SONG: Stop!
GALLIMARD: I’m sure he’ll grow more beautiful with age.
More like his mother.
SONG: “Chi vide mai/ a bimbo del Giappon ...”
GALLIMARD: “What baby, I wonder, was ever born in Japan”—or China, for that matter—
SONG: “... occhi azzurrini?”
GALLIMARD: “With azure eyes”—they’re actually sort of brown, wouldn’t you say?
SONG: “E il labbro.”
GALLIMARD: “And such lips!” (He kisses Song) And such lips.
SONG: “E i ricciolini d‘oro schietto?”
GALLIMARD: “And such a head of golden”—if slightly patchy—“curls?”
SONG: I’m going to call him “Peepee.”
GALLIMARD: Darling, could you repeat that because I’m sure a rickshaw just flew by overhead.
SONG: You heard me.
GALLIMARD: “Song Peepee”? May I suggest Michael, or Stephan, or Adolph?
SONG: You may, but I won’t listen.
GALLIMARD: You can’t be serious. Can you imagine the time this child will have in school?
SONG: In the West, yes.
GALLIMARD: It’s worse than naming him Ping Pong or Long Dong or—
SONG : But he’s never going to live in the West, is he?
Pause.
GALLIMARD: That wasn’t my choice.
SONG: It is mine. And this is my promise to you: I will raise him, he will be our child, but he will never burden you outside of China.
GALLIMARD: Why do you make these promises? I want to be burdened! I want a scandal to cover the papers!
SONG (To us): Prophetic.
GALLIMARD: I’m serious.
SONG: So am I. His name is as I registered it. And he will never live in the West.
Song exits with the child.
GALLIMARD (To us): It is possible that her stubbornness only made me want her more. That drawing back at the moment of my capitulation was the most brilliant strategy she could have chosen. It is possible. But it is also possible that by this point she could have said, could have done ... anything, and I would have adored her still.
scene 9
Beijing. 1966.
A driving rhythm of Chinese percussion fills the stage.
GALLIMARD: And then, China began to change. Mao became very old, and his cult became very strong. And, like many old men, he entered his second childhood. So he handed over the reins of state to those with minds like his own. And children ruled the Middle Kingdom with complete caprice. The doctrine of the Cultural Revolution implied continuous anarchy. Contact between Chinese and foreigners became impossible. Our flat was confiscated. Her fame and my money now counted against us.
Two dancers in Mao suits and red-starred caps enter, and begin crudely mimicking revolutionary violence, in an agitprop fashion.
GALLIMARD: And somehow the American war went wrong too. Four hundred thousand dollars were being spent for every Viet Cong killed; so General Westmoreland’s remark that the Oriental does not value life the way Americans do was oddly accurate. Why weren’t the Vietnamese people giving in? Why were they content instead to die and die and die again?
Toulon enters.
TOULON: Congratulations, Gallimard.
GALLIMARD: Excuse me, sir?
TOULON: Not a promotion. That was last time. You’re going home.
GALLIMARD: What?
TOULON: Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
GALLIMARD: I’m being transferred ... because I was wrong about the American war?
TOULON: Of course not. We don’t care about the Americans. We care about your mind. The quality of your analysis. In general, everything you’ve predicted here in the Orient ... just hasn’t happened.
GALLIMARD: I think that’s premature.
TOULON: Don’t force me to be blunt. Okay, you said China was ready to open to Western trade. The only thing they’re trading out there are Western heads. And, yes, you said the Americans would succeed in Indochina. You were kidding, right?
GALLIMARD: I think the end is in sight.
TOULON: Don’t be pathetic. And don’t take this personally. You were wrong. It’s not your fault.
GALLIMARD: But I’m going home.
TOULON: Right. Could I have the number of your mistress? (Beat) Joke! Joke! Eat a croissant for me.
Toulon exits. Song, wearing a Mao suit, is dragged in from the wings as part of the upstage dance. They “beat” her, then lampoon the acrobatics of the Chinese opera, as she is made to kneel onstage.
