Writing for Nothing

by Martin Crimp

  wet with spit.

  The minister’s wife says – says to the minister –

  minister’s wife – says – ah – ah – says to the

  minister – minister’s wife – ah – ah – says to the

  says to the says to the minister – ah – says –

  ah – says –

  Where is my child? – my child – says to the minister

  WHERE IS MY CHILD?

  2 appears in the distance, not visible to 1.

  [2 As dolly was milking her cow one day …]

  1 MY CHILD.

  [2 … Tom took his pipe and began for to play …]

  1 WHERE IS MY CHILD?

  2 Here – look – in the light – look – ha! – can’t you see?

  1 Where? What light?

  2 Inside the Little Hill – under the earth – we’re burrowing under the earth – ha! – can’t you see?

  1 There is no light under the earth: don’t – says the minister’s wife – tell lies. Come home to us.

  2 Oh yes there is light under the earth

  streams of hot metal

  ribbons of magnesium

  particles

  particles of light

  1 Don’t lie to us: come home.

  2 And the deeper we burrow the brighter it burns – ha! – can’t you see?

  1 Don’t lie to us. A child can’t burrow under the earth.

  2 streams of hot metal

  ribbons of magnesium

  particles

  particles of light.

  1 Don’t lie to us: come home.

  2 This is our home. Our home is under the earth. With the angel under the earth. And the deeper we burrow the brighter his music burns.

  Can’t you see?

  Can’t you see?

  Can’t you see?

  Written on Skin

  after the anonymous thirteenth-century razo

  Guillem de Cabestanh – Le Coeur Mangé

  Music

  George Benjamin

  Text

  Martin Crimp

  Commissioned by the Festival d’Aix-en-Provence,

  De Nederlandse Opera (Amsterdam),

  Théâtre du Capitole (Toulouse),

  Royal Opera House Covent Garden, London,

  Teatro del Maggio Musicale Fiorentino

  The writer and composer would like to express their gratitude to Bernard Foccroulle, general director of the Festival d’Aix-en-Provence, for his support throughout the gestation and composition of this work.

  Text copyright © Martin Crimp 2012

  Written on Skin was first performed at the Festival d’Aixen-Provence, with the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, conducted by the composer, at the Grand Théâtre de Provence, on 7 July 2012. The cast was as follows:

  The Protector Christopher Purves

  Agnès Barbara Hannigan

  Angel 1 / The Boy Bejun Mehta

  Angel 2 / Marie Rebecca Jo Loeb

  Angel 3 / John Allan Clayton

  Stage Director Katie Mitchell

  Sets and Costumes Vicki Mortimer

  Lighting Jon Clark

  Characters

  The Protector

  baritone

  Agnès, his wife

  soprano

  Angel 1 / The Boy

  counter-tenor

  Angel 2 / Marie

  mezzo-soprano

  Angel 3 / John

  tenor

  Part One

  I CHORUS OF ANGELS

  Angels 2 and 3 Strip the cities of brick

  dismantle them.

  Strip out the wires and cover the land with grass.

  Angel 2 Force chrome and aluminium back into the earth.

  Angel 3 Cancel all flights

  from the international airport

  Angels 2 and 3 and people the sky with angels.

  Angel 1 Erase the Saturday car park from the marketplace

  rub out the white lines.

  Angels 2 and 3 Shatter the printing-press.

  Make each new book a precious object

  written on skin.

  Angel 1 Make way for the wild primrose and slow

  torture of criminals.

  Fade out the living: snap back the dead to life.

  Agnès and the Protector are revealed / enter.

  Angel 2 The woman?

  Angel 1 Was married age fourteen.

  Can’t write. Not taught to read.

  Grey eyed. Intelligent. No children.

  Angel 3 And the man?

  And the man?

  Angel 1 The man is her husband and protector. Calm.

  Powerful.

  Addicted to purity and violence.

  II THE PROTECTOR, AGNÈS AND THE BOY

  Protector Stand here. Look.

  My house is perfect.

  At night stars wheel over my vines

  according to the strict mechanism of the world.

  And by day –

  says the Protector –

  fruit-trees, blue heads of iris,

  pink cups of eglantine turn to the sun.

  I own the fields:

  I own everyone in them.

  Every beech, each visible oak

  is as much my property as my dog

  my mill-stream

  or my wife’s body –

  her still and obedient body –

  is my property.

  Make me a book.

  Fill it with illumination.

  Paint me the life to come

  paint deeds of angels:

  show me graves opening

  the damned shovelled into ovens

  and the just – us – us – my family – the pure and just –

  show us in our rightful place:

  show us in Paradise.

  Boy A book costs money, says the Boy.

  Protector I’ll give you money.

  Boy A book needs long days of light.

  Protector I’ll give you money. I’ll give you light.

  But first: show me proof.

