by Rajiv Joseph
MR. WOLF: Oh. Yeah.
GIRL: Infinity is like counting. You can count forever. Numbers never end.
So the universe is kind of like counting.
So, I’m saying that there must be other solar systems in which the exact same circumstances hold true as for this one.
But!
Even as a different solar system or universe may have the exact same circumstances as this one, would there also be infinite other ones? That deviate only ever so slightly and so the world would be shifted—just so—in some other, small, yet radical direction in which what “wasn’t” “was”, and what “won’t be” “will”? And things that were “impossible” are “possible”?
(beat)
And people who were dead are still alive?
With this last statement, they stare at each other, something larger passing between them. It becomes tense for a moment, but then she breaks it, goes to the chalkboard . . .
GIRL: Anyhow.
She swings the chalkboard over, revealing a much different, dazzlingly illustrated galaxy.
Her drawings are beautiful—scientific, but gorgeous.
MR. WOLF: (in quiet awe of her) Oh, you have been drawing . . .
GIRL: z8 GND 5296.
MR. WOLF: Is that . . . Is that z8 GND 5296?
GIRL: This is how it would look if it was drawn with chalk.
MR. WOLF: How do you know?
GIRL: Because that’s how it looks.
MR. WOLF: (begins to tear up) God.
GIRL: (smiles, hopefully, at him) Your eyes are hot.
(notices something is wrong)
What?
What’s wrong? Why are you emotional?
What?
MR. WOLF: I have been to the store.
GIRL: Yes?
MR. WOLF: I have bought you things you have never seen.
GIRL: Okay.
MR. WOLF: I need to give you some things.
GIRL: Why?
MR. WOLF: Because.
GIRL: What are you going to give me?
MR. WOLF: (takes out a candy bar) This is a chocolate candy bar.
GIRL: Why?
MR. WOLF: There is no reason for it, but it exists.
It is . . .
It gives pleasure to certain people.
It exists for pleasure.
Eat it.
GIRL: Now?
MR. WOLF: Yes.
GIRL: What’s going on?
MR. WOLF: Eat it.
GIRL: I don’t want to eat it.
MR. WOLF: You don’t have to, but I think . . . I think you should.
It won’t hurt you, I promise you it won’t hurt you.
GIRL: It’s shiny.
MR. WOLF: Peel it like a banana.
Girl awkwardly unwraps the candy bar.
GIRL: It looks like feces.
MR. WOLF: Eat it.
GIRL: No.
MR. WOLF: You need to eat it. You need to know about it.
GIRL: Why. What’s going on? Why are you so . . . What’s going on? Your eyes are hot. I thought your eyes are hot because of z8 GND 5296.
MR. WOLF: They are . . .
GIRL: But now there is a chocolate candy bar. And now you are so late, you said you’d be home. And you’ve been to the store, and you are emotional and something is not right, I know when things are not right, what is going on?
MR. WOLF: The world is coming.
Long beat.
GIRL: How do you know?
MR. WOLF: The colleague.
GIRL: The woman?
MR. WOLF: Yes.
GIRL: You couldn’t lie?
MR. WOLF: I tried. It made it worse. The world is coming. It’s coming soon. Eat the chocolate candy.
GIRL: What else did you buy?
MR. WOLF: I bought you a warm coat.
GIRL: I have a coat.
MR. WOLF: This is one they will let you keep, I think. Because it is new.
He takes out a long puffy winter coat.
MR. WOLF: They will take you from here.
GIRL: I don’t want to go.
MR. WOLF: I know you don’t but . . .
GIRL: I want to stay here.
MR. WOLF: I explained to you . . .
GIRL: They can’t make me leave!
MR. WOLF: (quiet; near tears) Try some chocolate.
Girl looks at the chocolate bar. She decides to take a bite.
GIRL: (first time eating chocolate) Uhahuh!
Ah! What is . . .
Mmmmmm!
Is this the world?
MR. WOLF: It is part of it.
GIRL: Ohhh . . . It tastes good.
MR. WOLF: Sweet taste: good, but dangerous.
Because of sugar. Too much sugar can pain the stomach.
Eat it slowly, please.
She throws it away.
GIRL: I won’t eat it, then. I don’t want the world. I don’t want sugar.
He goes into the bag and takes out some bright blue running shoes.
GIRL: Shoes.
MR. WOLF: Do you like them?
GIRL: (sadly, quietly) I love them.
MR. WOLF: If someone tries to hurt you, kick them and then run.
GIRL: Who is going to try to hurt me?
MR. WOLF: I don’t know, but someone will, someday.
GIRL: Why?
MR. WOLF: You know why.
GIRL: No I DON’T!
MR. WOLF: What is the first principle of ancient astronomy?
The heavens, beyond the atmosphere are perfect . . . and the earth . . .
GIRL: The earth is corrupt.
MR. WOLF: They will ask you about me. Do you know who I am?
GIRL: Mr. Wolf.
MR. WOLF: Theodore Wolf.
GIRL: Theodore Wolf.
MR. WOLF: Everyone will say I am evil. One day, if you choose to believe this as well, it’s okay.
