Guards at the Taj and Mr. Wolf_Two Plays

by Rajiv Joseph

  HANA: It’s not really important anymore.

  THERESA: It’s a question I have.

  HANA: I wanted to divorce your father.

  THERESA: Why?

  HANA: I’ll tell you some other time. We have a lot of time to talk about so many things.

  THERESA: Why can’t we talk now?

  HANA: Because this is an emotional moment, and sometimes it’s difficult to speak in an emotional moment, so we wait until the emotion recedes a little bit.

  THERESA: Like how he is too happy to speak.

  HANA: Yes.

  THERESA: (to Julie) How did your daughter become kidnapped?

  JULIE: What?

  THERESA: How did she become kidnapped.

  JULIE: I was with her. In a shopping mall.

  (beat; that was all she was going to say,

  but nobody says anything so she continues)

  And . . . there was a large open section for people to sit down, and there was a fountain nearby, that she liked to look at. I would give her coins to throw into it, to make a wish . . .

  (beat)

  I had a terrible headache.

  I was trying to open a bottle of aspirin while Casey looked in the fountain.

  Someone took her.

  THERESA: How come she didn’t cry out?

  JULIE: I don’t know. How come you didn’t?

  HANA: Stop. Stop.

  THERESA: You don’t like that I ask questions?

  HANA: You can ask anything you want. You can ask me questions.

  THERESA: You don’t answer me. She answers me.

  HANA: Do you want a candy bar?

  THERESA: (to Julie) I don’t remember. I don’t remember if I made a sound or if I didn’t make a sound.

  MICHAEL: She didn’t.

  THERESA: I guess I didn’t. I don’t know why.

  JULIE: You don’t need to tell me anything.

  But I do wonder, every day, why she didn’t cry out.

  THERESA: Do you get angry at her, for not crying out?

  (to Michael)

  Were you angry at me for not crying out?

  (to Hana)

  Are you angry at me right now?

  HANA: Of course not, honey.

  THERESA: I don’t know how people are.

  HANA: That’s okay.

  THERESA: I need to ask a lot of questions.

  HANA: You should, always, ask questions.

  THERESA: My life is specific to me.

  HANA: It is.

  THERESA: I am the most important person in the world.

  HANA: Of course, honey . . . you are.

  THERESA: Will you do anything for me?

  HANA: Yes.

  THERESA: I want to go home.

  HANA: You are home.

  THERESA: No I am not home. I was taken away from my home. In my home there are books, books that I read.

  HANA: That’s good, we can get you books, it’s good that you like to read.

  THERESA: I don’t just want books, I want the books in my home. I want to go home.

  HANA: Home is with me and with your father.

  THERESA: But you’re divorced, and so my home is divorced, and anyway, he doesn’t speak and you’re angry with me even though you lie and say you’re not, and you won’t answer my questions, only Julie does, maybe because she’s young, and you’re old.

  HANA: I’m your mother.

  THERESA: That’s an abstract concept.

  HANA: No it is not, Theresa.

  Hana goes to Theresa.

  THERESA: I don’t like to be touched.

  HANA: Okay.

  THERESA: My life is specific to me.

  HANA: Yes. It is.

  THERESA: My home is with Mr. Wolf, and now Mr. Wolf is dead. But my home is still there.

  HANA: Homes change.

  THERESA: Homes change?

  HANA: Yes.

  THERESA: That is an abstract concept. My books are still there. And my telescope and my chalk and my chalkboard and the rug that I like to walk upon. I study the heavens.

  HANA: . . . okay . . .

  THERESA: (to Julie) Is the universe actually infinite, or is “infinite” a generic designation we apply to whatever we don’t understand?

  JULIE: Um . . . What?

  THERESA: Is the universe actually infinite, or is “infinite” a generic designation we apply to whatever we don’t understand?

  MICHAEL: (realizing and worried) We don’t have any chocolate in this house . . . We don’t have any chocolate.

  THERESA: (ignoring him; speaking to Julie) Because, if the universe is infinite, it means there is no end to possibility.