  Boy The Boy takes from his satchel

  an illuminated page.

  First miniature: a work of mercy.

  This – says the Boy – shows a Work of Mercy:

  here – look – three men – all starving –

  two wheeling on this cart the third.

  And here’s a rich man – see him? –

  in a red satin coat lined with green.

  In his face

  round his eyes

  see his expression

  as he offers the three sick men wine and bread:

  not just kind – explains the Boy – kind is too easy –

  but merciful.

  Agnès No! says the woman.

  Nobody here starves. Nobody here begs. What does

  this Boy want? What does this thing this picture mean?

  Protector But the Protector takes the page gently to the

  window

  looks deeper and deeper into the page –

  recognises in the rich and merciful painted man

  himself.

  Says to his wife:

  His talent’s clear. I’m satisfied.

  You will welcome him into our house.

  III CHORUS OF ANGELS

  Angel 2 Stone the Jew:

  make him wear yellow.

  Angel 3 Crusade against the Moslem:

  map out new territory with blood.

  Angel 2 Invent the world.

  Angel 3 In seven days invent the whole world.

  Angel 2 Invent …

  Angel 3 in a single day …

  Angel 2 sun –

  Angel 3 moon – man –

  Angel 2 Invent man and drown him.

  Angel 3 Good.

  Angel 2 Burn him alive.

  Angel 3 Good.

  Angel 2 Bulldoze him screaming into a pit.

  Angel 3 Good.

  Angel 2 Invent a woman.

  Angel 3 Invent her.

  Strip her.

/>   Dress her. Strip her again.

  Angel 2 Take her naked out of the toy-box.

  Play house with her.

  Angel 3 Play families. Play birth and death. Blame her.

  Angel 2 Blame her for everything.

  Blame her mouth.

  Blame her intelligence.

  Angel 3 Tint her flesh with a soft brush.

  Make her curious.

  IV AGNÈS AND THE BOY

  Agnès The woman takes off her shoes

  steps

  through a stone slit

  turns

  up the spiral stairs

  pads

  into the writing-room

  where the Boy

  ah

  yes

  look

  the Boy bends over a new page.

  What is it she feels between her bare feet

  and the wood floor?

  Grit.

  Boy What d’you want, says the Boy.

  Agnès To see, says the woman.

  Boy See what?

  Agnès To see – to see how a book is made.

  What is that tree?

  Boy The Tree, says the Boy, of Life.

  Agnès Ah. Odd.

  Boy I invented it.

  Agnès Ah. Yes. And who is this woman?

  Boy Eve, says the Boy.

  Agnès Ah.

  Boy Yes.

  Agnès Invented too?

  Boy Yes, says the Boy, invented too.

  Agnès She doesn’t look real, laughs the woman:

  that’s not how a woman looks.

  Boy You’re in my light, says the Boy.

  Agnès Oh?

  Boy Yes – too close.

  Agnès Oh? Too close in what way?

  Boy Too close to the page – you’re in my light.

  Agnès What else can you invent?

  Can you invent another woman, says the woman,

  not this, but a woman who’s real

  a woman who can’t sleep

  who keeps turning her white pillow

  over and over

  from the hot side to the cold side

  until the cold side’s hot?

  Can you invent that?

  Boy What is it you mean, says the Boy.

  Agnès And if the woman said, says the woman.

  Boy If the woman said what, says the Boy.

  Agnès Said – said – said –

  what if you invented a woman

  who said that she couldn’t sleep –

  who said that her heart split and shook

  at the sight of a boy

  the way light in a bowl of water

  splits and shakes on a garden wall –

  who said that her grey eyes

  at the sight of a boy

  turn black with love.

  Boy What boy? – says the Boy –

  Agnès You can decide what boy –

  Boy – what love?

  Agnès You can decide what love.

  Invent her –

  invent the woman you want:

  and when you know the colour of her eyes

  her length of hair

  the precise music of her voice –

  when you’ve quickened her pulse

  entered her mind

  tightened her skin over her back

  when you have invented and painted

  that exact woman

  come to me

  show her to me:

  I’ll tell you if she’s real.

  V THE PROTECTOR AND THE VISITORS JOHN AND MARIE

  Protector The Archer appears in the sky:

  the grapes are picked and crushed.

  The Protector inhales the wine

  watches hot blood from a pig’s throat

  spatter the snow at his visitors’ feet –

  thinks: my wife has changed –

  won’t eat – won’t speak to me –

  resents and avoids the Boy –

  Marie How are you, says Marie.

  Protector – turns away from me in bed

  pretends –

  Marie How is my sister, says Marie.

  Protector – to be sleeping

  but in the dark her eyes are wide open

  and all night

  I hear her eyelashes scrape the pillow

  click

  click

  like an insect.

  Marie How is my sister?

  Protector My wife? – my wife is well.

