by Nicky Silver
BEN: I don’t care.
RITA: It’d be sweet. Think Bedouin.
BEN: Who gives a shit.
RITA: You could feign interest to be polite.
BEN: I don’t want to. Why should I?
RITA: Is it so much to ask? To pretend that you care? I have been saddled with the same living room furniture for thirty years. All mismatched and grotesque. Every stain on every piece of fabric, a reminder of some horrible thing, some disastrous day that I had to live through. Is it too much to want a fresh start? Is it too much to hope for a clean palate. I look at the sofa. I know it was cream when we bought it. Now it’s just some washed-out shade of dashed hopes. The chairs are the color of disgust. And the carpet is matted down with resignation.
BEN: What the hell does that mean?
RITA: Is it wrong of me to want a new beginning? I’m not that old. I’m not so old that I should just give up. People who quit are quitters and people who fight are fighters—well, that’s sort of obvious, isn’t it? I don’t want to just dry up and crumble away. Now, you can participate or you can just complain.
(She returns to her magazine. Beat.)
BEN: I’m dying, Rita.
RITA: Yes, I know. But try to be positive. My mother used to say, “Dying’s not so bad. Not when you consider the alternative.” Was that it? Is that what she said? Maybe it was the other way around.
BEN: I’m scared.
RITA: Of what? Jews don’t believe in hell.
BEN: Some do.
RITA: We don’t.
BEN: You mean you don’t.
RITA: You mean you do? You believe in hell?
BEN: I don’t know.
RITA: Well, even if there is a hell, I can’t believe you’re going. I mean it’s a little grandiose of you, don’t you think, to think you’re going to hell? Who are you to get into hell? What have you ever done? Were you nice? No. But so what? Who’s nice? And isn’t hell really for people like Hitler and Pol Pot? You’re just a little man with little sins, if you believe in sin. Try not to think about it. What do you think of Chinese Modern? Everything low, low to the ground. Eating on pillows and sleeping on mats. Or the other way around. Do you think you’d like that?
BEN: No!
RITA: Fine.
(She closes the magazine. Beat.)
Do you want to play cards?
BEN: No.
RITA: Do you want to watch TV?
BEN: No.
RITA: You want to stare blankly into space?
BEN: Are the kids coming?
RITA: Lisa’s on her way. I told her to call Curtis.
BEN: Oh god, does he have to come!?
RITA: What do you mean?
BEN: I don’t like him.
RITA: That’s a terrible thing to say.
BEN: He’s creepy.
RITA: He’s your son!
BEN: He doesn’t like me.
RITA (Dismissive): Well.
BEN: He’s so “affected.”
RITA: By what? What do you mean?
BEN: And what kind of name is Curtis anyway? I named him Hilly, after my father.
RITA: No one thought that was a good idea.
BEN: He was a good man. My father was a good man.
RITA: Didn’t he sell Zyklon B to the Nazis during World War Two?
BEN: He sold sweaters.
RITA: I remember it differently.
BEN: They never proved anything! Not a goddamn thing! He was kind and caring and firm. And he could fish.
RITA: So?
BEN: He was an athlete.
(She returns to her magazine.)
RITA: So the man could fish. Isn’t that something.
BEN: Everyone liked him. He was a man’s man.
RITA: I don’t even know what that means. What does that mean? It sounds homosexual.
BEN: It’s the opposite. It’s someone very manly.
RITA (Regarding the magazine): French Provincial?
BEN: He would’ve hated Curtis.
RITA: Because he doesn’t fish?
BEN: Because he’s homosexual.
RITA: You see? You see there? Curtis is a man’s man. I mean in the actual, literal meaning of the word.
BEN: I think about him a lot. I think about him all the time.
RITA: Curtis? I thought he never crossed your mind.
BEN: My father.
RITA: Oh.
BEN: I still miss him. He’s been gone all these years and I can still hear his voice and smell his odor.
RITA: He had an odor?
BEN: A scent.
RITA: You said odor. You mean like BO? Like body odor?
