by Neil LaBute
MAN Jesus, fuck, do you have to? Hmm?! After, like, every word or phrase, do you absolutely have to make a face or say something or, or, you know, throw your little hex on it? I’m curious, I seriously am … are you compelled to do that or what?
WOMAN No. Obviously no. (Beat.) It’s just funny sometimes./ It amuses me.
MAN I see./ Great.
WOMAN And it keeps me from crying my eyes out over this every single moment. Over how we’ve thrown our lives out the window—and yes, I’m including you here, too—both of us have just tossed away our youth and beauty on a shitty little life together that amounted to exactly zero. Less than that, maybe. Less than zero and I’m sorry but that makes me sad so I’ll sometimes joke. Or try to hurt you. Or whatever. (Beat.) That’s the way I am. Forgive me.
MAN No, I get that. I do. I mean … when you put it that way.
WOMAN Good.
MAN ’Cause I pretty much hate you, too! (Beat.) In my own “ineffectual” way, of course.
WOMAN Touché, baby. Touché.
The MAN drains his drink and sets the glass aside. The WOMAN waits.
WOMAN … how about reading me your list there? Should be amusing.
MAN It’s not meant to be … I think this stuff’s important. Every bit of it. As meaningful as—I don’t know what I’m saying. Forget it. (Folds over the paper.) We can just figure this out with your attorney, I guess …
WOMAN No, no, come on … I was just messing around. You’re right about it. (Beat.) See? For once I’m being nice to you—this might be the simplest, least combative scenario for us … just talking.
MAN Okay. (Beat.) Alright then. Fine.
WOMAN So? Go ahead.
MAN Ummmm … (Reopens paper.) I sort’ve split things into … you know, like, categories. You understand what I’m saying.
WOMAN Sure. I mean, I know the word. It’s “categories.” I get it.
The MAN stands to read, giving it a bit of gravitas.
MAN Good … (Beat.) Should we start with the … doesn’t feel right to discuss our boat when we … or the timeshare when we have—those’re just things, that’s all. Items. Junk. So if you want all the paintings and mirrors or the, the … just say so. Do. But that’s not why I’m being … all …
WOMAN Thank you. So generous.
MAN No, come on, you know what I’m saying here—let’s get down to what’s important. The substance. All the real … the stuff we never get to talk about.
WOMAN What?
MAN Not what … who.
WOMAN “Who?” (Beat.) Ok, now I’m lost.
MAN Jesus, come on. The kids. How about them in all this? I think it’s time for us to …
WOMAN Keep ’em.
MAN Excuse me?
The WOMAN says nothing more and the MAN doesn’t know what to do now; he sits down, folding the paper up again as he does.
WOMAN Keep-them. I don’t want them or anything to do with ’em. Really.
MAN Come on, be serious.
WOMAN I am.
MAN Alright, if you’re not gonna treat this as a …
WOMAN I am treating it with complete and utter seriousness, sweetheart: You-may-have-the-children.
MAN I’m … what? That’s not what we’ve been—you’ve let this drag on for months saying that you’re … that we had to come to some sort of …
WOMAN Yes? Tell me …
MAN I don’t know! That you were, like, after money for them and how many days of school holiday that I can see … you know what I’m saying! You have pitched a battle in defense of them.
WOMAN No, I haven’t; you misunderstand me again./ Yes. Like always.
MAN Oh, really?/ No, I haven’t …
WOMAN You’ve looked at the facts and not been at all able to understand ’em.
MAN Then why don’t you explain it to me then. Ok? Like you would a 4th grader and I’ll sit here and listen and try to keep up. (Beat.) Go on.
She is about to respond but catches herself. Stops. She regroups and speaks slowly. Clearly.
WOMAN Fine. I didn’t do it for them, any of it, the fighting or nagging or long-winded letters in the official-looking envelopes. No. I did not./ I did it against you.
MAN So then … / What?
WOMAN I did it for spite and revenge. To squander your money and your time. To bother you.
MAN Oh.
WOMAN That’s why.