GALLIMARD (Simultaneously): I don’t care to recall how Butterfly and I said our hurried farewell. Perhaps it was better to end our affair before it killed her.
Gallimard exits. Comrade Chin walks across the stage with a banner reading: “The Actor Renounces His Decadent Profession!” She reaches the kneeling Song. Percussion stops with a thud. Dancers strike poses.
CHIN: Actor-oppressor, for years you have lived above the common people and looked down on their labor. While the farmer ate millet—
SONG: I ate pastries from France and sweetmeats from silver trays.
CHIN: And how did you come to live in such an exalted position?
SONG: I was a plaything for the imperialists!
CHIN: What did you do?
SONG: I shamed China by allowing myself to be corrupted by a foreigner ...
CHIN: What does this mean? The People demand a full confession!
SONG: I engaged in the lowest perversions with China’s enemies!
CHIN: What perversions? Be more clear!
SONG: I let him put it up my ass!
Dancers look over, disgusted.
CHIN: Aaaa-ya! How can you use such sickening language?!
SONG: My language ... is only as foul as the crimes I committed ...
CHIN: Yeah. That’s better. So—what do you want to do now?
SONG: I want to serve the people.
Percussion starts up, with Chinese strings.
CHIN: What?
SONG: I want to serve the people!
Dancers regain their revolutionary smiles, and begin a dance of victory.
CHIN: What?!
SONG: I want to serve the people!!
Dancers unveil a banner: “The Actor Is Rehabilitated!” Song remains kneeling before Chin, as the dancers bounce around them, then exit. Music out.
scene 10
A commune. Hunan Province. 1970.
CHIN: How you planning to do that?
SONG: I’ve already worked four years in the fields of Hunan, Comrade Chin.
CHIN: So? Farmers work all their lives. Let me see your hands.
Song holds them out for her inspection.
CHIN: Goddamn! Still so smooth! How long does it take to turn you actors into good anythings? Hunh. You’ve just spent too many years in luxury to be any good to the Revolution.
SONG: I served the Revolution.
CHIN: Serve the Revolution? Bullshit! You wore dresses! Don’t tell me—I was there. I saw you! You and your white vice-consul! Stuck up there in your flat, living off the People’s Treasury! Yeah, I knew what was going on! You two ... homos! Homos! Homos! (Pause; she composes herself) Ah! Well ... you will serve the people, all right. But not with the Revolution’s money. This time, you use your own money.
SONG: I have no money.
CHIN: Shut up! And you won’t stink up China anymore with your pervert stuff. You’ll pollute the place where pollution begins—the West.
SONG: What do you mean?
CHIN: Shut up! You’re going to France. Without a cent in your pocket. You find your consul’s house, you make him pay your expenses—
SONG: No.
CHIN: And you give us weekly reports! Useful information!
SONG: That’s crazy. It’s been four years.
CHIN: Either that, or back to rehabilitation center!
SONG: Comrade Chin, he’s not going to support me! Not in France! He’s a white man! I was just his plaything—
>
CHIN: Oh yuck! Again with the sickening language? Where’s my stick?
SONG: You don’t understand the mind of a man.
Pause.
CHIN: Oh no? No I don’t? Then how come I’m married, huh? How come I got a man? Five, six years ago, you always tell me those kind of things, I felt very bad. But not now! Because what does the Chairman say? He tells us I’m now the smart one, you’re now the nincompoop!
You’re the blackhead, the harebrain, the nitwit! You think you’re so smart? You understand “The Mind of a Man”? Good! Then you go to France and be a pervert for Chairman Mao!
Chin and Song exit in opposite directions.
scene 11
Paris. 1968-70.
Gallimard enters.
GALLIMARD: And what was waiting for me back in Paris? Well, better Chinese food than I’d eaten in China. Friends and relatives. A little accounting, regular schedule, keeping track of traffic violations in the suburbs.... And the indignity of students shouting the slogans of Chairman Mao at me—in French.