BEN: Like hard work. Like the outdoors.
RITA: I don’t remember that.
BEN: You barely knew him.
RITA: I’d remember if he smelled funny.
BEN: He didn’t smell funny.
RITA: All right then, if he smelled bad.
BEN: Stop saying that!
RITA: You brought it up. It’s your theory. Your father smelled. You said it.
BEN: Oh, shut the fuck up.
RITA: I never said he smelled. You did!
BEN: He didn’t smell! I mean he smelled like himself. Everyone smells. Everyone smells like who they are. I smell. You smell. Everyone smells like something!
RITA: Fine.
BEN: You’re just trying to get under my skin. I can’t walk out of the room so you have me where you want me. I’m trapped. I have to lie here and listen to you. You knew what I meant. You knew what I meant all along. My father was a great man, a giant man, and you just want to tear him down. You want to degrade him and I have to lie here while you go on and on!
RITA: You’re very crabby.
BEN: Fuck you!
RITA: This cancer eating away at you, has put you in a terrible mood, a foul humor.
BEN: You think!? You think so? I can’t believe you don’t have a degree in psychology with that kind of breathtaking insight! You’re a genius, that’s what you are, Rita. A fucking, psychological genius!
(She looks at her magazine.)
RITA: What do you think of Early American?
BEN: I forbid you to redecorate my house!
RITA: You forbid me?
BEN: You heard me.
RITA: You have nothing to say about it.
BEN: It’s my house! I want it to stay the way it is!!
RITA: Maybe I should get the nurse.
BEN (Furious): Fuck the nurse! And fuck you! I don’t want you touching my house! I love the house! I love the living room. I love everything in it!
RITA: Really?
BEN: Except for the people! And it’s going to stay the way it is. Forever! You understand me? When they build a highway they can build around it. I don’t give a shit! I want to add it to my will. I want it in writing. The sofa stays! The chairs stay! You’re so goddamn eager to forget, that you can’t wait, you can’t even wait until I’m gone to get rid of everything. I made those stains! My ass put the dents in those cushions! They’re my dents! You want to forget me as fast as you can, well I don’t want it! I don’t want it and I won’t have it! Do you understand me!
RITA: You have nothing to say about it.
BEN: I think I do!!
(Lisa appears in the doorway, unnoticed by Ben and Rita. She’s carrying a very sweet, very small plant.)
RITA: It can’t be good for you to shout.
BEN: I want to shout! I can do what I want! I’ve been wanting to shout every fucking day of my goddamn life for years!
RITA: You’ve been shouting for years.
BEN: Don’t change the house!!
LISA: Hello, Daddy.
RITA: Lisa!
BEN (To himself): Shit.
LISA: I would have been here sooner, but traffic was terrible and I couldn’t find parking.
BEN: There’s a lot! There’s a parking lot!
LISA: I didn’t notice.
BEN: It’s right there!
RITA: Your father’s
a little worked up right now.
LISA: I can see that.
BEN (Worked up): I am not “worked up.”
RITA: It’ll pass.
LISA (Attempting cheery): I brought a plant.
RITA: Very nice. Isn’t it nice, Ben? It’s a nice plant. Adorable!
BEN: Thank you, pumpkin.
RITA: We’ll put it right here. (She puts the plant by the window)
BEN: The Bronsteins sent candy.
LISA: Oh?
BEN: Your mother ate it all.
RITA: You ate some.
BEN: One piece.
RITA: You didn’t like it.
BEN (Pouting): I got a jelly.
RITA (To Lisa): Where are the boys?
LISA: Chad’s with his father—Jeremy’s with the sitter.
RITA: At his age?
LISA: He likes her.
BEN: Thanks for the plant.
LISA: I didn’t think they should come.
RITA: Have you had him tested?
LISA: Who?
RITA: Jeremy.
LISA: For what?
RITA: You know.
LISA: No, I don’t. What do you mean, tested? Tested for what?
RITA (Bright): Nothing, dear. Forget it. I like your shoes. Are they new? They’re very smart. They make your feet look itty-bitty.
