M. Butterfly
Page 5
RENEE: Yeah.
GALLIMARD: And what do you do?
RENEE: I’m a student. My father exports a lot of useless stuff to the Third World.
GALLIMARD: How useless?
RENEE: You know. Squirt guns, confectioner’s sugar, hula hoops ...
GALLIMARD: I’m sure they appreciate the sugar.
RENEE: I’m here for two years to study Chinese.
GALLIMARD: Two years?
RENEE: That’s what everybody says.
GALLIMARD: When did you arrive?
RENEE: Three weeks ago.
GALLIMARD: And?
RENEE: I like it. It’s primitive, but ... well, this is the place to learn Chinese, so here I am.
GALLIMARD: Why Chinese?
RENEE: I think it’ll be important someday.
GALLIMARD: You do?
RENEE: Don’t ask me when, but ... that’s what I think.
GALLIMARD: Well, I agree with you. One hundred percent. That’s very farsighted.
RENEE: Yeah. Well of course, my father thinks I’m a complete weirdo.
GALLIMARD: He’ll thank you someday.
RENEE: Like when the Chinese start buying hula hoops?
GALLIMARD: There’re a billion bellies out there.
RENEE: And if they end up taking over the world—well, then I’ll be lucky to know Chinese too, right?
Pause.
GALLIMARD: At this point, I don’t see how the Chinese can possibly take—
RENEE: You know what I don’t like about China?
GALLIMARD: Excuse me? No—what?
RENEE: Nothing to do at night.
GALLIMARD: You come to parties at embassies like everyone else.
RENEE: Yeah, but they get out at ten. And then what?
GALLIMARD: I’m afraid the Chinese idea of a dance hall is a dirt floor and a man with a flute.
RENEE: Are you married?
GALLIMARD: Yes. Why?
RENEE: You wanna ... fool around?
Pause.
GALLIMARD: Sure.
RENEE: I’ll wait for you outside. What’s your name?
GALLIMARD: Gallimard. Rene.
RENEE: Weird. I’m Renee too. (She exits)
GALLIMARD (To us): And so, I embarked on my first extra-extramarital affair. Renee was picture perfect: With a body like those girls in the magazines. If I put a tissue paper over my eyes, I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. And it was exciting to be with someone who wasn’t afraid to be seen completely naked. But is it possible for a woman to be too uninhibited, too willing, so as to seem almost too ... masculine?
Chuck Berry blares from the house speakers, then comes down in volume as Renee enters, toweling her hair.
RENEE: You have a nice weenie.
GALLIMARD: What?
RENEE: Penis. You have a nice penis.
GALLIMARD: Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very ...
RENEE: What—can’t take a compliment?
GALLIMARD: No, it’s very ... reassuring.
RENEE: But most girls don’t come out and say it, huh?
GALLIMARD: And also ... what did you call it?
RENEE: Oh. Most girls don’t call it a “weenie,” huh?
GALLIMARD: It sounds very—
RENEE: Small, I know.
GALLIMARD: I was going to say, “young.”
RENEE: Yeah. Young, small, same thing. Most guys are pretty, uh, sensitive about that. Like, you know, I had a boyfriend back home in Denmark. I got mad at him once and called him a little weeniehead. He got so mad! He said at least I should call him a great big weeniehead.
GALLIMARD: I suppose I-just say “penis.”
RENEE: Yeah. That’s pretty clinical. There’s “cock,” but that sounds like a chicken. And “prick” is painful, and “dick” is like you’re talking about someone who’s not in the room.
GALLIMARD: Yes. It’s a ... bigger problem than I imagined.
RENEE: I—I think maybe it’s because I really don’t know what to do with them—that’s why I call them “weenies.”
GALLIMARD: Well, you did quite well with ... mine.
RENEE: Thanks, but I mean, really do with them. Like, okay, have you ever looked at one? I mean, really?
GALLIMARD: No, I suppose when it’s part of you, you sort of take it for granted.