HELGA: Rene? Rene? (She enters, soaking wet) I’ve had a ... a problem. (She sneezes)
GALLIMARD: You’re wet.
HELGA: Yes, I ... coming back from the grocer’s. A group of students, waving red flags, they—
Gallimard fetches a towel.
HELGA:—they ran by, I was caught up along with them. Before I knew what was happening—
Gallimard gives her the towel.
HELGA: Thank you. The police started firing water cannons at us. I tried to shout, to tell them I was the wife of a diplomat, but—you know how it is ... (Pause) Needless to say, I lost the groceries. Rene, what’s happening to France?
GALLIMARD: What‘s—? Well, nothing, really.
HELGA: Nothing?! The storefronts are in flames, there’s glass in the streets, buildings are toppling—and I’m wet!
GALLIMARD: Nothing! ... that I care to think about.
HELGA: And is that why you stay in this room?
GALLIMARD: Yes, in fact.
HELGA: With the incense burning? You know something? I hate incense. It smells so sickly sweet.
GALLIMARD: Well, I hate the French. Who just smell—period!
HELGA: And the Chinese were better?
GALLIMARD: Please—don’t start.
HELGA: When we left, this exact same thing, the riots—
GALLIMARD: No, no ...
HELGA: Students screaming slogans, smashing down doors—
GALLIMARD: Helga—
HELGA: It was all going on in China, too. Don’t you remember?!
GALLIMARD: Helga! Please! (Pause) You have never understood China, have you? You walk in here with these ridiculous ideas, that the West is falling apart, that China was spitting in our faces. You come in, dripping of the streets, and you leave water all over my floor. (He grabs Helga’s towel, begins mopping up the floor)
HELGA: But it’s the truth!
GALLIMARD: Helga, I want a divorce.
Pause; Gallimard continues, mopping the floor.
HELGA: I take it back. China is ... beautiful. Incense, I like incense.
GALLIMARD: I’ve had a mistress.
HELGA: So?
GALLIMARD: For eight years.
HELGA: I knew you would. I knew you would the day I married you. And now what? You want to marry her?
GALLIMARD: I can’t. She’s in China.
HELGA: I see. You want to leave. For someone who’s not here, is that right?
GALLIMARD: That’s right.
HELGA: You can’t live with her, but still you don’t want to live with me.
GALLIMARD: That’s right.
Pause.
HELGA: Shit. How terrible that I can figure that out. (Pause) I never thought I’d say it. But, in China, I was happy. I knew, in my own way, I knew that you were not everything you pretended to be. But the pretense—going on your arm to the embassy ball, visiting your office and the guards saying, “Good morning, good morning, Madame Gallimard”—the pretense ... was very good indeed. (Pause) I hope everyone is mean to you for the rest of your life. (She exits)
GALLIMARD (To us): Prophetic.
Marc enters with two drinks.
GALLIMARD (To Marc): In China, I was different from all other men.
MARC: Sure. You were white. Here’s your drink.
GALLIMARD : I felt ... touched.
MARC: In the head? Rene, I don’t want to hear about the Oriental love goddess. Okay? One night—can we just drink and throw up without a lot of conversation?
GALLIMARD: You still don’t believe me, do you?
MARC: Sure I do. She was the most beautiful, et cetera, et cetera, blase blasé.
Pause.
GALLIMARD: My life in the West has been such a disappointment.
MARC: Life in the West is like that. You’ll get used to it. Look, you’re driving me away. I’m leaving. Happy, now? (He exits, then returns) Look, I have a date tomorrow night. You wanna come? I can fix you up with—
GALLIMARD: Of course. I would love to come.
Pause.
MARC: Uh—on second thought, no. You’d better get ahold of yourself first.
He exits; Gallimard nurses his drink.
GALLIMARD (To us): This is the ultimate cruelty, isn’t it? That I can talk and talk and to anyone listening, it’s only air—too rich a diet to be swallowed by a mundane world. Why can’t anyone understand? That in China, I once loved, and was loved by, very simply, the Perfect Woman.