  JULIE: I suppose that is very interesting.

  There is no end to possibility. Even in this world, which is not infinite.

  No end to possibility.

  THERESA: That doesn’t sound like a scientific assertion, that sounds saccharine.

  JULIE: I don’t know . . .

  THERESA: But it’s not true.

  Within finite designations, possibility eventually ends, as that is the nature of being finite. To end.

  You’re talking about the earth, which is corrupt and finite.

  I’m talking about the heavens, which are perfect and infinite.

  (to everyone; somewhat of a proclamation)

  I am a prophet.

  Beat. They stare at her.

  THERESA: There are things I need. Things that I do. I can’t do those things here.

  HANA: You can do anything you want.

  THERESA: How old are you?

  HANA: I’m 38 years old.

  THERESA: What is your name?

  HANA: Hana. I’m Hana.

  THERESA: What kind of name is that?

  HANA: I don’t know, it’s just my name.

  THERESA: The planets are named after gods.

  HANA: Okay.

  THERESA: What do you know?

  HANA: I . . . don’t know . . .

  THERESA: Mr. Wolf said there would be a lot of noise.

  But now, it’s so quiet in here.

  Awkward beat.

  JULIE: I can get chocolate.

  I’ll go to the store. I’ll buy chocolate. I’ll go now. I’ll . . . go.

  THERESA: Can I go with you?

  JULIE: No . . . You should stay.

  THERESA: I have never been to the store.

  JULIE: Some other time you can go to the store.

  THERESA: Once emotion recedes?

  JULIE: Yes.

  THERESA: (to Hana) Because of the moon?

  HANA: What?

  THERESA: “Recedes.” This is a word I have only read when in relation to the tides, and the tides are in relation to the moon.

  HANA: Oh . . . That’s interesting.

  THERESA: It’s not a rhetorical question.

  I am asking, will our emotions recede because of the pull of the moon, or does the word “recedes” in this instance mean something else? Because I am confused about what it means: “emotions recede” like you said.

  HANA: It’s just a figure of speech, honey.

  THERESA: My name isn’t honey. Once emotions recede, we can talk, and we can go to the store.

  HANA: Yes.

  THERESA: Words can mean different things, like in poems they do.

  HANA: Yes.

  THERESA: I’ve never been to the store, or to the car wash. I went to the gas station today.

  JULIE: I’ll go buy some chocolate.

  Julie exits. Theresa watches her go . . .

  THERESA: (to Hana) Will you do anything for me?

  HANA: Yes. Theresa, I will. And your father, he will.

  THERESA: I want to go home.

  Theresa goes to the couch and lays down on it. She curls up. She covers he head and face with her hands, with her coat.

  She falls deeply asleep.

  The lights shift as Hana and Michael, from different distances, begin to orbit her, never taking their eyes off of her. The lights shift again. Julie enters
with a bag . . . she watches them orbit Theresa . . . light shifts again and Julie disappears . . . the night comes, a deeper shift of the light, and Hana disappears.

  Finally, in the late hours of the night, it is only Michael there, sitting, watching his sleeping daughter. He may never leave her side again.

  Lights shift again. Much time.

  Julie enters.

  JULIE: Michael.

  MICHAEL: Hi.

  JULIE: She’s still sleeping.

  MICHAEL: Look at her.

  JULIE: Hana is upstairs in the guest room. She said she was going to stay at a hotel but . . .

  MICHAEL: Look at her . . .

  JULIE: Michael . . .

  MICHAEL: Hmm?

  JULIE: How are you?

  MICHAEL: I’m good.

  JULIE: I haven’t really had a chance to ask you how you are.

  MICHAEL: I’m good

  JULIE: Good.

  MICHAEL: How are you?

  JULIE: I’m good!

  MICHAEL: Thank you.

  JULIE: For what?

  MICHAEL: For getting the chocolate.

  JULIE: Oh. I didn’t know what to get, so I got a lot.

  MICHAEL: You are amazing.

  JULIE: Thank you.

  They sit in silence. Michael goes back to watching Theresa. Julie stares at Michael, wanting to ask him many things, but not asking them.