RENEE: I guess. But, like, it just hangs there. This little ... flap of flesh. And there’s so much fuss that we make about it. Like, I think the reason we fight wars is because we wear clothes. Because no one knows—between the men, I mean—who has the bigger ... weenie. So, if I’m a guy with a small one, I’m going to build a really big building or take over a really big piece of land or write a really long book so the other men don’t know, right? But, see, it never really works, that’s the problem. I mean, you conquer the country, or whatever, but you’re still wearing clothes, so there’s no way to prove absolutely whose is bigger or smaller. And that’s what we call a civilized society. The whole world run by a bunch of men with pricks the size of pins. (She exits)
GALLIMARD (To us): This was simply not acceptable.
A high-pitched chime rings through the air. Song, dressed as Butterfly, appears in the upstage special. She is obviously distressed. Her body swoons as she attempts to clip the stems of flowers she’s arranging in a vase.
GALLIMARD: But I kept up our affair, wildly, for several months. Why? I believe because of Butterfly. She knew the secret I was trying to hide. But, unlike a Western woman, she didn’t confront me, threaten, even pout. I remembered the words of Puccini’s Butterjfy: ,
SONG: “Noi siamo gente avvezza/ alle piccole cose/ umili e silenziose.”
GALLIMARD: “I come from a people/ Who are accustomed to little/ Humble and silent.” I saw Pinkerton and Butterfly, and what she would say if he were unfaithful ... nothing. She would cry, alone, into those wildly soft sleeves, once full of possessions, now empty to collect her tears. It was her tears and her silence that excited me, every time I visited Renee.
TOULON (Offstage): Gallimard!
Toulon enters. Gallimard turns towards him. During the next section, Song, up center, begins to dance with the flowers. It is a drunken dance, where she breaks small pieces off the stems.
TOULON: They’re killing him.
GALLIMARD: Who? I’m sorry? What?
TOULON: Bother you to come over at this late hour?
GALLIMARD: No ... of course not.
TOULON: Not after you hear my secret. Champagne?
GALLIMARD: Um ... thank you.
TOULON: You’re surprised. There’s something that you’ve wanted, Gallimard. No, not a promotion. Next time. Something in the world. You’re not aware of this, but there’s an informal gossip circle among intelligence agents. And some of ours heard from some of the Americans—
GALLIMARD: Yes?
TOULON: That the U.S. will allow the Vietnamese generals to stage a coup ... and assassinate President Diem.
The chime rings again. Toulon freezes. Gallimard turns upstage and looks at Butterfly, who slowly and deliberately clips a flower off its stem. Gallimard turns back towards Toulon.
GALLIMARD: I think ... that’s a very wise move!
Toulon unfreezes.
TOULON: It’s what you’ve been advocating. A toast?
GALLIMARD: Sure. I consider this a vindication.
TOULON: Not exactly. “To the test. Let’s hope you pass.”
They drink. The chime rings again. Toulon freezes. Gallimard turns upstage, and Song clips another flower.
GALLIMARD (To Toulon): The test?
TOULON (Unfreezing): It’s a test of everything you’ve been saying. I personally think the generals probably will stop the Communists. And you’ll be a hero. But if anything goes wrong, then your opinions won’t be worth a pig’s ear. I’m sure that won’t happen. But sometimes it’s easier when they don’t listen to you.
GALLIMARD: They’re your opinions too, aren’t they?
TOULON: Personally, yes
.
GALLIMARD: So we agree.
TOULON: But my opinions aren’t on that report. Yours are. Cheers.
Toulon turns away from Gallimard and raises his glass. At that instant Song picks up the vase and hurls it to the ground. It shatters. Song sinks down amidst the shards of the vase, in a calm, childlike trance. She sings softly, as if reciting a child’s nursery rhyme.
SONG (Repeat as necessary): “The whole world over, the white man travels, setting anchor, wherever he likes. Life’s not worth living, unless he finds, the finest maidens, of every land ...”
Gallimard turns downstage towards us. Song continues singing.
GALLIMARD: I shook as I left his house. That coward! That worm! To put the burden for his decisions on my shoulders!
I started for Renee’s. But no, that was all I needed. A schoolgirl who would question the role of the penis in modern society. What I wanted was revenge. A vessel to contain my humiliation. Though I hadn’t seen her in several weeks, I headed for Butterfly’s.