MAN I see. Not because …
WOMAN No. Not because I should’ve or was supposed to. Not as a mother or as some angel of mercy. And certainly not for them …
MAN God. I mean, that’s … shit.
WOMAN I’ve never really liked them. You know? I mean, when it comes right down to it … I get none of those gooey-lovely things when I look at my children. Feelings. All I see is you. I see you in them and that is enough to make me sick, makes me want to gouge out their eyes and bruise their lips, tear them off their little faces—to erase all traces of you in them. That’s what I see each morning as I get them ready for school. (Beat.) So that’s fine, really. It’s silly for me to go on this way, to spend so much energy on such negativity—have them if you want to. I don’t give a shit any more.
MAN … ummm …
WOMAN I’m serious. I’m through with the trench warfare here, the attrition and all that. Let’s just let it be over; you want them so damn badly you’re welcome to ’em. The kiddies.
MAN But that’s not … you’re …
WOMAN One of each. It’ll be nice for you. Like new bookends or something. You get that and I get to walk away.
MAN Yeah, but you can’t just … honey …
WOMAN Of course I can. Of course. That’s what adults do—we have to make the big, hard choices. We rarely do it, we follow the path and play by the rules, do the same shit and blunder through the exact goddamn mistakes as our parents did … but we are, in fact, allowed. If we want to, if we are bold enough to … we can do anything we want. Any. Thing. And our children, by virtue of being that, “children,” must follow along.
MAN Oh. (Beat.) Wow, God, that’s so …
WOMAN Look, it was you who spoke so highly—and at such great length—about having a family. How important and terrific it would be./ Not me.
MAN Yeah, but … / Honey, listen …
WOMAN It was just another heap in a huge pile of shit you were selling. The American Dream. How lovely. How so so perfect and happy we would be … (Beat.) In case you haven’t noticed: We’re not.
MAN Yeah, no, I get that. Loud and clear. Yes.
WOMAN Then my work here is done. (Stands.) Keep them. Help ’em with their homework and make ’em their meals. Get nothing in return. Knock yourself out. I’m sick of it—I didn’t know it was a fucking life sentence when I signed on, you know? You and them and it just … it never ends! It is endless. No matter what I do, what else happens in life … every day finishes with me wiping somebody’s ass for them and I have had enough.
The WOMAN moves to go but the MAN stands—not blocking her way but causing her to stop. Listen.
MAN No, no, no, no … this is not what I, you know … had in mind when I first … wait!
WOMAN Have-them. Go on. They’re not that special, trust me. You’ll find that out within a week …
MAN … Jesus …
WOMAN Please. Come on, no one’s watching, they’re not keeping score here—be real about this. You were never at home, what would you know about it? How could you possibly have a sense of who or what they are … how they turned out?
MAN Don’t say that … I mean, Jesus, do not be hateful for the sheer sake of it. I know that they’re … that my children are … are …
A silence gradually settles in. The MAN stops talking.
WOMAN Exactly. You don’t know shit.
MAN … no, I suppose I … no.
WOMAN These are not chemists we’re talking about here, international prizewinners, future finders of vaccines to
save the planet. No. We didn’t bring forth any geniuses, you and I … that is both our blessing and our curse. They are just normal and average, straight-up kids who will grow sullen and pensive because of what we are doing to them, who will learn to smile and say that everything is alright, to cry at night when others are sleeping, and learn to plot and plan and divide us like wolves splitting up the calves from the herd. They’re frighteningly normal, these kids of ours—casualties of war, the walking wounded who will excel at nothing but revenge toward you and me. That is who they are. (Smiling sadly.) They are not part of some great generation coming back from the greatest of wars, leaving the battlefields of Verdun and the Somme and heading back toward the waiting arms of those Jazz-Aged, bob-haired beauties, struck dumb by horror and carnage and a world out of balance. Sipping champagne while dancing off into the night, or down to Spain to watch a noonday bullfight in some small country town in the vain hope that this new pleasure might somehow, in some way ease their pain … (Beat.) Those are not our children, my dearest. Oh no. We have two “C” students who will probably work in insurance somewhere and, if family genetics have anything to say …
MAN … don’t, please …
WOMAN … they will die, quite probably, of heart disease in their mid to late 60s. That is the legacy we have left behind. Yours and mine.
