by Rajiv Joseph
Why are we here?
What are you going to do to me? Please . . .
I’m sorry . . .
MR. WOLF: Quiet.
Theresa . . .
I would never hurt you.
Beat. She maybe calms, she’s not sure.
MR. WOLF: I realized today that there are certain things that I will never be able to give you. And that, being a girl, one who is approaching a different, more complicated phase of her life, you will have a need for discoveries.
Your own astounding curiosity should have tipped me off.
You need stimulus, and I can only offer so much.
It is in this understanding that I will, on occasion, allow you to experience something of the world that is pure.
THERESA: Okay.
MR. WOLF: Okay?
THERESA: Okay.
MR. WOLF: There is something called a horse.
THERESA: I’ve read about them, and seen some pictures in books.
MR. WOLF: But you have never seen one, or heard one, or smelled one, or existed in the presence of one.
THERESA: No.
MR. WOLF: I do not like animals.
Mostly I am struck by their stupidity.
Not so with horses, which posses certain ineffable traits. There are things you could tell a horse that you could never tell me.
THERESA: Am I going to see a horse?
MR. WOLF: Yes. And I will leave you alone with it, and if there are things you need to say, that you would not say to me, you can say them to this horse.
He grazes in this field.
Mr. Wolf whistles, and makes clicking sounds to attract the horse.
He turns to Theresa.
MR. WOLF: Don’t be frightened.
He exits, leaving her alone. Theresa shivers, suddenly very frightened.
There’s a strange sound coming from the fog.
The sounds are the quiet huffs of a horse . . . But they are magnified, exaggerated, both beautiful and terrifying.
A horse appears through the fog.
Theresa is frozen. But also amazed.
She reaches out, very gingerly, and strokes its nose. It huffs at her, and she recoils.
She watches it for a long time. She touches it again. It breathes in her face.
THERESA: What’s your name?
Do you have a name?
Do your feet hurt, looking like that?
They look like they hurt.
Are you hungry?
Have you ever run away?
Do you do bad things?
You must have big lungs.
How fast can you run?
If I got on your back, how fast could you run?
Where would we go?
What’s your name?
I want to call you a name.
(beat)
Have you ever run away?
(beat)
If I opened this fence, would you run away?
Is it better to have a fence?
Is it better to know you’re safe?
I don’t know if I want to be safe or not.
Do you sleep?
Has anyone ever hurt you?
(beat)
Why am I so small?
Why is everything else so big?
The horse huffs. She touches its head.
THERESA: I’m gonna call you Mr. Wolf.
It’s my favorite name.
I never ran away before.
I got scared today, like I’ve never been scared before and I ran, I ran, and there was so much to see.
Where there is different air, you breathe differently. I bet you know that, because your lungs are so big. I can hear them. You’re kind of like a furnace.
The other Mr. Wolf likes when I draw things. His eyes get hot.
He gets so happy.
All I want is to see him when he’s happy.
Not when he’s hurt.
Your feet look like they hurt.
I like how you smell.
You stay here. Behind this fence.
You stay here, Mr. Wolf.
I’ll stay here, too.
SCENE 9.
A room in a precinct. Theresa sits at a table.
Detective Simon enters.
SIMON: A little birdie . . .
A little birdie told me that someone likes a candy bar.
He holds out a candy bar. She looks at it. He puts it on the table. He sits down across from her.
SIMON: Do you remember me?
THERESA: Yes.
SIMON: I’m Detective Simon.
(beat)
Did it get to be a little much in there?
(beat)
Too many people. Too many questions.
(beat)
I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk.
I get it.
Myself, I am not a people person.
THERESA: What’s a people person?
SIMON: A person who likes people.
THERESA: It’s so loud.
You told me it would be, you told me it would be difficult, but I didn’t believe you.
SIMON: I didn’t tell you that.
My name is Detective Simon. My first name is Lionel. I’m an officer of the law.
THERESA: I know.
SIMON: Ok, so you do know that?
THERESA: You came to Mr. Wolf’s house with the other officers of the law, and you saw that I was afraid, and you put me in a car and it was quiet in there. There were lights in the car that were interesting, and a man was shouting at me, asking me questions, and you told him to shut his trap, and I didn’t know what that meant, but he stopped talking so I assume “trap” means “speaking.”
SIMON: (smiles) Yeah. That’s pretty much what it means.
THERESA: I didn’t want you to die.
I wouldn’t have given you permission.
I’m sorry that you’re dead.
SIMON: Hey.
(beat; she looks at him)
I’m not him.
THERESA: You’re Mr. Wolf. And you killed yourself, because I gave you permission.
I wouldn’t do it again.
SIMON: I’m not Mr. Wolf.
THERESA: Okay.
SIMON: I’m Detective Simon.
THERESA: Okay.
SIMON: I’m supposed to ask you some things. You can answer me or not, it’s okay.
But you’d be helping me out if you did, and that would be nice.
(beat)
A little birdie told me you want your books. I could help you with that.
THERESA: Why do you keep saying that, birds can’t talk.