Gallimard enters Song’s apartment.
SONG: Oh! Rene ... I was dreaming!
GALLIMARD: You’ve been drinking?
SONG: If I can’t sleep, then yes, I drink. But then, it gives me these dreams which—Rene, it’s been almost three weeks since you visited me last.
GALLIMARD: I know. There’s been a lot going on in the world.
SONG: Fortunately I am drunk. So I can speak freely. It’s not the world, it’s you and me. And an old problem. Even the softest skin becomes like leather to a man who’s touched it too often. I confess I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to become another woman.
GALLIMARD: I have a request.
SONG: Is this a solution? Or are you ready to give up the flat?
GALLIMARD: It may be a solution. But I’m sure you won’t like it.
SONG: Oh well, that’s very important. “Like it?” Do you think I “like” lying here alone, waiting, always waiting for your return? Please—don’t worry about what I may not “like.”
GALLIMARD: I want to see you ... naked.
Silence.
SONG: I thought you understood my modesty. So you want me to—what—strip? Like a big cowboy girl? Shiny pas ties on my breasts? Shall I fling my kimono over my head and yell “ya-hoo” in the process? I thought you respected my shame!
GALLIMARD: I believe you gave me your shame many years ago.
SONG: Yes—and it is just like a white devil to use it against me. I can’t believe it. I thought myself so repulsed by the passive Oriental and the cruel white man. Now I see—we are always most revolted by the things hidden within us.
GALLIMARD: I just mean—
SONG: Yes?
GALLIMARD:—that it will remove the only barrier left between us.
SONG: No, Rene. Don’t couch your request in sweet words. Be yourself—a cad—and know that my love is enough, that I submit—submit to the worst you can give me. (Pause) Well, come. Strip me. Whatever happens, know that you have willed it. Our love, in your hands. I’m helpless before my man.
Gallimard starts to cross the room.
GALLIMARD: Did I not undress her because I knew, somewhere deep down, what I would find? Perhaps. Happiness is so rare that our mind can turn somersaults to protect it.
At the time, I only knew that I was seeing Pinkerton stalking towards his Butterfly, ready to reward her love with his lecherous hands. The image sickened me, pulled me to my knees, so I was crawling towards her like a worm. By the time I reached her, Pinkerton ... had vanished from my heart. To be replaced by something. new, something unnatural, that flew in the face of all I’d learned in the world—something very close to love.
He grabs her around the waist; she strokes,his hair.
GALLIMARD: Butterfly, forgive me.
SONG: Rene ...
GALLIMARD: For everything. From the start.
SONG: I’m ...
GALLIMARD: I want to—
SONG: I’m pregnant. (Beat) I’m pregnant. (Beat) I’m pregnant.
Beat.
GALLIMARD: I want to marry you!
scene 7
Gallimard and Butterfly’s flat. Beijing. 1963.
Downstage, Song paces as Comrade Chin reads from her notepad. Upstage, Gallimard is still kneeling. He remains on his knees throughout the scene, watching it.
SONG: I need a baby.
CHIN (From pad): He’s been spotted going to a dorm.
SONG: I need a baby.
CHIN: At the Foreign Language Institute.
SONG: I need a baby.
CHIN: The room of a Danish girl ... What do you mean, you need a baby?!
SONG: Tell Comrade Kang—last night, the entire mission, it could’ve ended.
CHIN: What do you mean?
SONG: Tell Kang—he told me to strip.
CHIN: Strip?!
SONG: Write!
CHIN: I tell you, I don’t understand nothing about this case anymore. Nothing.
SONG: He told me to strip, and I took a chance. Oh, we Chinese, we know how to gamble.
CHIN (Writing): “... told him to strip.”
SONG: My palms were wet, I had to make a split-second decision.
CHIN: Hey!, Can you slow down?!
Pause.
SONG: You write faster, I’m the artist here. Suddenly, it hit me—“All he wants is for her to submit. Once a woman submits, a man is always ready to become ‘generous.’ ”
CHIN: You’re just gonna end up with rough notes.
