Up the Garden Path & The Adventures of the Black Girl in Her Search for God
Page 10
the almighty: No you haven’t.
the lord of hosts: Yes he hath. Thou dost thinketh of Malachi. Micah hath six.
the almighty: No, that’s Amos.
micah: No, Amos has eight.
the almighty: You’re wrong!
micah: (simultaneously) No, you’re wrong!
the lord of hosts: (simultaneously) No, you’re wrongeth!
black girl: You’re all wrong. Malachi has four, Amos has nine and Micah has seven.
the almighty: Let me see that.
the almighty snatches the Bible out of the black girl’s hands.
black girl: Hey!
the almighty tears through the Bible. micah and the lord of hosts push and shove for a piece of the good book. The black girl tries to get in the mix with a few pokes from her rod but the almighty is an expert at keep away. Pages go flying. Everyone’s pretty much talking at once now.
the almighty: Where is it?
the lord of hosts: Nay, too far.
black girl: Stop it!
micah: There, there!
the lord of hosts: Thou art in the New Testament.
black girl: Be careful!
the almighty: Just let me —
the lord of hosts: Giveth it unto me!
the almighty: Oh shuteth upeth!
micah: Give it here, they’re my chapters!
the almighty grabs a chunk of pages and tosses the rest of the Bible away. More pages go flying.
the almighty: I got it!
black girl: What are you doing?
the lord of hosts and micah go after him.
the lord of hosts: Nay, let me see! / Let me see!
micah: no! no!
black girl: Come back here! I need those!
The black girl grabs the rod and the rest of the Bible along with the scattered pages and heads off after the lord of hosts, micah and the almighty.
Scene 3
The black girl bumps smack into a passing king solomon.
The pages she’s collected go flying and flutter out of reach, so like she’s making it rain . . . but not in a good way.
black girl: Oh no, my pages!
king solomon: Just let them go.
black girl: I can’t. I need them.
king solomon watches the black girl scramble to retrieve her pages but doesn’t help, like even when pages are well within his reach. black girl ad libs “come on,” “oh no,” etc.
Would it kill you to help me?
king solomon: It might. I mean, we are all headed toward the gate of nothingness.
black girl: Get outta the way.
king solomon: You’re wasting your energy. To every thing there is a season. A time to get —
He catches a page.
black girl: Thank you.
king solomon: — and a time to lose.
He throws it away.
black girl: hey!
More catch and release from king solomon.
king solomon: Pages or no pages, your road still ends at the grave.
black girl: Stop that!
king solomon: Take the world as it comes, ’cause there’s nothing beyond this, and in the shadow of that nothingness everything is vanity.
The black girl grabs a handful of pages from king solomon.
black girl: I am searching for God and this is the only guide I got. It’s not gonna work if most of it is missing.
king solomon: This is why you should seek no further than the end of your nose. You’ll know something’s beyond that, and in that knowledge you’ll be hopeful and happy.
black girl: I’ll be hopeful and happy when I find God.
king solomon: How can you be sure?
black girl: Because I’ll finally have answers to all my questions. I’ll be filled with knowledge instead of lies and made-up stories.
The black girl tries to put her Bible back together.
king solomon: I hate to break this to you, but when you increase your knowledge, you increase sorrow. But sorrow is better than laughter and the end of a thing better than the beginning of it, so —
black girl: You ever say stuff that’s not so depressing?
king solomon: (recites) “It is better to dwell in a corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman in a wide house.”
black girl: Huh?
king solomon: That’s one of my three thousand proverbs . . . but I guess that one leaves more of an impression if like me you’ve got seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines to —
black girl: Who are you?
king solomon: King Solomon.
black girl gives him nothing.
Son of David.
black girl: Ohhhh!
king solomon: Yup, everyone knows him — but I guess when you kill a giant and deliver two hundred Philistine foreskins . . .
black girl: What are / fore —
king solomon: Still, I built God his first house, built myself a palace — You should come by. When I’m not resolving disputes and giving advice, I’m entertaining visitors / from —
black girl: Could you give me some advice?
king solomon: Of course I can.
black girl: Where can I find God?
king solomon takes a deep breath.
king solomon: Yeah . . . um, God and I had a bit of a falling out after some of my wives got me worshiping their gods — But you know, it’s hard to say no to a Zidonian woman. One minute you’re walking in God’s way, keeping his statues and commandments . . . and the next you’re making room in the palace to worship the goddess Ashtoreth — But you know, that was a momentary slip. Now I fear God and keep his commandments. But God will be God, so I’ve still got to pay for my mistakes — Well not me really, more my son, and the generations to come, but —
black girl: So you can’t help me.
king solomon: Hey hey hey, just because I can’t help you find god doesn’t mean I can’t help you with . . . other things.
black girl: Like what?
king solomon makes his move.
king solomon: There’s room in my palace for another wife.
black girl: Don’t you already got like a ton of wives?
king solomon: Until a man has known many women he cannot know the value of any. For example, I did not know what I had in my thirty-first wife, until I married my four hundred and sixty-first.
black girl: How many husbands do your wives have?
king solomon: Why would my wives need other husbands but me?
black girl: Shouldn’t your wives get to learn your value through a whole bunch of husbands too?
king solomon: That’s different.
black girl: But how are they supposed to know your value unless they have known as many men as you’ve known women?