GIRL: I would never think that.
MR. WOLF: Please, remember:
Your life is specific to you.
You are the most important person in the world.
You are a prophet.
GIRL: What if the world doesn’t come?
MR. WOLF: The world is coming. The world is on its way.
GIRL: You’re sad.
MR. WOLF: I am very sad.
GIRL: Even though you knew it would come one day. You told me, once or twice, the world will come and when it comes . . .
MR. WOLF: Prepare for the end, make preparations. But then, it comes, and invariably one wishes to postpone it.
GIRL: What will I do?
MR. WOLF: You will become part of the world.
GIRL: What if I don’t? What if I resist it?
MR. WOLF: They don’t appreciate it when an individual does not join in the world.
They will punish you for it.
They will punish me.
It will be loud. The noise will be difficult.
There are so many sounds, and they will not be good sounds.
There will be crowds of people everywhere, and they will not care about you.
Many of them will try to harm you, because the world is sick.
There will be men who try to engage with you in sexual activity.
GIRL: Because to procreate?
MR. WOLF: Because of desire.
GIRL: Desire, like to run?
MR. WOLF: I suppose.
GIRL: How do you survive the world? You need to tell me.
MR. WOLF: Inquiry.
Ask as many questions as you can.
People are made uncomfortable by questions, and then they will be off-balance.
An ungodly pounding at the door, heightened, terrifying.
MR. WOLF: You understand . . . I have to kill myself.
GIRL: No! No, you don’t, no you don’t!
MR. WOLF: I do.
GIRL: You don’t have to die!
MR. WOLF: (suddenly stern) The world . . . is coming.
GIRL: No!
MR. WOLF: I will not
do it in front of you. I will go into the bathtub. I will place a firearm to my temple and discharge it. Do not go into the bathroom, because you will not want to see my body after this moment is done. Do you understand that this is what I must do?
Do I have your permission to do so?
GIRL: No. NO. NO.
We can run.
We can run away and . . .
They won’t find us again!
MR. WOLF: I would like your permission to do so.
GIRL: I won’t give it to you!
MR. WOLF: You tell me now.
You say to me that you will allow me to do what must be done.
I need you to say so . . .
GIRL: I DON’T WANT YOU TO DIE.
MR. WOLF: I will die one way or another, by my hand, or by theirs.
GIRL: Yes, okay, do it do it.
He gets up to walk away, but then looks at her.
MR. WOLF: Listen to me.
There is something called a kiss.
GIRL: I know about a kiss, I’ve read about it.
MR. WOLF: I would never touch you except to help you, to heal you, to mend a wound.
GIRL: I know.
He stares at her, then goes to her.
MR. WOLF: It is like this.
He kisses her forehead.
He begins to exit.
GIRL: Wait!
(sudden energy and hope)
If the universe is infinite, it means there is no end to possibility, and so the exact same conditions for a planet in its relation to a star would be replicated infinite times and so wouldn’t it be that we might also be somewhere else? Wouldn’t there be a place where you are there? And I am there? And we are together? And the world doesn’t come? And everything is the same, and yet different? And I can see you again?
Beat.
MR. WOLF: Put on your shoes, put on your coat.
Don’t eat too much chocolate.
He exits. More pounding at the door . . . growing in insistence.
Girl hurriedly puts on the new shoes and coat.
The universe cracks open. She stands waiting. Everything disappears.
SCENE 2.
Julie enters through a doorway of light . . . into a room. She is nervous, possibly frightened.
The room has a standing chalkboard. It is different than the one in the earlier scene. This one has been scrawled on with colored chalk, but not with any discernable design—it appears manic, lunatic in nature. And this is punctuated—literally—by a hole in the center of the chalkboard, where someone must have punched it.
There are folding chairs that once were in a circle. A few are still sitting upright. Several are knocked over. A small table. The room is quiet, empty. Julie cautiously enters, walks around. This is not what she expected.
She hears someone coming and she steps back instinctively.
Michael enters. He appears to have just washed his face, but hasn’t really dried it. He’s a mess.
They stare at each other for a moment.
MICHAEL: Hi.
JULIE: Hi.
Michael begins picking up folding chairs and stacking them in a corner.
MICHAEL: There is nothing going on here.
JULIE: What?
MICHAEL: I said “There is nothing going on here.”
JULIE: Oh . . .
(awkwardly stands there, worried, then starts to leave)
Okay.
(but then she stops)
No, I, um . . .
Excuse me.
MICHAEL: What.
JULIE: (musters the courage to say this) I need to talk to someone.
MICHAEL: You came to the wrong place.
JULIE: No I didn’t.
MICHAEL: Today you did. They attacked me today. They asked me to leave. I have been asked to leave, can you believe that? They kicked me out, and I said I wouldn’t leave, so they left. Everyone . . . they simply walked out and left.
You missed quite the fireworks display.
(beat)
Anyhow.
“There is nothing going on here.”
JULIE: If I don’t talk to someone I’m going to kill myself.
MICHAEL: (beat; he stares at her) Oh. I remember you.
You used to come here.