SONG: And it worked! He gave in! Now, if I can just present him with a baby. A Chinese baby with blond hair—he’ll be mine for life!
CHIN: Kang will never agree! The trading of babies has to be a counterrevolutionary act!
SONG: Sometimes, a counterrevolutionary act is necessary to counter a counterrevolutionary act.
Pause.
CHIN: Wait.
SONG: I need one ... in seven months. Make sure it’s a boy.
CHIN: This doesn’t sound like something the Chairman would do. Maybe you’d better talk to Comrade Kang yourself.
SONG: Good. I will.
Chin gets up to leave.
SONG: Miss Chin? Why, in the Peking Opera, are women’s roles played by men?
CHIN: I don’t know. Maybe, a reactionary remnant of male—
SONG : No. (Beat) Because only a man knows how a woman is supposed to act.
Chin exits. Song turns upstage, towards Gallimard.
GALLIMARD: (Calling after Chin): Good riddance! (To Song) I could forget all that betrayal in an instant, you know. If you’d just come back and become Butterfly again.
SONG: Fat chance. You’re here in prison, rotting in a cell. And I’m on a plane, winging my way back to China. Your President pardoned me of our treason, you know.
GALLIMARD: Yes, I read about that.
SONG: Must make you feel ... lower than shit.
GALLIMARD: But don’t you, even a little bit, wish you were here with me?
SONG: I’m an artist, Rene. You were my greatest ... acting challenge. (She laughs) It doesn’t matter how rotten I answer, does it? You still adore me. That’s why I love you, Rene. (She points to us) So—you were telling your audience about the night I announced I was pregnant.
Gallimard puts his arms around Song’s waist. He and Song are in the positions they were in at the end of Scene 6.
scene 8
Same.
GALLIMARD: I’ll divorce my wife. We’ll live together here, and then later in France.
SONG: I feel so ... ashamed.
GALLIMARD: Why?
SONG: I had begun to lose faith. And now, you shame me with your generosity.
GALLIMARD: Generosity? No, I’m proposing for very selfish reasons.
SONG: Your apologies only make me feel more ashamed. My outburst a moment ago!
GALLIMARD: Your outburst? What about my request?!
SONG: You’ve been very patient dealing with my ... eccentricities. A Western man, used t
o women freer with their bodies—
GALLIMARD: It was sick! Don’t make excuses for me.
SONG: I have to. You don’t seem willing to make them for yourself.
Pause.
GALLIMARD: You’re crazy.
SONG: I’m happy. Which often looks like crazy.
GALLIMARD: Then make me crazy. Marry me.
Pause.
SONG: No.
GALLIMARD: What?
SONG: Do I sound silly, a slave, if I say I’m not worthy?
GALLIMARD: Yes. In fact you do. No one has loved me like you.
SONG: Thank you. And no one ever will. I’ll see to that.
GALLIMARD: So what is the problem?
SONG: Rene, we Chinese are realists. We understand rice, gold, and guns. You are a diplomat. Your career is skyrocketing. Now, what would happen if you divorced your wife to marry a Communist Chinese actress?
GALLIMARD: That’s not being realistic. That’s defeating yourself before you begin.
SONG: We must conserve our strength for the battles we can win.
GALLIMARD: That sounds like a fortune cookie!
SONG: Where do you think fortune cookies come from?
GALLIMARD: I don’t care.
SONG: You do. So do I. And we should. That is why I say I’m not worthy. I’m worthy to love and even to be loved by you. But I am not worthy to end the career of one of the West’s most promising diplomats.
GALLIMARD: It’s not that great a career! I made it sound like more than it is!
SONG: Modesty will get you nowhere. Flatter yourself, and you flatter me. I’m flattered to decline your offer. (She exits)
GALLIMARD (To us): Butterfly and I argued all night. And, in the end, I left, knowing I would never be her husband. She went away for several months—to the countryside, like a small animal. Until the night I received her call.
A baby’s cry from offstage. Song enters, carrying a child.
SONG: He looks like you.
GALLIMARD: Oh! (Beat; he approaches the baby) Well, babies are never very attractive at birth.