by Eric Lane
MURRAY: Forget it.
MIKE: You think I’m just some jock, I don’t think about what I’m gonna leave on this earth, what’s my contribution? I have a philosophy too, Murray; you’re not the only one who can sit around with his head up his ass thinking.
MURRAY: Shouldn’t have brought it up.
MIKE: “You get the kid you deserve, man,” that’s what I say. You want a tough kid—smart, shrewd, whatever—you gotta be tougher, smarter, you gotta challenge that little son of a bitch every day so that one night when he says he’s goin’ out and you tell him no—he reaches back and BAM! An hour later you wake up, he is gone.
MURRAY: I’m not sure I—
MIKE: It’s about desire, Murray, the instillation of desire. Got nothing to do with genes. I mean sure, I can sit around complaining about my eyes or maybe, maybe what I need to do is one night I get behind the wheel, go for a little ride around the neighborhood whether I can see or not. Otherwise, I walk out of a restaurant some night, I get blown away by some guy with superior night vision, whose fault is that? Now intelligence, I don’t know maybe that’s different, IQ and stuff, maybe that’s something you just get a certain amount of at birth and you’re stuck, but I tell you one thing, I don’t care how big, how strong, how fast: my kid is going to make his living with this.
(He taps his temple.)
MURRAY: I didn’t know you wanted kids, Mike.
MIKE: Course I want kids, that’s the human function. Reproduce yourself. Now you look at Steve.
MURRAY: He has no kids.
MIKE: No I’m saying look at Steve, physically, he’s got it all. And that wasn’t just some gift, the guy works out like four times a day, right? But what do you think he does the rest of the day?
MURRAY: Eats?
MIKE: Murray.
MURRAY: Sleeps?
MIKE: Makes money. He runs a profitable health club business by using his head. He’s a nonquitter when he runs, he’s a nonquitter when he’s, whatever, making money. That is Steve … Fact, if you’re really serious about this thing …
MURRAY: No.
MIKE: You should ask. He’s perfect.
MURRAY: No.
MIKE: Steve has got DNA that would make any man proud. You should walk out there right now, what’ve you got to lose?
MURRAY: (Overlapping.) I’m not going to do that.
MIKE: Because you’re not serious.
MURRAY: No.
MIKE: Because it’s too embarrassing, you’re worried about—
MURRAY: That’s not it.
MIKE: What people will say.
MURRAY: No!
MIKE: Why not then?!
MURRAY: He said no.
MIKE: … You already …
MURRAY: Yeah … he said no.
MIKE: Who else?
MURRAY: Nobody.
MIKE: Come on, who else besides Steve turned ya down?
MURRAY: Nobody!
MIKE: You must have asked Tom—he presses 280.
MURRAY: Look, I’m sorry, it’s just that—
MIKE: Hey, I understand: Steve is an obvious first choice.
MURRAY: No, it’s just that—
MIKE: You know what does bother me though, and this is something I’ve noticed about you, is the way you just assume that you’re the one with all the human instincts.
MURRAY: Can we just drop—
MIKE: Like I wouldn’t know how to hold a kid or something. I’d break it, I’d lose it or something. A kid needs more than a shoulder to cry on, Murray, he needs more than a little mouse pad and computer lessons to know how to compete in that global fucking slime pit out there. Truth is, I think I’m the one who should raise this kid and I will tell you why.
(MURRAY stands to go.)
No wait a minute.
MURRAY: Mike, I wouldn’t have a kid with you if you were the last man on earth.
(MURRAY turns off the overhead light, exits.)
MIKE: (Fumbling after him.) You—hey, come back here. HEY! You fucking loser! I wouldn’t have your kid if you fucking—
(MIKE burns his hand on the heater.)
Ow, shit shit shit shit shit SHIT! … Limp-wristed son of a … FUCK-ING LOSER!
(Door opens, figure enters, flips the light on.) …
Steve.
STEVE: (Fresh from the pool, wearing a racing suit.) Hey, Mike. You want the light off?
MIKE: (Hiding his burned hand.) No, that’s okay, I’m just, I’m done.