  JULIE: Do you think she remembers this house?

  MICHAEL: Yes. She does.

  JULIE: Does it feel like it used to feel?

  MICHAEL: What do you mean?

  JULIE: Does it feel now how it felt before she was taken?

  MICHAEL: Of course it feels much different than that.

  JULIE: Of course.

  MICHAEL: I’d appreciate it if you didn’t wake her up, she’s sleeping.

  JULIE: I won’t wake her up.

  MICHAEL: I’m trying to watch her sleep.

  JULIE: I understand.

  MICHAEL: Why don’t you go to bed?

  JULIE: Okay, I will.

  She doesn’t move. Michael goes back to watching Theresa.

  JULIE: What am I going to do?

  MICHAEL: What?

  JULIE: I mean, what’s going to happen now?

  MICHAEL: With what.

  JULIE: Am I Theresa’s stepmother?

  MICHAEL: Of course you are.

  JULIE: And then, can I do that, be her stepmother, while also still looking for Casey? You don’t have to abide by your rules anymore, but I do, and I am just wondering, how will we live?

  MICHAEL: It’s been a long day.

  JULIE: You’re right. You are.

  I’m just tired.

  MICHAEL: Go on to bed.

  JULIE: Hana is very strong . . . she’s a very strong woman.

  I know you hate her.

  MICHAEL: I don’t hate her.

  JULIE: Oh. Good.

  Michael just watches Theresa, ignoring Julie.

  She waits for any response from him; nothing.

  JULIE: Michael.

  Michael.

  MICHAEL: What.

  JULIE: Take her upstairs. She’ll sleep better in her bed.

  Julie watches as Michael, after a moment, gathers Theresa’s sleeping body in his arms and slowly, carefully, carries her away. Julie watches them leave.

  Julie sits down on the couch. She doesn’t know what to do with herself, with her life.

  She stares straight ahead. As if she suddenly sees something.

  The lights begin to dim, but they brighten tightly around Julie . . . And they brighten tightly around the portrait of Casey hanging on the wall.

  Soon, it is as if only Julie and Casey are seen in the space.

  There is something rumbling, something changing in the cosmos. And then suddenly silence.

  JULIE: Hello...!

  Blackout.

  END ACT 1

  ACT 2.

  SCENE 5.

  Mr. Wolf appears on stage, speaking his suicide note.

  MR. WOLF: My name is Theodore Wolf. I have no middle name.

  I have written these words before I will actually have to take my own life. A pre-emptive suicide note, knowing that in all likelihood, the day will come and I will have to take my life. I’m prepared to do this.

  To begin, some thoughts:

  The study of the heavens, astronomy, is a science that requires reason and mathematics and undying logic, and yet, a master astronomer is searching beyond the interstellar dust for the deeper questions of the Universe, which all lead back to God.

  It was my intention to be that type of astronomer, but I am not. I started too late. I was corrupted by the earth.

  And so I looked towards a younger generation, my students at the college, bright young stars themselves . . .

  But they too had been corrupted. And once you are corrupted, you cannot adequately seek God. And so there is this conflict: Where is that pure being, as of yet uncorrupted, who can engage in a rigorous study of the heavens. This person, if she existed, would save us.

  And so I set out to find the purest being on earth.

  I submit that I am not perfect. But I have cultivated a perfect thing. That perfect thing is the young woman who is now in your custody, given name: Theresa Ruth Lawrence.

  She possesses ineffable gifts. Let us call her a “prophet”, since the English language is so woefully deficient in its ability to articulate what is HOLY.

  (he begins to rant)

  And it was me . . . Me! Who cultivated a Prophet!

  It was Me who has given the world an individual capable of discovering the location, temperament and intentions of God.

  Prophets hear God. Prophets speak His Word.

  But who finds the Prophets?

  I did this. Me.

  And because it was me who found this Prophet . . . and gave her the resources to develop her gift—because it was me, I feel I should at least be given a shred of credit . . .

  Someone should THANK ME!

  Someone should sing my PRAISES!

