W;t
Page 5
(Quickly) Now is not the time for verbal swordplay, for unlikely flights of imagination and wildly shifting perspectives, for metaphysical conceit, for wit.
And nothing would be worse than a detailed scholarly analysis. Erudition. Interpretation. Complication.
(Slowly) Now is a time for simplicity. Now is a time for, dare I say it, kindness.
(Searchingly) I thought being extremely smart would take care of it. But I see that I have been found out. Ooohhh.
I’m scared. Oh, God. I want … I want … No. I want to hide. I just want to curl up in a little ball. (She dives under the covers.)
* * *
(VIVIAN wakes in horrible pain. She is tense, agitated, fearful. Slowly she calms down and addresses the audience.)
VIVIAN: (Trying extremely hard) I want to tell you how it feels. I want to explain it, to use my words. It’s as if … I can’t … There aren’t … I’m like a student and this is the final exam and I don’t know what to put down because I don’t understand the question and I’m running out of time.
The time for extreme measures has come. I am in terrible pain. Susie says that I need to begin aggressive pain management if I am going to stand it.
“It”: such a little word. In this case, I think “it” signifies “being alive.”
I apologize in advance for what this palliative treatment modality does to the dramatic coherence of my play’s last scene. It can’t be helped. They have to do something. I’m in terrible pain.
Say it, Vivian. It hurts like hell. It really does.
(SUSIE enters. VIVIAN is writhing in pain.)
Oh, God. Oh, God.
SUSIE: Sshh. It’s okay. Sshh. I paged Kelekian up here, and we’ll get you some meds.
VIVIAN: Oh, God, it is so painful. So painful. So much pain. So much pain.
SUSIE: I know, I know, it’s okay. Sshh. Just try and clear your mind. It’s all right. We’ll get you a Patient-Controlled Analgesic. It’s a little pump, and you push a little button, and you decide how much medication you want. (Importantly) It’s very simple, and it’s up to you.
(KELEKIAN storms in; JASON follows with chart.)
KELEKIAN: Dr. Bearing. Susie.
SUSIE: Time for Patient-Controlled Analgesic. The pain is killing her.
KELEKIAN: Dr. Bearing, are you in pain? (KELEKIAN holds out his hand for chart; JASON hands it to him. They read.)
VIVIAN: (Sitting up, unnoticed by the staff) Am I in pain? I don’t believe this. Yes, I’m in goddamn pain. (Furious) I have a fever of 101 spiking to 104. And I have bone metastases in my pelvis and both femurs. (Screaming) There is cancer eating away at my goddamn bones, and I did not know there could be such pain on this earth.
(She flops back on the bed and cries audibly to them.) Oh, God.
KELEKIAN: (Looking at VIVIAN intently) I want a morphine drip.
SUSIE: What about Patient-Controlled? She could be more alert—
KELEKIAN: (Teaching) Ordinarily, yes. But in her case, no.
SUSIE: But—
KELEKIAN: (To SUSIE) She’s earned a rest. (To JASON) Morphine, ten push now, then start at ten an hour. (To VIVIAN) Dr. Bearing, try to relax. We’re going to help you through this, don’t worry. Dr. Bearing? Excellent. (He squeezes VIVIAN’s shoulder. They all leave.)
VIVIAN: (Weakly, painfully, leaning on her IV pole, she moves to address the audience.) Hi. How are you feeling today?
(Silence)
These are my last coherent lines. I’ll have to leave the action to the professionals.
It came so quickly, after taking so long. Not even time for a proper conclusion.
(VIVIAN concentrates with all her might, and she attempts a grand summation, as if trying to conjure her own ending.)
And Death—capital D—shall be no more—semicolon.
Death—capital D—thou shalt die—ex-cla-mation point!
(She looks down at herself, looks out at the audience, and sees that the line doesn’t work. She shakes her head and exhales with resignation.)
I’m sorry.
* * *
(She gets back into bed as SUSIE injects morphine into the IV tubing. VIVIAN lies down and, in a final melodramatic gesture, shuts the lids of her own eyes and folds her arms over her chest.)
VIVIAN: I trust this will have a soporific effect.
SUSIE: Well, I don’t know about that, but it sure makes you sleepy.