BEN: Let me look at you.
LISA: Tested how? What do you mean? Tested for what?
RITA: Well dear, it’s just that he seems, to me, to be just a little bit retarded.
LISA: What?!
RITA: Not excessively!
LISA: Jeremy?!
RITA: Moderately. Just moderately. A little.
LISA: Why would you say that?
RITA: It’s not a criticism.
LISA: Jeremy is not retarded!
RITA: Well, you don’t know for sure if you haven’t had him tested.
LISA: I would know if my son were retarded.
BEN: You never know.
LISA: They test that sort of thing, at school. —Why would you say that?!
RITA: I didn’t mean to upset you.
LISA: How else could I react? What did you expect?
RITA: Honestly, I didn’t think about it.
LISA: Do you think Chad is retarded?
RITA (After a quick internal debate): No.
LISA: But you think Jeremy—
RITA: Let’s not talk about it. Forget I mentioned it. Let’s talk about something else.
LISA: I have to call my sponsor.
RITA: You just got here.
BEN: Can’t it wait?
LISA (Looking around): . . . Fine. I guess it’s fine.
RITA: Good.
LISA: There’s no liquor in the room, is there?
RITA: I don’t think so.
LISA: How long have you thought my son is retarded?
RITA: Please. Forget I said anything. Just put it out of your mind. Let’s have a visit. A nice visit. All right?
(Lisa sits. There’s a pause.)
LISA: You look well, Daddy.
RITA: Doesn’t he?
BEN: I feel like shit, like a piece of fucking shit that got run over by a truck.
RITA (Confidentially): He curses a lot now.
BEN: I can hear you, motherfucker!
LISA: You know, um, you didn’t say much. When you called. I mean you said that Dad has cancer, but you didn’t say—
BEN: I do. That’s right. I have cancer.
LISA: Yes. But I mean—what kind of cancer?
RITA: What kind?
LISA: That’s right, what kind? Where is it?
RITA: Where isn’t it? It started in his kidney, they think, but now it’s everywhere. It’s in his bones, his colon, his lungs, his asparagus—
LISA: His what?
RITA: Did I say asparagus? I meant esophagus, or appendix. Do you still have your appendix?
BEN: I dunno.
RITA: It’s taken hold.
LISA: Oh my god.
RITA: It’s everywhere.
LISA: I didn’t—How do you feel?
BEN: How do you think?
LISA: So this is serious. This is—When did you find out?
BEN: A few months ago
RITA: He never sees doctors. He says he’s too busy. Busy with what? That’s what I want to know. He hasn’t worked since god knows when. He just sits around the house and—
LISA: Wait, wait. Just wait. You’ve known this for months?
BEN (To Rita): I do things!
RITA: A few months.
LISA: Why didn’t you tell me?
RITA: I meant to dear, but frankly, I got busy.
BEN (Disdainful): She plays backgammon now.
RITA: I was in a tournament!
LISA: So you forgot to tell me that my father is sick?!
BEN: By the time we found out there was nothing to do.
RITA: A fait accompli.
BEN: It’s inside me and it’s alive.
RITA: So really. Why burden you? You have your own problems.
LISA: You’re my parents!
BEN: Your hands are full.
RITA: You have the boys.
BEN: All by yourself.
RITA: Are you seeing anyone?
BEN: Why trouble you.
RITA: We decided not to tell you, or Curtis—until the end.
LISA: . . . The end?
BEN: That’s right. The end . . . I’m dying.
(There’s a long pause while Lisa tries to process this.)
LISA: You’re dying.
BEN: Yes.
LISA: I didn’t, I don’t, um—I don’t—
RITA: Are you all right?
BEN: It’s any time now.
LISA: You should have told me. You should have. I could’ve been prepared.
RITA: I thought I made it clear.
LISA (Snapping): You didn’t.
RITA: I’m sorry.
LISA (To Ben): It’s just—You don’t look like you’re dying.
BEN: Looks are deceiving.