JULIE: Not for a long time, I haven’t been here.
MICHAEL: There’s coffee. There are some doughnuts. I punched the chalkboard.
JULIE: Why?
MICHAEL: Why does anyone punch a chalkboard?
I hurt my hand.
(beat)
What happened to you?
JULIE: I just stopped coming.
MICHAEL: No. I mean. What happened? To you.
Awkward beat. Julie doesn’t want to say.
MICHAEL: You said if you didn’t talk to somebody you were going to kill yourself. Are you going to talk? Or are you going to kill yourself?
(beat)
My guess is neither.
(beat)
Language is worthless, isn’t it?
Worthless, saying things aloud, hearing things, discussions, etcetera. Which is why this whole mess, which is why everyone stormed out of here. Which is why you left. And now you’re back here with the same . . . whatever, loss in your soul . . .
(beat)
I remember some of your details. From when you came here. I remember that your . . .
(beat)
Anyhow. I remember enough.
Not your name, though. What’s your name?
JULIE: Julie.
MICHAEL: I’m Michael.
JULIE: My husband died.
MICHAEL: Sorry.
JULIE: It’s okay, he wanted to die.
MICHAEL: Just like you.
JULIE: I don’t want to die. I don’t want to live, it’s a crucial difference. Anyhow, you’re . . .
not nice. You’re not nice to talk to.
MICHAEL: I know, I’m sorry. I’m obviously not good at this.
(beat)
I try to live by rules. I’ve made a set of rules that I live by.
(beat; he thinks of the people who just left)
And those folks . . . Talking to me like I’m some . . .
Like I’m the bad guy, just because I’m intent. They want to talk about despair. We’re sad. Our lives are so sad. Let’s talk about our sad lives. And I want to talk about strategy. How to look. How to work. How to find.
(beat)
Sorry.
I have rules. My rules help me. Maybe they could help you, I don’t know, I don’t know how to help other people, okay? I’m just trying to get through the day myself, that’s all I try to do.
In spite of his frustration he hoists a large manuscript out of a bag—a giant tome, with different sizes of pages, different colors of pages, a crazy mess of a book.
MICHAEL: I wrote a book.
I have a plan.
I hatched a strategy.
I’ve been trying to get it published. It’s not going to get published.
You can read it.
I have rules.
Organize everything.
Always be in pursuit.
Count the days.
Imagine the course of time upon them.
Do not sing Happy Birthday.
Do not cry in front of others.
Do not believe you have a mystical relationship with them.
Do not speak to them if they are not there.
That one is a tough one, but a crucial one. Do not speak to them if they are not there.
(beat)
The way I see it is we have three choices:
—Moving on. Like my ex-wife. After two years, she gave up. She was using “probability” or something. And once she decided what she believed, she couldn’t abide by my believing otherwise. We became spiritually incompatible, she and I. She lives in Vancouver now. She comes from money, she comes from wealth and money. But has she moved on? I doubt it. You can’t move on from this. So option one, “moving on”. No. No thanks.
Opt
ion two: Death. Escape. Like your husband. Which I won’t do. And I doubt you will either.
Option three: Finding Them. Which I will do. I wake up everyday and I believe that I will find her. So I have rules. And I follow them. And I hunt. I hunt. I hunt.
I don’t know.
It’s the only viable option.
What else can you . . . ?
What else are we supposed to . . . ?
Anyhow.
It helps.
They stare at each other for a long moment.
JULIE: I started smoking again.
MICHAEL: You’re allowed to smoke.
JULIE: It makes my mouth taste bad.
MICHAEL: Then don’t.
JULIE: I threw everything out. Everything I own, I threw it out.
MICHAEL: How did that feel?
JULIE: It didn’t feel good.
It didn’t feel bad.
I chewed my fingernails off and then I stopped, I forced myself to stop, and I did, and they grew back.
MICHAEL: How did that feel?
JULIE: Felt guilty that I had fingernails.
MICHAEL: You need your fingernails.
JULIE: I talk to her all the time.
MICHAEL: You shouldn’t do that.
JULIE: Why not?
MICHAEL: It doesn’t help.
JULIE: It helps me.
MICHAEL: Either follow my rules or don’t, but don’t pick and choose which rules sound good to you and which ones don’t. I just told you that was a tough but crucial rule. You come in here ready to blow your brains out and now you want to tell me what helps and what doesn’t help?
These rules help.
My rules help.
(beat; he takes a deep breath; finds himself)
I’m thorough. You think I’m not thorough? I’m thorough.
(beat)
I leaving here in five minutes.
Heading to the copy store. To make copies of fliers and documents that I will send to every police precinct in West Virginia. This month, my focus is West Virginia. Every month, a different state. Some states require more than a month.
After the copy store, stop by the grocery, pick up essentials. I don’t waste too much time cooking.
Then to home where I will spend exactly two hours sending emails to politicians, federal agents, and other parents. Then dinner. Then ninety minutes working on my book. Then one hour of exercise followed by a shower. Then a cup of coffee, and two more hours preparing tomorrow’s West Virginia blitz. Then I go to bed.