Denied.
king solomon: Okay, you know what, maybe things aren’t going to work out between us.
black girl: This is why I need to speak with God. I need to know why there are some rules for you and different ones for me? I want to understand why —
king solomon: (quoting himself to himself) This is why “it is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and angry woman.”
black girl: I’m not angry. I just want to know why —
king solomon: Sometimes you can’t know why. No matter how wise you are (and I’m wise) you cannot know the work of God. It just cannot be known unless you are God.
black girl: Well then maybe I gotta be like God.
king solomon: That is vanity!
black girl: Maybe I have to be more like God in this search if I’m gonna find him.
(to herself) But how do I be like God when I don’t even know who he is?
king
solomon: Like I said before, I can’t help you there.
king solomon leaves.
the conjurer: (off stage) But I can!
Ta da! the conjurer materializes. He’s a transient-looking “white” dude in sunglasses.
(to the black girl) So, you’re in search of God.
black girl: Yeah.
the conjurer: Well look no further. God’s within you, within me too.
black girl: But then what is he?
the conjurer: Our father.
black girl: But I never knew my father. He was always far away in the mines.
the conjurer: Having a father that is (looks up to the heavens) far far away can be a challenge, but we can’t let that stop us from loving one another like brother and sister.
black girl: But my brothers were no better. After our mother died, they brought me to a missionary who deserted me.
the conjurer: Okay, so let’s drop the family. It’s only a metaphor, a way of saying love one another.
black girl: But I don’t want everyone to love me because I can’t love everybody. Sometimes all I want to do is hit people.
the conjurer: You must resist that impulse.
black girl: But what about people who rob, can’t I hit them?
the conjurer: No.
black girl: How ’bout people who kill?
the conjurer: No.
black girl: How ’bout people who rob and —
the conjurer: Why must you remind me of these people?
black girl: Forgetting about them is not going to make ’em go away.
the conjurer: We must love one another.
black girl: Do you love me?
the conjurer: Let’s not make this personal.
black girl: ’Cause there are plenty of people around here who don’t, white people like you who swear that two blacks don’t even make half a white. Why should I love them if they don’t love me?
the conjurer: We must love those that hate us and bless those that curse us. Though you are black and I am white, we are both equal before God who made us.
black girl: What good does that do me here and now?
Grumbling, fumbling and mumbling from the artist (off stage) as he approaches. He ad libs in Italian, “Torna qui! Abbiamo del lavoro de fare! No si può nascondere da me!”2 etc.
the conjurer: Oh God. (in confidence) help me hide!
black girl: What?!
the conjurer: quick!
black girl: Okay okay.
The black girl helps the conjurer to hide as the artist wheezes on with crucifixion stuff. Maybe a giant cross, a crown of thorns, a bucket of fake blood, a bunch of canvases, sketches and painting supplies. Whatever you decide, it should be weird.
the artist: (out of breath) Dove è andato? dove è andato?!3
black girl: What?
the conjurer does something to reveal his hiding spot.
the artist: Ah ha! Posso vederti! Vieni fuori e tornare al lavoro! Now! Or I dock your pay, pigrone.4
the conjurer: Oh come on, I was just taking a break.
the artist: La pausa era finita fifteen minutes ago, now back to work.5
the conjurer: Oh how I wish I could afford to give up posing in this ridiculous position.
the artist: It’s not my fault people idolized you as the Morendo Malfattore.6 They want to see you on that cross bleeding and dying for sins. They want to feel your dolore . . . sofferenza and then ahhh, salvation!7 And it is my job as famous Italian Renaissance painter to give the people what they want. So, get in position or you not get paid!
the conjurer gets into position on the cross with his ankles crossed and arms stretched out. the artist begins to sketch on a large canvas, sketch pad or whatever you decided.
the conjurer: What’s it matter? Pay’s barely enough for me to go and do the work I love.
black girl: What work is that?
the artist: Lui è un mago.8
the conjurer: I am not a magician.
the artist: You walk on the water!
the conjurer: I give people good advice and tell them wholesome truths —
the artist: But nobody listen to him unless he does the magic trick.
black girl: Ooooh can I see one?
the artist: See what I tell you!
the conjurer sighs and then produces a cup from nowhere.
the conjurer: (to black girl) Take this and drink in remembrance of me.