LISA: This isn’t happening. It can’t be. Have you seen doctors—I mean a second opinion?
BEN: And a third.
RITA: We’ve had time to adjust.
(Lisa takes a moment and really processes this.)
LISA (Fragile): . . . You’re dying.
(Ben nods.)
RITA: And we thought, now that it’s, well, imminent, we thought you should be here.
LISA: I see.
RITA: It’s all right. It is. We’re ready. He’s ready. Your father’s had a good life.
BEN: Not really.
RITA: What do you mean by that?
BEN: What could I mean by “not really”?
RITA: He’s had a good life. By most people’s standards. He’s a very half-glass-empty kind of person, but by most people’s standards he’s had a very full life.
BEN: Says you.
RITA: But now, well . . . we thought you should be here.
LISA: Of course.
RITA: To say anything that you might want to say.
LISA: Oh.
RITA: Before it’s too late.
LISA: I see.
(Beat.)
RITA: Is there something?
LISA: What?
RITA: That you want to say?
LISA: Oh. Now? You mean, now?
RITA (Confidential): I wouldn’t wait.
LISA: Oh.
RITA: Whatever you like. A poem. Or you might want to share a memory, if you can put your finger on something pleasant. Or just talk about your feelings, whatever they are. You know, something meaningful.
LISA: Of course. Yes. Of course, I’d like to.
RITA: Well?
(Lisa stands by the bed.)
LISA: Daddy, I um . . . I . . . well . . .
(A long pause while Lisa tries to think of something meaningful to say.)
RITA: No pressure, dear.
LISA (Snapping at her): Let me think!
RITA: Sorry
.
(They watch while Lisa strains to remember something. Lisa’s quite emotional when she finally speaks.)
LISA: Daddy . . . I remember . . . when I was little, six or seven maybe, and I was playing on the jungle gym and you were watching, and you looked away for just a second, and I fell and—oh, shit. That’s a movie.
RITA: Kramer vs. Kramer!
BEN: I’m getting sleepy.
RITA: I loved that picture!
LISA: It’ll come to me! Something will come. It’s a lot to process!
RITA: Don’t worry about it. Please. Something will pop into your head, I’m sure. Like when you’re trying to remember someone’s name. You try and try and come up empty. And then all of a sudden—there it is!
LISA: I give up.
RITA: Good.
BEN: Well, that was a bust.
RITA (To Lisa): I wish you’d brought candy or something. I’m starving. And I have a terrible taste in my mouth.
LISA: I could go downstairs?
RITA: No, no. It’s fine.
LISA: There might be something in my purse.
(Lisa looks through her purse.)
RITA: Did you call your brother?
LISA: Yes.
RITA: Good.
LISA: A piece of licorice!
RITA: Red?
LISA: Black.
RITA: Forget it.
BEN: I was sure you’d have something to say. Not Curtis maybe, but you. I would’ve bet on it.
LISA: I could try again?
RITA: Please don’t. It was embarrassing.
LISA (Defeated): Fine.
(Beat.)
RITA: Listen. I was thinking, what if you and the boys come and visit, stay with me—for a little while.
LISA: Why?
RITA: To keep me company.
LISA (Skeptical): Really?
BEN: You don’t have to.
RITA: Maybe she wants to.
LISA: The boys have school.
RITA: We can homeschool them!
BEN: That’s for crackpots.
RITA: That’s not true. Many wonderful people have been homeschooled. All kinds of people. Presidents and captains of industry.
BEN: Name two.
RITA: Right now?
BEN: Crackpots. Crackpots and religious fanatics.
RITA: Please. You’re the one who’s all of a sudden afraid of hell.
BEN: Leave the boys where they are. You don’t want them. You don’t really like them anyway.
RITA: That’s not true!
LISA: You don’t like your grandchildren?
RITA: I adore them.
BEN: She doesn’t.
LISA: Why don’t you like them?
RITA: I do! I mean, Chad takes after his father a little too much, and Jeremy, as I said, I think is slightly retarded. But I like them! Of course, I like them. They’re my grandchildren!