  Was it easy? It was not easy!

  Was it dangerous? It was!

  Do you not see the miracle before you!?

  It is a miracle what I have done! It is a MIRACLE.

  His anger subsides.

  Whatever. I simply ask that the girl be given the resources to continue her work.

  Theresa Ruth Lawrence, all of fifteen years . . . She will be the one to save you.

  SCENE 6.

  Later the same night, in the guest room. Hana sits on the bed, saying the rosary.

  A knock on the bedroom door She puts the rosary away.

  HANA: Yes?

  Michael enters holding an old folded bath towel.

  MICHAEL: I thought you might want a towel.

  HANA: Where’s Theresa? Is she sleeping?

  MICHAEL: She’s in bed.

  She’s in her bed.

  HANA: (generally Theresa’s life) What happened to her?

  MICHAEL: She’s fine.

  HANA: She’s fine? She’s fine, Michael?

  (beat)

  Where’s Julie?

  MICHAEL: Downstairs. She doesn’t sleep.

  HANA: What does she do.

  MICHAEL: I don’t know. She sits there. She falls asleep on the couch.

  HANA: Do you take care of her, or does she take care of you? Or both, or neither?

  (beat)

  Never mind, don’t answer that.

  She takes the towel from him.

  HANA: Jesus, Michael, how come you still have these same towels?

  We got these on our wedding.

  MICHAEL: Okay, good night.

  HANA: Wait. Will you wait? Will you . . . can we talk for just a second?

  I need to . . .

  Can we talk?

  MICHAEL: About what?

  HANA: Oh, I don’t know, Michael? What’s new?

  MICHAEL: I’m tired, I’m going to bed.

  HANA: What did you say to her when you
first saw her? What was the first thing you said?

  Or in the car. What did you talk to her about on the ride home?

  Anything?

  Nothing, right?

  You can’t speak to her.

  MICHAEL: I thought it would be better to let her speak first.

  HANA: And you still haven’t spoken to her.

  (beat; she doesn’t know what to say)

  How come you didn’t change this room? Any room?

  It’s like I walked into some fucked up time machine.

  It’s the same. Everything is the same.

  MICHAEL: It’s not your concern, is it?

  And everything is not the same. Nothing is the same.

  HANA: I changed my mind, I do want to know:

  Do you take care of her, or does she take care of you?

  MICHAEL: We take care of each other.

  HANA: How?

  MICHAEL: We just do.

  HANA: Do you have a lot of sex?

  MICHAEL: Hana.

  HANA: What.

  I was sleeping with this guy, some stupid bartender. He didn’t know anything about me or about anything. He was a dope, he was so happy.

  I had to stop. It made me sadder. It made me so sad.

  Beat.

  MICHAEL: I was afraid to see her.

  I don’t know why.

  HANA: I have a home in Vancouver. I want you and Theresa to move there.

  MICHAEL: We live here.

  HANA: I know, I want you to move.

  MICHAEL: And Julie?

  HANA: Not Julie.

  MICHAEL: She’s my wife.

  HANA: I know.

  MICHAEL: I’m married to her.

  HANA: Leave her.

  MICHAEL: No.

  HANA: I want to do what’s best for Theresa, and this is what’s best. It’s an extreme case.

  She thinks she is a prophet!

  What does that mean? What are we supposed to do with that information?!

  (beat)

  We’re going to do what’s right for Theresa.

  MICHAEL: How about not leaving her for dead? Not giving up on her!

  I’ve been doing the right thing for Theresa for the last 12 years, I’ve been the one believing in her, I chased her down, Hana.

  HANA: You didn’t have anything to do with it. We got lucky. We got a miracle.

  MICHAEL: I was the one who believed. I was the one who had faith. And so it’s my miracle. It’s mine.

  HANA: It doesn’t work like that.

  MICHAEL: Are you paying the reward?

  HANA: What?

  MICHAEL: The one million dollars you pledged to pay anyone who had information about Theresa. That woman at the college, who found Theresa, who called the police . . . Is she getting that one million dollars?