SIMON: I won’t say that anymore.
(beat)
You said there were three other girls that you saw at Mr. Wolf’s house. That’s what we’re interested in. That’s what I want to talk about.
Do you want to talk about that?
No answer.
SIMON: He had a nice house, Mr. Wolf. Didn’t he? Did you like his house?
No answer.
SIMON: All alone, in the woods. “Remote.”
(beat)
We have people there now. Looking around. Investigating his house . . .
(beat)
Do you know what a methane probe is?
THERESA: No. What is it?
SIMON: Ours is called LABRADOR. Which is a type of dog, but in this case, it’s an acronym. Do you know what an acronym is?
THERESA: It’s an abbreviation where every letter means a different word.
SIMON: Yeah. That’s exactly right. LABRADOR means Lightweight Analyzer for Buried Remains and Decomposition Odor Recognition.
Isn’t that interesting?
It’s a device we use to sniff out dead bodies that are buried in the ground.
(beat)
He buried them in his apple orchard. Did you know that?
THERESA: He would never touch me except to mend a wound or a bruise.
SIMON: How would you get a wound or a bruise?
THERESA: Maybe ru
nning and I would fall.
SIMON: Running where.
THERESA: Running like to play.
SIMON: Did you ever try to run away?
Awkward beat.
THERESA: No.
SIMON: You never tried to escape?
THERESA: I didn’t know.
SIMON: You didn’t know what.
THERESA: I didn’t know that there was somewhere else to be.
Beat.
SIMON: How many children did you see at Mr. Wolf’s house? Two or three or more?
THERESA: I want my books and my chalk.
SIMON: Two or three or more?
THERESA: I want to go home.
SIMON: Which home?
THERESA: I want us to go home.
SIMON: I’m not him.
THERESA: Yes you are!
SIMON: Theresa. Two or three or more?
Beat.
THERESA: Three.
He killed them and he buried them in the orchard because they weren’t prophets.
He only let prophets live.
SIMON: Are you a prophet?
THERESA: Yes.
SIMON: Will you do something for me?
I want you to look at some pictures.
(he takes out an envelope; from within it, snapshots)
These are girls who are missing, who nobody has seen in a long time.
Have you ever seen any of these girls before?
Theresa slowly takes the pictures, spreads them out, stares at them. For a long time.
Very slowly they start to have an effect on her.
THERESA: (beat) No . . . I’ve never seen them . . . I’ve never seen them . . .
There’s so many faces.
Why are there so many faces?
Why are there so many people like me? Why isn’t my life specific? How come my life isn’t specific to me?
Why did you do this?
He doesn’t know what to say.
He collects the photographs.
SIMON: Let’s not look at these anymore. Okay?
Let’s think about something else . . .
He doesn’t know what to do. Then he has an idea. He goes in his wallet, he takes out a little photograph.
SIMON: Theresa . . . Look at this instead.
He puts it on the table. She looks at it. She picks it up and looks at it intensely.
THERESA: Butterflies.
SIMON: Monarch butterflies. Every year they flock through my garden. This past spring, there were so many of them, there were so many, if you went out there, you could hear their wings. You could hear the monarch wings beating softly.
(he remembers the sound, Theresa imagines it)
It’s loud, the world is loud, and there are so many sounds, but sometimes—believe it or not, kiddo—they will be good sounds. And it won’t always be like this.
SCENE 10.
Mr. Wolf’s house. Julie stands alone in the room.
It is now a crime scene. All the books from the bookshelves are gone. The chalkboard is still there, with the same gorgeous drawing.
Hana enters.
HANA: This place is nuts.
There’s nothing in this house. How could there be nothing?
This guy lives here, takes children, kept Theresa, why is everything so normal? It doesn’t make sense.
JULIE: They’re digging up bodies in the orchard.
HANA: I’m sorry, If you want to be alone . . . or . . .
JULIE: Because maybe Casey is out there?
HANA: No! I mean . . . it seems, according to what Theresa told the man . . .
JULIE: She’s probably not. She’s probably not out there, buried in the orchard.
Hana looks at Julie with sympathy, but not sure what to do or say to this.
JULIE: She’s probably not, or maybe there’s a slight chance she is, or a slight chance she’s buried somewhere else, in some other orchard or swamp, or she’s still alive, and she’s fine. Or she’s still alive and in terrible pain, or I don’t know . . . Door number one, door number two, door number three, door number five million . . .
Door after door after door . . .
Beat.
HANA: (beat; re: the drawing) What is that?
JULIE: I don’t know.
HANA: Is it the universe?
JULIE: I don’t know.
HANA: This place is nuts.
JULIE: Where are they now?
HANA: The attic. There was nothing there. Not even cobwebs.
JULIE: Has Theresa said anything?
HANA: They’re going from room to room. He asks her what this room was for. A bedroom is for sleeping, she says. A kitchen is for making food.
JULIE: It’s so quiet here.
HANA: The detective guy made everyone leave. He wanted the house clear for Theresa. Except for the guys out there, digging.