  Sweet and clean. Soft, still, obedient.

  Marie And your house?

  Protector Increasing in value daily:

  nobody starves – everyone freely obeys.

  Marie And the book?

  John Yes – how’s the book?

  Still eating money?

  Protector The book will be magnificent:

  the Boy

  works with azurite and gold.

  Both Boy and book are faultless.

  John Ah. Faultless.

  Protector The Boy – yes –

  John Ah.

  Protector – is faultless.

  Marie The Boy is faultless?

  John Don’t, Marie.

  Protector The Boy is – yes – yes – yes – is faultless.

  Marie What kind of man pays –

  pays to keep a boy like that in his own house?

  John Be quiet, Marie.

  Marie What kind of man sits a stranger

  next to his own wife

  at his own table?

  Protector Listen to me: I love the Boy.

  Anybody who faults the Boy faults me.

  Marie Nobody is faultless.

  Protector Do not fault the book, John.

  Marie Nobody on this earth is faultless.

  Protector Do not fault the Boy, Marie

  or you will not pass

  the black dog at my gate.

  VI AGNÈS AND THE BOY

  Agnès Woman – alone – night.

  Her visitors? Gone.

  Her husband?

  Sleeping in front of the kitchen fire.

  What can she hear inside of her?

  Her own voice.

  What does the voice want?

  To wind and to wind itself around another.

  Who does she catch

  click shut the black rectangle of the door?

  Boy Him. The Boy.

  Agnès What d’you want, says the woman.

  Boy To show you the page, says the Boy.

  Agnès What page?

  Boy Here.

  Agnès It’s dark.

  Boy Then concentrate.

  Second miniature: a house in winter.

  This – says the Boy – shows a house in winter:

  here – look – white stars – Orion –

  and in this wide blank space, the moon.

  See how I’ve lifted the roof

  like a jewel-box lid.

  Inside’s the woman – see her? –

  unable to sleep: buried in the hot white pillow

  her head feels heavy

  like stone.

  Round her legs

  round her arms

  I’ve twisted a lead-white sheet

  like a living person –

  and tightened her skin, darkened her veins with blood.

  This is the woman’s picture. Now you must tell me

  whether it’s real.

  Agnès It’s dark.

  Boy Then look more closely:

  what colour are her eyes?

  Agnès Grey – turning black – like my eyes now.

  Boy Like yours now.

  And her hair? Pay attention.

  Agnès Dark – damp – heavy – the weight of mine now.

  Boy Of your hair now.

  And her mind?

  Agnès You’ve given her my mind – skin – mouth –

  voice –

  Boy I’ve given her your mind – skin – mouth – voice –

  – says the Boy –

  Agnès – drawn
its exact music.

  Boy – drawn its exact music.

  And here

  under the bone –

  Agnès No.

  Boy – in the hot space between her ribs –

  Agnès No.

  Boy I’ve painted the woman’s heart.

  Agnès No! – not ‘the woman’ – I am Agnès.

  My name’s Agnès.

  Boy Agnès.

  Agnès What use to me is a picture?

  Boy Agnès.

  Agnès A picture – says Agnès – is nothing.

  Love’s not a picture: love is an act.

  End of Part One.

  Part Two

  VII THE PROTECTOR’S BAD DREAM

  Angels 2 and 3 People are saying –

  Protector People are saying what?

  Angels 2 and 3 Saying the book eats –

  Protector Saying the book eats what?

  Angels 2 and 3 TIME – CORN – RENT.

  Say it’s a crow eating the seed making the people –

  Protector What?

  Angels 2 and 3 talk – laugh – starve.

  Not just the book – say that the Boy –

  Protector Say that the Boy what?

  Angels 2 and 3 DRAWS – FROM – LIFE.

  Say there’s a page

  where the skin never dries –

  Protector Page where the what?

  Angels 2 and 3 SKIN – STAYS – DAMP.

  Angel 2 Wet like the white

  part of an egg –

  Angel 3 Wet like a woman’s mouth –

  wet where a woman screams shrieks

  shrieks like a fox

  shrieks in the night in a secret bed.

  Angel 2 Licking her lips

  flicking her tongue

  gripping the Boy in a secret bed.

  Angels 2 and 3 What kind of man WILL – NOT – SEE?

  What kind of man WILL – NOT – SEE?

  VIII THE PROTECTOR AND AGNÈS

  Protector The Protector wakes up

  feels in the half-light

  for the reassurance of a human body –

  puts out his hand to be reassured by a human body –

  feels for his wife –

  Where is she?

  Agnès Here – smiles Agnès – I’m here by the window.

  You were thrashing in your sleep. Why?

  Protector What is it you’re watching?

  Agnès Nothing. Sunrise. Plum-trees flowering.

  And smoke – why that black smoke in May?

  Protector We’re burning villages.

  Agnès Ah. Why?