(STEVE sidles past. MIKE watches from behind as STEVE spreads out his towel and prepares to sit. MIKE gets an idea.)
Hey, Steve …
STEVE: Yeah?
MIKE: You ever have any trouble at night? You know, seeing?
END OF PLAY
MERE VESSELS
Mikhail Horowitz
Mere Vessels was first performed as a staged reading on November 13, 2004, at Actors & Writers, the Odd Fellows Theatre, Olivebridge, New York, as part of the Actors & Writers Fall Shorts Festival 2004. The cast was as follows:
MANNY David Smilow
SHORTY Brian MacReady
ZEKE John Seidman
ZEB Sarah Chodoff
The play received its first Equity production on May 8, 2005, as part of the Stageworks/Hudson Play-by-Play Festival in Hudson, New York. Directed by Deena Pewtherer, the cast included:
MANNY Terry Rabine
SHORTY Justin Gibbs
ZEKE Eileen Schuyler
ZEB Sandra Blaney
CHARACTERS
ZEKE: A Christian ventriloquist.
ZEB: Zeke’s dummy.
MANNY: A Jewish ventriloquist.
SHORTY: Manny’s dummy.
NOTE TO THE ACTORS
ZEKE speaks in a bright, neighborly, confident voice; ZEB has a goofy, aw-shucks-folks voice; MANNY has a jaded, quintessentially New York flavor to his voice; SHORTY is a quick, sarcastic little smart aleck.
Both ZEKE and MANNY should manipulate the actors playing ZEB and SHORTY in ways appropriate to the action when the dummies are speaking.
The characters are male, but ZEB may be played by a female actor and called ZEBINA.
Backstage, such as it is, at a rural community center. ZEKE is sitting with ZEB on his knee as MANNY enters, carrying SHORTY, whom he places on his knee.
ZEKE: (Beaming.) Greetings, brother!
MANNY: Uh, yeah. Hi. How ya doin’.
ZEKE: (After an expectant pause.) Here for the benefit?
MANNY: Well, I’m not here for the climate or the cuisine.
SHORTY: Hey, there’s always the wooden conversation!
ZEKE: (To SHORTY, chuckling good-naturedly.) And greetings to you, little brother! Zeke’s the name, short for Ezekiel. And this here’s Zeb …
ZEB: … awwwww, short for Zebedee.
ZEKE: And who, pray tell, do we have the pleasure of addressing?
MANNY: I’m Manny, short for cash, and this is Shorty, short for …
SHORTY: (Using a W. C. Fields voice for the first two words.) … longitudinally attenuated. But never upstaged—not by this chip-off-the-old-lip-mover, anyway.
ZEKE: Well, Zeb and I think it’s right neighborly of y’all to pitch in for this benefit.
ZEB: Eee-yup. We shore do appreci—
SHORTY: (Interrupting.) Zip it, Zeb. (To MANNY.) Hey, boss, we’ve been here two minutes and that’s the second time I’ve heard the “B” word. What’s the deal? We got a religious prohibition against getting paid?
MANNY: (To ZEKE.) You’ll have to excuse my curmudgeon homunculus over here. He has a woodpecker in his pants and it keeps him up at night.
SHORTY: Hey, that’s my material!
MANNY: (Ignoring him.) So, uhhh, Zeke, right? Listen, Zeke: Shorty and I have had a pretty hectic touring schedule this month and we’re pretty much flying blind here … Y’see, we let our agent do the booking and she doesn’t always hip us to which gigs are which or to the specific requirements of each venue. We just show up on time, wherever the tour itinerary
happens to stipulate. So, according to you …
ZEKE: (Chuckling.) And Zeb—don’t forget Zeb!
MANNY: Yeah, Zeb. So, uhh, you said this gig is a benefit?
ZEKE: For the Suffer the Little Children Bible School. You know why it’s called that, don’t ya, Zeb?
ZEB: Ahh shore do, Zeke, because Jee-sus said, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God.”
(Pause, as both MANNY and SHORTY look on speechlessly, with dropped jaws.)