Song enters, dressed as Butterfly in wedding dress.
GALLIMARD (To Song): Not again. My imagination is hell. Am I asleep this time? Or did I drink too much?
SONG: Rene?
GALLIMARD: God, it’s too painful! That you speak?
SONG: What are you talking about? Rene—touch me.
GALLIMARD: Why?
SONG: I’m real. Take my hand.
GALLIMARD: Why? So you can disappear again and leave me clutching at the air? For the entertainment of my neighbors who—?
Song touches Gallimard.
SONG: Rene?
Gallimard takes Song’s hand. Silence.
GALLIMARD: Butterfly? I never doubted you’d return.
SONG: You hadn’t ... forgotten—?
GALLIMARD: Yes, actually, I’ve forgotten everything. My mind, you see—there wasn’t enough room in this hard head—not for the world and for you. No, there was only room for one. (Beat) Come, look. See? Your bed has been waiting, with the Klimt poster you like, and—see? The xiang lu [incense burner] you gave me?
SONG: I ... I don’t know what to say.
GALLIMARD: There’s nothing to say. Not at the end of a long trip. Can I make you some tea?
SONG: But where’s your wife?
GALLIMARD: She’s by my side. She’s by my side at last.
Gallimard reaches to embrace Song. Song sidesteps, dodging him.
GALLIMARD: Why?!
SONG (To us): So I did return to Rene in Paris. Where I found—
GALLIMARD: Why do you run away? Can’t we show them how we embraced that evening?
SONG: Please. I’m talking.
GALLIMARD: You have to do what I say! I’m conjuring you up in my mind!
SONG: Rene, I’ve never done what you’ve said. Why should it be any different in your mind? Now split—the story moves on, and I must change.
GALLIMARD: I welcomed you into my home! I didn’t have to, you know! I could’ve left you penniless on the streets of Paris! But I took you in!
SONG: Thank you.
GALLIMARD: So ... please ... don’t change.
SONG: You know I have to. You know I will. And anyway, what difference does it make? No matter what your eyes tell you, you can’t ignore the truth. You already know too much.
Gallimard exits. Song turns to us.
SONG: The change I’m going to make requires about five minutes. So I thought you might want to take this opportunity to stretch your legs, enjoy a drink, or listen to the musicians. I
’ll be here, when you return, right where you left me.
Song goes to a mirror in front of which is a wash basin of water. She starts to remove her makeup as stagelights go to half and houselights come up.
act three
scene 1
A courthouse in Paris. 1986.
As he promised, Song has completed the bulk of his transformation, onstage by the time the houselights go down and the stagelights come up full. He removes his wig and kimono, leaving them on the floor. Underneath, he wears a well-cut suit.
SONG: So I’d done my job better than I had a right to expect. Well, give him some credit, too. He’s right—I was in a fix when I arrived in Paris. I walked from the airport into town, then I located, by blind groping, the Chinatown district. Let me make one thing clear: whatever else may be said about the Chinese, they are stingy! I slept in doorways three days until I could find a tailor who would make me this kimono on credit. As it turns out, maybe I didn’t even need it. Maybe he would’ve been happy to see me in a simple shift and mascara. But ... better safe than sorry.
That was 1970, when I arrived in Paris. For the next fifteen years, yes, I lived a very comfy life. Some relief, believe me, after four years on a fucking commune in No wheresville, China. Rene supported the boy and me, and I did some demonstrations around the country as part of my “cultural exchange” cover. And then there was the spying.
Song moves upstage, to a chair. Toulon enters as a judge, wearing the appropriate wig and robes. He sits near Song. It’s 1986, and Song is testifying in a courtroom.
SONG: Not much at first. Rene had lost all his high-level contacts. Comrade Chin wasn’t very interested in parking-ticket statistics. But finally, at my urging, Rene got a job as a courier, handling sensitive documents. He’d photograph them for me, and I’d pass them on to the Chinese embassy.
M. Butterfly Page 6