MAN No. (Beat.) No, no, no!
WOMAN No?
MAN No … that’s not … you’re wrong.
WOMAN And how’s that?
MAN NO. That is not who my children are or have become./ You don’t know all there is to … you couldn’t.
WOMAN Really?/ Is that right?
MAN And you’ve got the facts all … the “Great War,” “the Greatest Generation” … that’s not them, or even us. It was our parents who … the ones who fought in World War Two. That was the “great” war, not the first one. In Europe at the turn of the … no. That was “The war to end all wars.” And it was a dumb name, anyway, because, well … I mean, obviously. People still go off and kill each other so that’s a bust, far as I’m concerned. It didn’t really end anything. (Beat.) So … I mean, is that right or have I got those all twisted around?
WOMAN Doesn’t matter. You know what I’m saying … I was simply …
MAN Yeah, I do. Yes. Some hateful shit. About our boys, our sweet little …
WOMAN Please. Stop.
MAN No, I’m serious here …
WOMAN I have to play this game with my lawyer-lady and the judge and each time I visit their classrooms, all the times that I do it. Me. Okay? So today is—just as you pointed out—“honest day” here at Mickey’s place. The kids don’t mean shit to me. Nothing … (Beat.) There was a time, years ago, a glimmer of hope when they were born, each a falling star into our lives that suggested maybe … just maybe … we were somehow going to make it as a couple. But not any more. Now they’re nothing but bargaining chips, pawns that you and I and our very expensive associates love to keep pushing across the board at each other. But as people? People that I’d pick out as friends or family or even neighbors? They’re third-stringers at best. At best.
MAN … Good God …
WOMAN The truth, as always, burns like a motherfucker, and the truth, ugly as it may seem, is … our kids are nothing to write home about. Ever. Even if you were half-way through an email … (Beat.) Baby, I’m giving you my absolutely honest opinion here: you want ’em, you go ahead and have ’em. I’ll even throw in the Lexus./ I will …
MAN What?/ Are you serious?
WOMAN Completely. It’s only got twelve thousand miles on it …
MAN I can’t believe this! I mean …
WOMAN Think about it. No rush.
MAN How can you even …?!
WOMAN Easy … (Beat.) I can’t look at them without seeing their father, a tiny piece in anything they do or say or wish … I told you this before … and that makes me want to drown them in the tub, makes me wish that I could leave them in the mall or choke ’em in their sleep—do whatever I need to do to wipe the last of you off their little brows … (Beat.) That person, someone who feels like that, really shouldn’t be making their meals, now, should they?
MAN … no. No, probably not. But … / This … I mean, this is … shit …
WOMAN What?/ You don’t really wanna split ’em up, do you?
MAN No! God, no. They’re young … they should be together. With their …
WOMAN Exactly. Together.
MAN But this is—and you don’t want ’em again because why? ’Cause they’re not, like, these two amazing—they are eight and five, by the way—because they’re not off-the-charts at school yet or, or, like, musical prodigies? Huh? I mean, that’s just not … aww, fuck! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!
WOMAN Exactly. Which started all this, in the first place …
They look at each other. Both burst out laughing. Loudly.
MAN You are funny, I’ll give you that.
WOMAN Thanks.
MAN That was always nice.
WOMAN Thank you. You’re sweet. (Beat.) So come on, let’s do this …
MAN What?
WOMAN You know. Get down to it—split up the loot. (Beat.) I have a facial at three.
MAN And I’m seeing Rex over at the club for … (Trails off.) God, listen to us!
WOMAN Hmm?
MAN No, I just … it’s like the Wannsee Conference or something. Us here.
WOMAN Honey, I never really did take an interest in your work, so …
MAN No, the Wannsee … forget it. (Beat.) So, what do we do?/ Yes?
WOMAN Well … / It’s obvious how I feel, what I want … or at least would prefer.