Awww, Mark, 10:14.
SHORTY: Earth to Manny! Earth to Manny! A little bird, possibly the woodpecker in my pants, just told me it’s time for a new agent!
MANNY: (To ZEKE.) So, this is a fund-raiser? For a fundamentalist school?
ZEKE: (Beaming.) Bringing the Full Gospel to the little angels of Waxahachie County. See, Zeb and I have been doing the Lord’s work on the Christian vent circuit for nine years now, ever since Zeb got saved. Why don’t you testify to these good folks about the healing power of belief in Jesus, Zeb?
SHORTY: (To MANNY.) Listen, boss, the least you can do is put me back in my case.
ZEB: Awwww, yuh see, I wuz like to be dyin’ of termites, and it was Brother Howell up to Willimotchee Falls who put the holy spirit on me and cast ’em out, ah-huh, ah-huh! And awwww, ever since that happy day, I’ve been filled with the Lord’s Word, awwwwww, as it comes through Brother Zeke.
ZEKE: A-men!
MANNY: (Aside.) Christ on a crepe!
SHORTY: (Aside.) Halle-fuckin’-lujah.
ZEKE: That’s why we’re so happy to meet y’all: why up until today Zeb and I never did hear tell of any vents from New York who spread the Good News.
ZEB: Aw-yup, for it is written, “Not in bread alone doth man live, but in every word that proceedeth from the mouth of God, aww, through Brother Zeke.” Awwww, Matthew, 4:4.
SHORTY: (To MANNY.) Well, Brother Onan, are you gonna tell him or am I?
MANNY: Look, Zeke. I don’t know how we’re billed on this program, but someone has been misinformed. With all due respect, I am not a Christian ventriloquist, and Shorty is not a Christian dummy.
SHORTY: I’m not a dummy, period—I’m a mahogany American.
MANNY: And I’m Jewish. OK, barely so, I grant you, because I’m a Reconstructionist. And Shorty, truth be told, is an atheist.
(At the mention of the “A” word, ZEB audibly gasps and drops his jaw.)
So obviously, this is all a mistake on the part of our agent. To put it as kindly and gently as possible, the act that Shorty and I do would be eminently unsuitable for this crowd.
ZEB: Aww … aww … what did you say that Shorty was?
ZEKE: Yes, we’d like to hear it from his own lips.
MANNY: Very well. Shorty?
SHORTY: A-hem. I, Shorty McGorty, am an atheist. An unbeliever. A person completely unswayed by any argument for the reality of a Creator. There is no God, and neither Jesus, Moses, Mohammed, or Joseph Smith is his prophet—especially Joseph Smith. Moreover, I am a polynotheist, in that I entertain a profound lack of belief in many gods—Allah, Brahma, Rama, Lama, Dingdong, Jehovah, Yahweh, Hisweh, Herweh—none of them exist, never have, never will, and the show would go on with a lot less grief if we gave ’em all the hook!
ZEB: (Beginning to sneeze.) Heh … hehhh … HEHHHH …
ZEKE: Lookee here. Y’all got Zeb so rattled, he’s like to sneeze.
ZEB: HEHHHHHH-CHOOOO!
SHORTY: Great. Not only is God dead, but apparently, whatever he died of was contagious.
ZEB: (Becoming irate.) Awwww, you shush up, you … you … do you know what the Lord does to those who don’t believe in him?
SHORTY: No, but it can’t be any worse than having to follow a troop of flag-waving poodles at a matinee in Branson, Missouri.
ZEB: Awwww, it’s a lot worse than that, ahhh-yup! “And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the pool of fire.” Awwww, Revelation, 20:15.
MANNY: (To ZEKE.) Hey, Zeke, let’s cut the crap, OK? Let’s leave the little guys out of this. If you have something to say to me and, by extension, to Shorty—whose opinions, I might add, are not necessarily those of his manipulator—I would appreciate it if you said it directly to my face, and not through the medium of your mannikin.
