GALLIMARD: What was that? What did she mean, “Sometimes ... it is mutual?” Women do not flirt with me. And I normally can’t talk to them. But tonight, I held up my end of the conversation.
scene 9
Gallimard’s bedroom. Beijing. 1960. Helga enters.
HELGA: You didn’t tell me you’d be home late.
GALLIMARD: I didn’t intend to. Something came up.
HELGA: Oh? Like what?
GALLIMARD: I went to the ... to the Dutch ambassador’s home.
HELGA: Again?
GALLIMARD: There was a reception for a visiting scholar. He’s writing a six-volume treatise on the Chinese revolution. We all gathered that meant he’d have to live here long enough to actually write six volumes, and we all expressed our deepest sympathies.
HELGA: Well, I had a good night too. I went with the ladies to a martial arts demonstration. Some of those men—when they break those thick boards—(She mimes fanning herself) whoo-whoo!
Helga exits. Lights dim.
GALLIMARD: I lied to my wife. Why? I’ve never had any reason to lie before. But what reason did I have tonight? I didn’t do anything wrong. That night, I had a dream. Other people, I’ve been told, have dreams where angels appear. Or dragons, or Sophia Loren in a towel. In my dream, Marc from school appeared.
Marc enters, in a nightshirt and cap.
MARC: Rene! You met a girl!
Gallimard and Marc stumble down the Beijing streets. Night sounds over the speakers.
GALLIMARD: It’s not that amazing, thank you.
MARC: No! It’s so monumental, I heard about it halfway around the world in my sleep!
GALLIMARD: I’ve met girls before, you know.
MARC: Name one. I’ve come across time and space to congratulate you. (He hands Gallimard a bottle of wine)
GALLIMARD: Marc, this is expensive.
MARC: On those rare occasions when you become a formless spirit, why not steal the best?
Marc pops open the bottle, begins to share it with Gallimard.
GALLIMARD: You embarrass me. She ... there’s no reason to think she likes me.
MARC: “Sometimes, it is mutual”?
GALLIMARD: Oh.
MARC: “Mutual”? “Mutual”? What does that mean?
GALLIMARD: You heard!
MARC: It means the money is in the bank, you only have to write the check!
GALLIMARD: I am a married man!
MARC: And an excellent one too. I cheated after ... six months. Then again and again, until now—three hundred girls in twelve years.
GALLIMARD: I don’t think we should hold that up as a model.
MARC: Of course not! My life—it is disgusting! Phooey! Phooey! But, you—you are the model husband.
GALLIMARD: Anyway, it’s impossible. I’m a foreigner.
MARC: Ah, yes. She cannot love you, it is taboo, but something deep inside her heart ... she cannot help herself ... she must surrender to you. It is her destiny.
GALLIMARD: How do you imagine all this?
MARC: The same way you do. It’s an old story. It’s in our blood. They fear us, Rene. Their women fear us. And their men—their men hate us. And, you know something? They are all correct.
They spot a light in a window.
MARC: There! There, Rene!
GALLIMARD: It’s her window.
MARC: Late at night—it burns. The light—it burns for you.
GALLIMARD: I won’t look. It’s not respectful.
MARC: We don’t have to be respectful. We’re foreign devils.
Enter Song, in a sheer robe. The “One Fine Day” aria creeps in over the speakers. With her back to us, Song mimes attending to her toilette. Her robe comes loose, revealing her white shoulders.
MARC: All your life you’ve waited for a beautiful girl who would lay down for you. All your life you’ve smiled like a saint when it’s happened to every other man you know. And you see them in magazines and you see them in movies. And you wonder, what’s wrong with me? Will anyone beautiful ever want me? As the years pass, your hair thins and you struggle to hold onto even your hopes. Stop struggling, Rene. The wait is over. (He exits)
GALLIMARD: Marc? Marc?
At that moment, Song, her back still towards us, drops her robe. A second of her naked back, then a sound cue: a phone ringing, very loud. Blackout, followed in the next beat by a special up on the bedroom area, where a phone now sits. Gallimard stumbles across the stage and picks up the phone. Sound cue out. Over the course of his conversation, area lights fill in the vicinity of his bed. It is the following morning.