(This strikes VIVIAN as delightfully funny. She starts to giggle, then laughs out loud. SUSIE doesn’t get it.)
SUSIE: What’s so funny? (VIVIAN keeps laughing.) What?
VIVIAN: Oh! It’s that—“Soporific” means “makes you sleepy.”
SUSIE: It does?
VIVIAN: Yes. (Another fit of laughter)
SUSIE: (Giggling) Well, that was pretty dumb—
VIVIAN: No! No, no! It was funny!
SUSIE: (Starting to catch on) Yeah, I guess so. (Laughing) In a dumb sort of way. (This sets them both off laughing again) I never would have gotten it. I’m glad you explained it.
VIVIAN: (Simply) I’m a teacher.
(They laugh a little together. Slowly the morphine kicks in, and VIVIAN’s laughs become long sighs. Finally she falls asleep. SUSIE checks everything out, then leaves. Long silence)
* * *
(JASON and SUSIE chat as they enter to insert a catheter.)
JASON: Oh, yeah. She was a great scholar. Wrote tons of books, articles, was the head of everything. (He checks the I&O sheet.) Two hundred. Seventy-five. Five-twenty. Let’s up the hydration. She won’t be drinking anymore. See if we can keep her kidneys from fading. Yeah, I had a lot of respect for her, which is more than I can say for the entire biochemistry department.
SUSIE: What do you want? Dextrose?
JASON: Give her saline.
SUSIE: Okay.
JASON: She gave a hell of a lecture. No notes, not a word out of place. It was pretty impressive. A lot of students hated her, though.
SUSIE: Why?
JASON: Well, she wasn’t exactly a cupcake.
SUSIE: (Laughing, fondly) Well, she hasn’t exactly been a cupcake here, either. (Leaning over VIVIAN and talking loudly and slowly in her ear) Now, Ms. Bearing, Jason and I are here, and we’re going to insert a catheter to collect your urine. It’s not going to hurt, don’t you worry. (During the conversation she inserts the catheter.)
JASON: Like she can hear you.
SUSIE: It’s just nice to do.
JASON: Eight cycles of Hex and Vin at the full dose. Kelekian didn’t think it was possible. I wish they could all get through it at full throttle. Then we could really have some data.
SUSIE: She’s not what I imagined. I thought somebody who studied poetry would be sort of dreamy, you know?
JASON: Oh, not the way she did it. It felt more like boot camp than English class. This guy John Donne was incredibly intense. Like your whole brain had to be in knots before you could get it.
SUSIE: He made it hard on purpose?
JASON: Well, it has to do with the subject. The Holy Sonnets we worked on most, they were mostly about Salvation Anxiety. That’s a term I made up in one of my papers, but I think it fits pretty well. Salvation Anxiety. You’re this brilliant guy, I mean, brilliant—this guy makes Shakespeare sound like a Hallmark card. And you know you’re a sinner. And there’s this promise of salvation, the whole religious thing. But you just can’t deal with it.
SUSIE: How come?
JASON: It just doesn’t stand up to scrutiny. But you can’t face life without it either. So you write these screwed-up sonnets. Everything is brilliantly convoluted. Really tricky stuff. Bouncing off the walls. Like a game, to make the puzzle so complicated.
(The catheter is inserted. SUSIE puts things away.)
SUSIE: But what happens in the end?
JASON: End of what?
SUSIE: To John Donne. Does he ever get it?
JASON: Get what?
SUSIE: His Salvation Anxiety. Does he ever understand?<
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JASON: Oh, no way. The puzzle takes over. You’re not even trying to solve it anymore. Fascinating, really. Great training for lab research. Looking at things in increasing levels of complexity.
SUSIE: Until what?
JASON: What do you mean?
SUSIE: Where does it end? Don’t you get to solve the puzzle?
JASON: Nah. When it comes right down to it, research is just trying to quantify the complications of the puzzle.
SUSIE: But you help people! You save lives and stuff.
JASON: Oh, yeah, I save some guy’s life, and then the poor slob gets hit by a bus!
SUSIE: (Confused) Yeah, I guess so. I just don’t think of it that way. Guess you can tell I never took a class in poetry.