MAN … alright …
WOMAN But you haven’t said a word, I mean not really, about what you want—
MAN Yes, I have … / I’ve …
WOMAN No, uh-uh, not really./ What you’re programmed to feel, but not what-you-want./ Yes, of course it does! Tell me. Go on.
MAN It doesn’t matter./ But this isn’t how … I worry about coming off …
WOMAN Don’t. Just say it. Be free and be honest and say what you’re actually thinking … / Go ahead.
MAN But … / This isn’t how a grown … being selfish or, or hating, like how you … I’m a, I am an adult …
The MAN catches himself and stops for a moment. Considers. He turns to the WOMAN, a bit wide-eyed. Speaks bluntly.
MAN … oh my god. (Beat.) I don’t like children! I don’t. Not just ours but any. All. Everywhere.That’s just … I mean, it’s not that I’m, I wasn’t loved or, or … just the opposite probably, now that I think about it … (He shudders.) I believe I might’ve even been loved too much. Yes. I don’t really wanna go there right now, though. (Shakes his head.) I’m not sure I understand it or why … I wanted to, felt like I was supposed to so I talked it up, was all gung-ho to you about the prospect … but in the end, I don’t like ’em. Sorry. Didn’t wanna have them, probably should’ve said something, years ago, but it felt rude at the time and so, you know, you just go with the flow … and now here we are, two little tots caught in the midst of our crap and I don’t wanna hurt them, not outright, anyway, but no way do I have the room in my new place and it’s just … their schools are way over in … / And so that’s a whole … Jesus … oh God.
WOMAN See?/ It’s ok! It’s human to be a little selfish … but there’s the world to contend with./ What people think and do and feel about us …
MAN True./ Right.
WOMAN So what I propose is this: joint custody.
MAN … you’re kidding, right?
WOMAN Not at all./ Just listen.
MAN But … / Alright.
WOMAN We get out our calendars, mark off the days that make the most sense for ourselves and check that with the other person’s list and presto! We’ve come to a begrudging detente. Our friends and neighbors see us as profoundly human, making sacrifices for the wee ones and life goes on. We have playe
d the game. We’ve won the war. Somehow, through lies and subterfuge and, and great personal cost—we have come out of this mess looking like actual human beings.
MAN So … you mean … we do the same old shit that anybody else would do in this position?
WOMAN Exactly! We pretend.
MAN Oh. (It finally clicks.) Ohhhhh! So, we’ll act like we care … / As if we are sweet and good and filled with the milk of … human kindness …
WOMAN Yes!/ Exactly. That is exactly what we’ll do.
MAN Huh. Ok. (Beat.) Now that makes sense.
The MAN slips his hand across the great divide of the couch and touches the WOMAN’s hand. Meeting her gaze.
MAN But seriously, though … what are we going to do about the boat?
WOMAN You can keep the boat.
MAN Really?
WOMAN Yes, keep it … but I want the dog. I love the dog.
MAN I keep the boat if you get the dog? (Beat.) Yes?
WOMAN Yes.
MAN Ok.
WOMAN Ok.
MAN Fine.
WOMAN Fine.
MAN Good. (Beat.) Alright then. You’ve got yourself a deal …
They continue to touch. Staring out at the audience. Smiling.
Silence. Darkness.
IN THE BEGINNING
In the Beginning had its American premiere at Theater Row in New York City in January 2013 (as part of a series of short plays collectively titled Theatre Uncut.) It was directed by Emily Reutlinger.
PARENT Victor Slezak
CHILD Gia Crovatin
Silence. Darkness.
Two people standing in a room. PARENT and his only CHILD.
They stand in silence for a beat, staring at each other.
If this is done elsewhere (school cafeteria, park, living room, etc.), then just make-believe—that’s what theater is supposed to be about, after all.
PARENT … I don’t think so.
CHILD You don’t think so?
PARENT That’s what I said.
CHILD So that’s “no” then, right?
PARENT Is it?
CHILD Isn’t it?
PARENT Pretty much. Yes.
CHILD I see.
PARENT Good.
CHILD I mean, you love to say “we’ll see” or “I don’t know.” “Maybe.” You love all those phrases but what you really mean is “no.” You’re saying “no” to me. Correct?