GALLIMARD: Yes? Hello?
SONG (Offstage): Is it very early?
GALLIMARD: Why, yes.
SONG (Offstage): How early?
GALLIMARD: It’s ... it’s 5:30. Why are you—?
SONG (Offstage): But it’s light outside. Already.
GALLIMARD: It is. The sun must be in confusion today.
Over the course of Song’s next speech, her upstage special comes up again. She sits in a chair, legs crossed, in a robe, telephone to her ear.
SONG: I waited until I saw the sun. That was as much discipline as I could manage for one night. Do you forgive me?
GALLIMARD: Of course ... for what?
SONG: Then I’ll ask you quickly. Are you really interested in the opera?
GALLIMARD: Why, yes. Yes I am.
SONG: Then come again next Thursday. I am playing The Drunken Beauty. May I count on you?
GALLIMARD: Yes. You may.
SONG: Perfect. Well, I must be getting to bed. I’m exhausted. It’s been a very long night for me.
Song hangs up; special on her goes off. Gallimard begins to dress for work.
scene 10
Song Liling’s apartment. Beijing. 1960.
GALLIMARD: I returned to the opera that next week, and the week after that ... she keeps our meetings so short—perhaps fifteen, twenty minutes at most. So I am left each week with a thirst which is intensified. In this way, fifteen weeks have gone by. I am starting to doubt the words of my friend Marc. But no, not really. In my heart, I know she has ... an interest in me. I suspect this is her way. She is outwardly bold and outspoken, yet her heart is shy and afraid. It is the Oriental in her at war with her Western education.
SONG (Offstage): I will be out in an instant. Ask the servant for anything you want.
GALLIMARD: Tonight, I have finally been invited to enter her apartment. Though the idea is almost beyond belief, I believe she is afraid of me.
Gallimard looks around the room. He picks up a picture in a frame, studies it. Without his noticing, Song enters, dressed elegantly in a black gown from the twenties. She stands in the doorway looking like Anna May Wong.
SONG: That is my father.
GALLIMARD (Surprised): Mademoiselle Song ...
She glides up to him, snatches away the picture.
SONG: It is very good that he did not live to see the Revolution. They would, no doubt, have made him kneel on broken glass. Not that he didn’t deserve such a punishment. But he is my father. I would’ve hated to see it happen.
GALLIMARD: I’m very honored that you’ve allowed me to visit your home.
Song curtsys.
SONG: Thank you. Oh! Haven’t you been poured any tea?
GALLIMARD: I’m really not—
SONG (To her offstage servant): Shu-Fang! Cha! Kwai-lah! (To Gallimard) I’m sorry. You want everything to be perfect—
GALLIMARD: Please.
SONG:—and before the evening even begins—
GALLIMARD: I’m really not thirsty.
SONG:—it’s ruined.
GALLIMARD (Sharply): Mademoiselle Song!
Song sits down.
SONG: I’m sorry.
GALLIMARD: What are you apologizing for now?
Pause; Song starts to giggle.
SONG: I don’t know!
Gallimard laughs.
GALLIMARD: Exactly my point.
SONG: Oh,
I am silly. Lightheaded. I promise not to apologize for anything else tonight, do you hear me?
GALLIMARD: That’s a good girl.
Shu-Fang, a servant girl, comes out with a tea tray and starts to pour.
SONG (To Shu-Fang): No! I’ll pour myself for the gentleman!
Shu-Fang, staring at Gallimard, exits.
SONG: No, I .. I don’t even know why I invited you up.
GALLIMARD: Well, I’m glad you did.
Song looks around the room.
SONG: There is an element of danger to your presence.
GALLIMARD: Oh?
SONG: You must know.
GALLIMARD: It doesn’t concern me. We both know why I’m here.
SONG: It doesn’t concern me either. No ... well perhaps
GALLIMARD: What?
SONG: Perhaps I am slightly afraid of scandal.
GALLIMARD: What are we doing?