JASON: Listen, if there’s one thing we learned in Seventeenth-Century Poetry, it’s that you can forget about that sentimental stuff. Enzyme Kinetics was more poetic than Bearing’s class. Besides, you can’t think about that meaning-of-life garbage all the time or you’d go nuts.
SUSIE: Do you believe in it?
JASON: In what?
SUSIE: Umm. I don’t know, the meaning-of-life garbage. (She laughs a little.)
JASON: What do they teach you in nursing school? (Checking VIVIAN’s pulse) She’s out of it. Shouldn’t be too long. You done here?
SUSIE: Yeah, I’ll just … tidy up.
JASON: See ya. (He leaves.)
SUSIE: Bye, Jace. (She thinks for a minute, then carefully rubs baby oil on VIVIAN’s hands. She checks the catheter, then leaves.)
* * *
(Professor E. M. ASHFORD, now eighty, enters.)
E.M.: Vivian? Vivian? It’s Evelyn. Vivian?
VIVIAN: (Waking, slurred) Oh, God. (Surprised) Professor Ashford. Oh, God.
E.M.: I’m in town visiting my great-grandson, who is celebrating his fifth birthday. I went to see you at your office, and they directed me here. (She lays her jacket, scarf, and parcel on the bed.) I have been walking all over town. I had forgotten how early it gets chilly here.
VIVIAN: (Weakly) I feel so bad.
E.M.: I know you do. I can see. (VIVIAN cries.) Oh, dear, there, there. There, there. (VIVIAN cries more, letting the tears flow.) Vivian, Vivian.
(E.M. looks toward the hall, then furtively slips off her shoes and swings up on the bed. She puts her arm around VIVIAN.) There, there. There, there, Vivian. (Silence)
It’s a windy day. (Silence)
Don’t worry, dear. (Silence)
Let’s see. Shall I recite to you? Would you like that? I’ll recite something by Donne.
VIVIAN: (Moaning) Nooooooo.
E.M.: Very well. (Silence) Hmmm. (Silence) Little Jeffrey is very sweet. Gets into everything.
(Silence. E.M. takes a children’s book out of the paper bag and begins reading. VIVIAN nestles in, drifting in and out of sleep.)
Let’s see. The Runaway Bunny. By Margaret Wise Brown. Pictures by Clement Hurd. Copyright 1942. First Harper Trophy Edition, 1972.
Now then.
Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.
So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”
“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.”
“If you run after me,” said the little bunny, “I will become a fish in a trout stream and I will swim away from you.”
“If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother, “I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”
(Thinking out loud) Look at that. A little allegory of the soul. No matter where it hides, God will find it. See, Vivian?
VIVIAN: (Moaning) Uhhhhhh.
E.M.:
“If you become a fisherman,” said the little bunny, “I will be a bird and fly away from you.”
“If you become a bird and fly away from me,” said his mother, “I will be a tree that you come home to.”
(To herself) Very clever.
“Shucks,” said the little bunny, “I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.”
And so he did.
“Have a carrot,” said the mother bunny.
(To herself) Wonderful.
(VIVIAN is now fast asleep. E.M. slowly gets down and gathers her things. She leans over and kisses her.)
It’s time to go. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. (She leaves.)
(JASON strides in and goes directly to the I&O sheet without looking at VIVIAN.)
JASON: Professor Bearing. How are you feeling today? Three p.m. IV hydration totals. Two thousand in. Thirty out. Uh-oh. That’s it. Kidneys gone.
(He looks at VIVIAN.) Professor Bearing? Highly unresponsive. Wait a second— (Puts his head down to her mouth and chest to listen for heartbeat and breathing) Wait a sec—Jesus Christ! (Yelling) CALL A CODE!
(JASON throws down the chart, dives over the bed, and lies on top of her body as he reaches for the phone and punches in the numbers.)
(To himself) Code: 4-5-7-5. (To operator) Code Blue, room 707. Code Blue, room 707. Dr. Posner—P-O-S-N-E-R. Hurry up!
(He throws down the phone and lowers the head of the bed.)
Come on, come on, COME ON.
(He begins CPR, kneeling over VIVIAN, alternately pounding frantically and giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Over the loudspeaker in the hall, a droning voice repeats “Code Blue, room 707. Code Blue, room 707.”)
One! Two! Three! Four! Five! (He breathes in her mouth.)
(SUSIE, hearing the announcement, runs into the room.)