The black girl takes the cup and drinks.
black girl: Wow that was —
the conjurer: Magnificent, incredible. I’ve heard it all before. You know, when I speak everyone says what a wonderful man I am, and that there’s been nobody like me ever on earth, but then they go on being foolish —
the artist: Chest out —
the conjurer: — and wicked and cruel.
the artist: — arms teso — 9
the conjurer: If they’d just listen to me —
the artist: — gambe tighter — 10
the conjurer: — they would be happier and better.
the artist: testa bassa!11
the conjurer: You know, sometimes I feel like God has forsaken me!
the artist: perfetto! This is exact mood we want!12
the artist continues to sketch and the conjurer (from his extremely uncomfortable position on the cross) produces another cup out of nowhere. The black girl reaches for it but this one’s for the conjurer.
black girl: Why would God forsake you? You seem nice enough.
the conjurer: Yeah, but I haven’t fasted; / I’ve broken the Sabbath; / I have been kind to women who were no better than they should be; / I have been unkind to my mother and shunned my family —
the artist: Oh.
Sì.13
Bene bene.14
Don’t forget glutton and winebibber!
the conjurer: And now wearing this stupid costume and posing in this ridiculous position!
the artist: (to the conjurer) Grande, grande!15 We just need . . . ah ha! Più sangue!16
(to the black girl) You. Make yourself useful and blood him up — oh and straighten his wig.
black girl: He wears a wig?
the artist: Lui è un tizio asiatico — 17
the conjurer: Shhhhh!
The black girl inspects the conjurer closely.
black girl: Hey wait a second . . .
The black girl pulls the conjurer’s wig and sunglasses off.
the conjurer: No!
black girl: Why you dressed up as a white guy?
the conjurer: I’m already an outcast and wanderer, no one would listen to me if I looked like this.
black girl: I would.
the artist: I would not. Now blood him up. Start with face and then let it run down!
the conjurer: He’s right, a man like me can’t appeal to the masses.
black girl: Doesn’t that depend on which masses you’re talking about?
the artist: (in actor’s regular voice) No. It depends on the mass that has the most power and influence.
black girl: Hey what happened to your / voice?
the artist: And for that mass, great painters are Italian and saviours are white.
black girl: But why —
the artist: That’s just how it is, so we must all play our part.
black girl: If you ask me, both of you should just be yourselves.
the artist and the conjurer just stare at the black girl. Beat.
the artist: Are you gonna blood him up or not?
black girl: Not.
the artist: (again in Italian, coming at the conjurer with more blood) Madre di dio! Perché devo fare tutto da solo?!18
the conjurer: I ne
ed a break.
the artist: Senza più pause!19
the conjurer: This position is hard to hold. I need to stretch.
the conjurer bolts and the artist goes after him.
the artist: Merda! Torna qui bastardo pigro!20
Scene 4
Out of nowhere a caravan moves in and surrounds the black girl. The physicist, biologist and mathematician (a.k.a. Caravan of the Curious) are in a heated debate. The naturalist is there too but he’s just eating peanuts. The black bearer is carrying all of the caravan’s shit and maybe even some members of the caravan. It’s a ridiculous amount of stuff for one man to carry.
biologist: The sun is losing its heat and we shall all presently die of cold!
physicist: You have just as much reason to believe that the sun is getting hotter and hotter and will eventually cremate us all alive!
biologist: What comfort is there in that? Either way we perish!
mathematician: When I perish, I hope it is in a well-ventilated / bedroom.
physicist: Yes, our bodies will perish, but what of the something that can exist in the hottest crater of the sun? Even our great grandmothers, who believed in a brimstone hell, knew that the “soul” (as they called it) could live eternally in flames!
The mathematician spots the black girl and goes up to her. The biologist and physicist continue to argue ad lib “the sun is hot,” “that’s not the point,” etc. The naturalist keeps eating peanuts.
mathematician: (to black girl) What do you think you’re doing? You cannot stop here.
black girl: Why not. I was here first.
mathematician: This is a private expedition.
black girl: Then you move.
mathematician: (to black bearer) Take her away.
The black bearer leads the black girl away and the mathematician returns to the argument with the physicist and biologist. The naturalist is still just packing in the peanuts.
black bearer: Come on.
black girl: What expedition is this?
black bearer: Caravan of the Curious.
black girl: Ooooh.
The black girl shakes off the black bearer and goes back to the caravan.
black bearer: Get back here!
black girl: Why do you call yourselves the Caravan of the Curious?
mathematician: (to black bearer) I told you to get rid of her.
black bearer: I —