SONG: I’m entertaining you. In my parlor.
GALLIMARD: In France, that would hardly—
SONG: France. France is a country living in the modem era. Perhaps even ahead of it. China is a nation whose soul is firmly rooted two thousand years in the past. What I do, even pouring the tea for you now ... it has ... implications. The walls and windows say so. Even my own heart, strapped inside this Western dress ... even it says things—things I don’t care to hear.
Song hands Gallimard a cup of tea. Gallimard puts his hand over both the teacup and Song’s hand.
GALLIMARD: This is a beautiful dress.
SONG: Don’t.
GALLIMARD: What?
SONG: I don’t even know if it looks right on me.
GALLIMARD: Believe me—
SONG: You are from France. You see so many beautiful women.
GALLIMARD: France? Since when are the European women—?
SONG: Oh! What am I trying to do, anyway?!
Song runs to the door, composes herself, then turns towards Gallimard.
SONG: Monsieur Gallimard, perhaps you should go.
GALLIMARD: But ... why?
SONG: There’s something wrong about this.
GALLIMARD: I don’t see what.
SONG: I feel ... I am not myself.
GALLIMARD: No. You’re nervous.
SONG: Please. Hard as I try to be modern, to speak like a man, to hold a Western woman’s strong face up to my own ... in the end, I fail. A small, frightened heart beats too quickly and gives me away. Monsieur Gallimard, I’m a Chinese girl. I’ve never ... never invited a man up to my flat before. The forwardness of my actions makes my skin burn.
GALLIMARD: What are you afraid of? Certainly not me, I hope.
SONG: I’m a modest girl.
GALLIMARD: I know. And very beautiful. (He touches her hair)
SONG: Please—go now. The next time you see me, I shall again be myself.
GALLIMARD: I like you the way you are right now.
SONG: You are a cad.
GALLIMARD: What do you expect? I’m a foreign devil.
Gallimard walks downstage. Song exits.
GALLIMARD (To us): Did you hear the way she talked about Western women? Much differently than the first night. She does—she feels inferior to them—and to me.
scene 11
The French embassy. Beijing. 1960. Gallimard moves towards a desk.
GALLIMARD: I determined to try an experiment. In Madame Butterfly, Cio-Cio-San fears that the Western man who catches a butterfly will pierce its heart with a needle, then leave it to perish. I began to wonder: had I, too, caught a butterfly who would writhe on a needle?
Marc enters, dressed as a bureaucrat, holding a stack of papers. As Gallimard speaks, Marc hands papers to him. He peruses, then signs, stamps or rejects them.
GALLIMARD: Over the next five weeks, I worked like a dynamo. I stopped going to the opera, I didn’t phone or write her. I knew this little flower was waiting for me to call, and, as I wickedly refused to do so, I felt for the first time that rush of power—the absolute power of a man.
Marc continues acting as the bureaucrat, but he now speaks as himself.
MARC: Rene! It’s me!
GALLIMARD: Marc—I hear your voice everywhere now. Even in the midst of work.
MARC: That’s because I’m watching you—all the time.
GALLIMARD: You were always the most popular guy in school.
MARC: Well, there’s no guarantee of failure in life like happiness in high school. Somehow I knew I’d end up in the suburbs working for Renault and you’d be in the Orient picking exotic women off the trees. And they say there’s no justice.
GALLIMARD: That’s why you were my friend?
MARC: I gave you a little of my life, so that now you can give me some of yours (Pause) Remember Isabelle?
GALLIMARD: Of course I remember! She was my first experience.
MARC: We all wanted to ball her. But she only wanted me.
GALLIMARD: I had her.
MARC: Right. You balled her.
GALLIMARD: You were the only one who ever believed me.
MARC: Well, there’s a good reason for that. (Beat) C‘mon. You must’ve guessed.
GALLIMARD: You told me to wait in the bushes by the cafeteria that night. The next thing I knew, she was on me. Dress up in the air.
MARC: She never wore underwear.
GALLIMARD: My arms were pinned to the dirt.
MARC: She loved the superior position. A girl ahead of her time.