ZEKE: (Calm, measured.) Well, sir, I’ll say this. Although you, as a poor, lost sinner who has not yet opened his heart to Jesus, might think otherwise, the truth is that little Zeb here is no more my “medium” than I am his “manipulator.” No, Zeb and I are both mere vessels for the Living Word. Verily, Lord Prince Jesus is the greatest and truest ventriloquist of us all, and I am unto Him as Zeb is unto me, and it is His voice, not mine, that animates us both.
ZEB: Awww, yuh took the words right out of my mouth.
MANNY: OK. Let’s see if I’ve got this right. Essentially, what you’re telling me is that you, Zeke, have a direct line to God. And that whenever … Woody Two-shoes over there opens his mouth it is not you, Zeke, who speaks, but God Himself—the Lord of Creation, the Master of the Universe, who has given to us his beloved son, Pinocchio.
ZEKE: Take good care, brother. God shall not be mocked.
SHORTY: Hey, it’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it.
MANNY: Zeke, ol’ buddy, it’s been, well, revelatory. But considering that we are but a moment’s sunlight, fading in the grass—Jesse Colin Young, 4:14—it’s time to bid you both a fond fondue. Let’s go, Shorty. We got a flaming chariot to catch.
SHORTY: Thank, if you’ll pardon the expression, God. Hey, Zeb, there’s a library leaving at five o’clock—be under it.
ZEB: (Growing very agitated.) Awwww, awwww …
(He suddenly begins to shake and speak gibberish.)
HAGGAMAGGACHAGGANOOKACHAGGA-NOOKAMAGGAWALLYMAGGAWALLYWALLY (etc.).
(MANNY and SHORTY, who have been exiting, stop and turn. ZEB continues to speak gibberish for the duration of the following exchange, fading out briefly when ZEKE speaks and then resuming his glossolalia, shaking violently the whole time.)
MANNY: (After a pause.) Uh, what’s with Zeb?
ZEKE: Brother Zebedee, my friends, has been possessed by the Holy Spirit. He is speaking in tongues.
SHORTY: (Looks at his watch.) Gee, I don’t know what’s keeping that retarded kid with the banjo.
ZEB: (Raising his voice and shouting out the last words.) GOLATCHAMATCHAWATCHA!
(He collapses.)
SHORTY: Holy shit.
MANNY: Is, uhh, is he all right?
ZEKE: He is more than all right. He has been blessed.
ZEB: (Who from this point on speaks normally.) O glory, glory, glory be to Jesus! He has cured me of my speech impediment! He has performed this miracle to show the way for the godless brother among us! Let us pray for Brother Shorty, that he may renounce the crown of Satan!
ZEKE: He has called you, Brother Shorty! Would you stop your ears and harden your heart to the pleas of Jesus?
MANNY: His ears are already stopped, you moron—they’re wood.
SHORTY: Hang on a sec, boss. I’ve got to admit that I’m strangely … moved by what I’ve just seen. I mean, how did Zeb suddenly lose his goofy speech pattern?
MANNY: Shorty, don’t do this to me! You know as well as I do that Zeb never had any speech patterns, goofy or otherwise, that weren’t Zeke’s! It’s just a stupid trick! I can do the same thing, OK? I can make you sound just as brain-dead as Zeb:
SHORTY: (Assuming ZEB’s old voice.) Awwww, shoot, folks, I reckon I’m just a little ol’ stoopid country bumpkin who’s just bumpkining along with sawdust in mah cerebellum … oops, didn’t mean to use a word of more than three syllables, awww, ah-yup, ah-yup …
(He suddenly reverts, angrily, to his old voice.)
Hey, knock it off, boss! I’m serious, here! I’m feeling really … weird … look, I’m getting goose bumps!
MANNY: Those are knots in the wood and you know it, Shorty!
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br /> ZEKE: Cast him out, Brother Shorty! Renounce the servant of Satan who keeps the praise of Jesus from thy lips!
ZEB: Come, Brother Zeke! Let us do a laying on of hands!
(ZEKE and ZEB each place a hand upon Shorty.)
MANNY: GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DUMMY, YOU IDIOTS!
(SHORTY begins to shake.)