. It was directed by Jason McConnell Buzas; the set design was by Vaughn Patterson; costume design was by Sharon Lynch; lighting design was by Pat Dignan. The cast was as follows:
TROTSKY Daniel Hagen
MRS. TROTSKY Nora Mae Lyng
RAMON Steven Rodriguez
TROTSKY’s study in Coyoacan, Mexico. A desk, covered with books and papers. A mirror hanging on the wall. A doorway, left. Louvered windows upstage, through which we can glimpse lush tropical fronds and greenery. A large wall calendar announces that today is August 21, 1940. Lights up on TROTSKY sitting at his desk, writing furiously. He has bushy hair and a goatee, small glasses, a dark suit. The handle of a mountain-climber’s axe is sticking out of the back of his head.
VARIATION ONE
TROTSKY (as he writes): “The proletariat is right. The proletariat must always be right. And the revolution of the proletariat against oppression must go on …forever!”
(MRS. TROTSKY enters, grandmotherly and sweet, in an ankle-length dress and high-button shoes. She is holding a large book.)
MRS. TROTSKY: Leon.
TROTSKY: “And forever and forever …!”
MRS. TROTSKY: Leon, I was just reading the encyclopedia.
TROTSKY: The heading?
MRS. TROTSKY: “Trotsky, Leon.”
TROTSKY: Good. It’s about me.
MRS. TROTSKY: Listen to this. (Reads.) “On August 20th, 1940, a Spanish Communist named Ramon Mercader smashed a mountain-climber’s axe into Trotsky’s skull in Coyoacan, a suburb of Mexico City. Trotsky died the next day.”
TROTSKY: What is the year of that encyclopedia?
MRS. TROTSKY (checks the spine): 1994. (or whatever year it happens to be right now.)
TROTSKY: Strange.
MRS. TROTSKY: Yes.
TROTSKY: But interesting. I am Trotsky.
MRS. TROTSKY: Yes, dear.
TROTSKY: And this is our house in Coyoacan.
MRS. TROTSKY: Yes.
TROTSKY: And we have a Spanish gardener named Ramon—?
MRS. TROTSKY: Mercader. Yes.
TROTSKY: Hmm … There aren’t any other Trotskys living in Coyoacan, are there?
MRS. TROTSKY: I don’t think so. Not under that name.
TROTSKY: What is the date today?
MRS. TROTSKY (looks at the calendar): August 21st, 1940.
TROTSKY: Then I’m safe! That article says it happened on the twentieth, which means it would’ve happened yesterday.
MRS. TROTSKY: But Leon …
TROTSKY: And I’d be dead today, with a mountain-climber’s axe in my skull!
MRS. TROTSKY: Um—Leon …
TROTSKY: Will the capitalist press never get things right? (He resumes writing.)
MRS. TROTSKY: But Leon, isn’t that the handle of a mountain-climber’s axe, sticking out of your skull?
TROTSKY (looks into the mirror): It certainly does look like one.… And you know, Ramon was in here yesterday, telling me about his mountain-climbing trip. And now that I think of it, he was carrying a mountain-climber’s axe. I can’t remember if he had it when he left the room.… (TROTSKY considers all this.) Did Ramon report to work today? (TROTSKY dies, falling face forward onto his desk.)
(A bell rings.)
VARIATION TWO
> (TROTSKY resumes writing.)
TROTSKY: “No one is safe. Force must be used. And the revolution of the proletariat against oppression must go on forever and forever …”
MRS. TROTSKY: Leon …
TROTSKY: “And forever!”
MRS. TROTSKY: Leon, I was just reading the encyclopedia.
TROTSKY: Is it the Britannica?
MRS. TROTSKY: Listen to this.
TROTSKY (to audience): The universe as viewed by the victors.
MRS. TROTSKY: “On August 20th, 1940, a Spanish Communist named Ramon Mercader smashed a mountain-climber’s axe into Trotsky’s skull in Coyoacan, a suburb of Mexico City. Trotsky died the next day.”
TROTSKY (impatient): Yes? And?
MRS. TROTSKY: I think that there’s a mountain-climber’s axe in your own skull right now.
TROTSKY: I knew that! When I was shaving this morning, I noticed a handle sticking out of the back of my head. For a moment I thought it was an ice pick, so at first I was worried.
MRS. TROTSKY: No, it’s not an ice pick.
TROTSKY: Don’t even say the word! You know my recurring nightmare.
MRS. TROTSKY: Yes, dear.
TROTSKY: About the ice pick that buries itself in my skull.
MRS. TROTSKY: Yes, dear.
TROTSKY: That is why I have forbidden any of the servants to allow ice picks into the house.
MRS. TROTSKY: But Leon—
TROTSKY: No one may be seen with an ice pick in this house. Especially not Spanish Communists.
MRS. TROTSKY: But Leon—
TROTSKY: We’ll do without ice. We’ll drink our liquor neat and our Coca-Cola warm. Who cares if this is Coyoacan in August? Hmm. Not a bad song-tide, that. “Coyoacan in August.” (Writes it down.) Or we’ll get ice, but we just won’t pick at it. Ice will be allowed into the house in blocks, but may not be picked or chipped under any circumstances—at least, not with ice picks. Ice-cube trays will also be allowed, if they’ve been invented yet. I’ll bet this article doesn’t say anything about an ice-cube tray in my skull, does it?
MRS. TROTSKY: No …
TROTSKY: Does it?
MRS. TROTSKY: No.
TROTSKY: HA! I’ve outsmarted destiny! (To audience.) Which is only a capitalist explanation for the status quo!
MRS. TROTSKY: Leon …
TROTSKY: Also—look at this. (Opens a desk drawer and takes out a skull.) Do you know what this is?
MRS. TROTSKY: No.
TROTSKY: It’s a skull.
MRS. TROTSKY: Well I knew that, but—