SUSIE: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
JASON: A GODDAMN CODE. GET OVER HERE!
SUSIE: She’s DNR! (She grabs him.)
JASON: (He pushes her away.) She’s Research!
SUSIE: She’s NO CODE!
(SUSIE grabs JASON and hurls him off the bed.)
JASON: Ooowww! Goddamnit, Susie!
SUSIE: She’s no code!
JASON: Aaargh!
SUSIE: Kelekian put the order in—you saw it! You were right there, Jason! Oh, God, the code! (She runs to the phone. He struggles to stand.) 4-5-7-5.
(The CODE TEAM swoops in. Everything changes. Frenzy takes over. They knock SUSIE out of the way with their equipment.)
SUSIE: (At the phone) Cancel code, room 707. Sue Monahan, primary nurse. Cancel code. Dr. Posner is here.
JASON: (In agony) Oh, God.
CODE TEAM:
—Get out of the way!
—Unit staff out!
—Get the board!
—Over here!
(They throw VIVIAN’s body up at the waist and stick a board underneath for CPR. In a whirlwind of sterile packaging and barked commands, one team member attaches a respirator, one begins CPR, and one prepares the defibrillator. SUSIE and JASON try to stop them but are pushed away. The loudspeaker in the hall announces “Cancel code, room 707. Cancel code, room 707.”)
CODE TEAM:
—Bicarb amp!
—I got it! (To SUSIE) Get out!
—One, two, three, four, five!
—Get ready to shock! (To JASON) Move it!
SUSIE: (Running to each person, yelling) STOP! Patient is DNR!
JASON: (At the same time, to the CODE TEAM) No, no! Stop doing this. STOP!
CODE TEAM:
—Keep it going!
—What do you get?
—Bicarb amp!
—No pulse!
SUSIE: She’s NO CODE! Order was given— (She dives for the chart and holds it up as she cries out) Look! Look at this! DO NOT RESUSCITATE. KELEKIAN.
CODE TEAM: (As they administer electric shock, VIVIAN’s body arches and bounces back down.)
—Almost ready!
—Hit her!
—CLEAR!
—Pulse? Pulse?
JASON: (Howling) I MADE A MISTAKE!
(Pause. The CODE TEAM looks at him. He collapses on the floor.)
SUSIE: No code! Patient is no code.
CODE TEAM HEAD: Who the hell are you?
> SUSIE: Sue Monahan, primary nurse.
CODE TEAM HEAD: Let me see the goddamn chart. CHART!
CODE TEAM: (Slowing down)
—What’s going on?
—Should we stop?
—What’s it say?
SUSIE: (Pushing them away from the bed) Patient is no code. Get away from her!
(SUSIE lifts the blanket. VIVIAN steps out of the bed.
She walks away from the scene, toward a little light.
She is now attentive and eager, moving slowly toward the light.
She takes off her cap and lets it drop.
She slips off her bracelet.
She loosens the ties and the top gown slides to the floor. She lets the second gown fall.
The instant she is naked, and beautiful, reaching for the light—
Lights out.)
CODE TEAM HEAD: (Reading) Do Not Resuscitate. Kelekian. Shit.
(The CODE TEAM stops working.)
JASON: (Whispering) Oh, God.
CODE TEAM HEAD: Order was put in yesterday.
CODE TEAM:
—It’s a doctor fuckup.
—What is he, a resident?
—Got us up here on a DNR.
—Called a code on a no-code.
JASON: Oh, God.
(The bedside scene fades.)
Critical Acclaim for W;t
“A one-of-a-kind experience: wise, thoughtful, witty and wrenching.”
— Vincent Canby, The New York Times Year in Review
“A thrilling, exciting evening in the theater … [Wit is] an extraordinary and most moving play.”
— Clive Barnes, New York Post
“Wit is exquisite … an exhilarating and harrowing 90-minute revelation.”
— Linda Winer, Newsday
“Cogent and illuminating … The play resonates with lyrical dialogue, punctuated with sudden, viciously funny barbs.”
— Robert L. Daniels, Variety
“Edson writes superbly … [A] moving, enthralling and challenging experience that reminds you what theater is for.”
— Fintan O’Toole, New York Daily News
ABOUT THE AUTHOR