JULIE: It’s hard because of the root structure, that’s what somebody said.
I wonder if the roots wrap around the bodies. Do they squeeze them dry?
Are those apples made of children?
HANA: Please, Julie, don’t say shit like that, okay?
Apples aren’t made out of children, that’s not how, whatever, botany works. Or biology. Or soil and stuff.
(beat)
I’m sorry.
Julie? I’m so sorry.
(beat; they look at each other; nothing to really say)
JULIE: Can I ask you a question?
When you moved away? When you left? When you gave up . . . Was there relief?
HANA: (takes a deep breath; lets it out) Oh God, yes.
JULIE: Is it terrible I want that?
HANA: No.
Theresa enters.
HANA: (quietly) Hi sweetie. How we doin’?
THERESA: Where are my books!?
Detective Simon and Michael enter, having followed Theresa.
SIMON: It’s okay. The books were tagged for evidence, but we have them.
THERESA: You said I could have them back!
SIMON: I did tell you that, and you can . . . it’s just that right now we are looking at the books . . .
THERESA: There was a rug! Where’s my rug?
SIMON: It’s rolled up right there.
Theresa goes to it and unrolls it. She sits on it. She takes a deep breath, tries to center herself.
THERESA: This is where I work.
SIMON: What work did you do?
THERESA: I would draw.
She points to the chalkboard.
SIMON: (not believing her) You drew that?
THERESA: Yeah.
SIMON: You drew that picture.
THERESA: It’s a map.
SIMON: You’re telling me that you drew that map.
THERESA: It’s a map of the most distant galaxy scientists have ever located, called z8 GND 5296.
HANA: Theresa . . . you drew this?
THERESA: Yeah.
HANA: Michael . . .
MICHAEL: (in awe) Yeah.
HANA: Theresa, honey . . . This is beautiful.
Isn’t this beautiful?
MICHAEL: It is.
HANA: Your Dad can draw so well, too. Did you know that?
THERESA: No.
HANA: Your Dad can draw anything. Michael tell her.
(he can’t)
Your Dad drew a picture of me. It’s how we met. I was reading on a train and a strange man came up to me and dropped a piece of paper on my lap. It was a drawing of me reading on a train. And I looked up and it was your Dad.
It was such a good drawing. I’ll show it to you, honey.
I still have it. It’s hanging in my house.
Theresa sits up and looks at her mother.
THERESA: Why did he draw a picture of you?
HANA: (beat; thinks) He always had a hard time talking. So he drew things.
THERESA: (to Hana) I don’t draw faces. I only draw the outer space.
HANA: You could probably draw anything you wanted to draw. I’ll give you a whole room wit
h nothing but paints and pencils and paper and canvas and anything else you want, and you could draw anything. And if you wanted to take art classes you could do that.
You could be a great artist, Theresa. I mean . . . you already are.
What is it called again?
THERESA: z8 GND 5296.
(to Michael)
I could only draw.
That’s what I could do.
I wasn’t as smart as he thought I was. I’m not smart . . .
He wanted me to be a prophet.
And so I would draw and he would see my drawings and his eyes would get hot.
If his eyes got hot, he would look at me like I was a prophet, and if I was a prophet he would keep me.
(beat)
I can draw. I can memorize words and make them sound important.
(beat; so quietly)
I’m not a prophet or special.
I don’t know anything.
Beat. Hana touches her lightly.
HANA: (very softly) It’s okay, sweetie . . .
Everyone stares at her. Julie goes to her and sits on the rug. Julie touches the rug, absently tracing a design on it. Theresa watches her.
THERESA: This is my favorite rug.
JULIE: It’s nice.
THERESA: I used to walk around on the border of it when I was trying to memorize facts. I hypnotized myself doing that, although Mr. Wolf said I didn’t really hypnotize myself, he said that was not possible to do that.
I used to like to have bare feet on it. I would squinch my toes.
Michael looks at the rug for a long moment and then takes his shoes and socks off, tosses them aside and walks around in a circle on the rug, squinching his toes.
MICHAEL: It feels good. On my feet.
Hana takes her shoes off, too, she also tromps around on the rug. Hana and Michael walking sort-of circles around Theresa and Julie. She smiles at them.
MICHAEL: (to Simon) I want to take this carpet home with us.
SIMON: What?
MICHAEL: I want this rug.
SIMON: No . . . I don’t think we can—
MICHAEL: Theresa has a right to this rug and whatever else in this house that she claims . . . she lived here.
You love this rug?
THERESA: Yeah.
MICHAEL: She loves this rug.
SIMON: This is a crime scene.
MICHAEL: We need the rug.
SIMON: Right now this is a crime scene.
MICHAEL: After it stops being a crime scene, we get the rug.
And her books.
(to Theresa)
Rug and books. Anything else?
THERESA: Chalk.
MICHAEL: (to Simon) The rug, the books and chalk. Who do I have to talk to to make this happen?
SIMON: You can talk to me.
MICHAEL: So tell me I get the rug. And if you can’t do that, tell me who can tell me that, and I’ll go speak to that guy.