GALLIMARD: I looked up, and there was this woman ... bouncing up and down on my loins.
MARC: Screaming, right?
GALLIMARD: Screaming, and breaking off the branches all around me, and pounding my butt up and down into the dirt.
MARC: Huffing and puffing like a locomotive.
GALLIMARD: And in the middle of all this, the leaves were getting into my mouth, my legs were losing circulation, I thought, “God. So this is it?”
MARC: You thought that?
GALUMARD: Well, I was worried about my legs falling off.
MARC: You didn’t have a good time?
GALLIMARD: No, that’s not what I—I had a great time!
MARC: You’re sure?
GALLIMARD: Yeah. Really.
MARC: ‘Cuz I wanted you to have a good time.
GALLIMARD: I did.
Pause.
MARC: Shit. (Pause) When all is said and done, she was kind of a lousy lay, wasn’t she? I mean, there was a lot of energy there, but you never knew what she was doing with it. Like when she yelled “I’m coming!”—hell, it was so loud, you wanted to go “Look, it’s not that big a deal.”
GALLIMARD: I got scared. I thought she meant someone was actually coming. (Pause) But, Marc?
MARC: What?
GALLIMARD: Thanks.
MARC: Oh, don’t mention it.
GALLIMARD: It was my first experience.
MARC: Yeah. You got her.
GALLIMARD: I got her.
MARC: Wait! Look at that letter again!
Gallimard picks up one of the papers he’s been stamping, and rereads it.
GALLIMARD (To us): After six weeks, they began to arrive. The letters.
Upstage special on Song, as Madame Butterfly. the scene is underscored by the “Love Duet.”
SONG: Did we fight? I do not know. Is the opera no longer of interest to you? Please come—my audiences miss the white devil in their midst.
Gallimard looks up from the letter, towards us.
GALLIMARD (To us): A concession, but much too dignified. (Beat; he discards the letter) I skipped the opera again that week to complete a position paper on trade.
The bureaucrat hands him another letter.
SONG: Six weeks have passed since last we met. Is this your practice—to leave friends in the lurch? Sometimes I hate you, sometimes I hate myself, but always I miss you.
GALLIMARD: (To us): Better, but I don’t like the way she calls me “friend.” When a woman calls a man her “friend,” she’s calling him a eunuch or a h
omosexual. (Beat; he discards the letter) I was absent from the opera for the seventh week, feeling a sudden urge to clean out my files.
Bureaucrat hands him another letter.
SONG: Your rudeness is beyond belief. I don’t deserve this cruelty. Don’t bother to call. I’ll have you turned away at the door.
GALLIMARD (To us): I didn’t. (He discards the letter; bureaucrat hands him another) And then finally, the letter that concluded my experiment.
SONG: I am out of words. I can hide behind dignity no longer. What do you want? I have already given you my shame.
Gallimard gives the letter back to Marc, slowly. Special on Song fades out.
GALLIMARD (To us): Reading it, I became suddenly ashamed. Yes, my experiment had been a success. She was turning on my needle. But the victory seemed hollow.
MARC: Hollow?! Are you crazy?
GALLIMARD: Nothing, Marc. Please go away.
MARC (Exiting, with papers): Haven’t I taught you anything?
GALLIMARD: “I have already given you my shame.” I had to attend a reception that evening. On the way, I felt sick. If there is a God, surely he would punish me now. I had finally gained power over a beautiful woman, only to abuse it. cruelly. There must be justice in the world. I had the strange feeling that the ax would fall this very evening.
scene 12
Ambassador Toulon’s residence. Beijing. 1960.
Sound cue: party noises. Light change. We are now in a spacious residence. Toulon, the French ambassador, enters and taps Gallimard on the shoulder.
TOULON: Gallimard? Can I have a word? Over here.
GALLIMARD (To us): Manuel Toulon. French ambassador to China. He likes to think of us all as his children. Rather like God.
TOULON: Look, Gallimard, there’s not much to say. I’ve liked you. From the day you walked in. You were no leader, but you were tidy and efficient.
M. Butterfly Page 3