by Alan Filewod
(Inspector has his back to him, motions no. Pause. Him, without even looking at the Inspector.)
Him: It won’t be long now.
(Him turns around to look at the Stenographer for a second then goes back to his previous position.)
Him: We kissed for about a half-an-hour. Then I took my bath. Lukewarm. When I got out, supper was ready. There were two candles on the table. I lit them and I went to turn out the lights, but I stopped and asked him: “I like the candles, but I feel like seein’ you, as clear as possible. Can we leave the candles and the lights on, or do you think I’m being silly?” He looked really surprised. He put the plates down on the table. I was still standin’ over by the light switch. I felt pretty silly. I dunno why, when I feel really comfortable with someone, it makes me feel really silly. With him it was ridiculous. He came over and put his hands on either side of my neck. He took his time before answering. Then he said: “Yes, I think you’re being silly. And I never knew anyone, with his head screwed on as tight as yours, who could be so silly. That might not be why I love you, but I think it’s why I love you as much as I do. Just before you got here …” Yeah, that’s when he mentioned the bath. “Before you got here, just a few seconds before you came rushing in yelling ‘Yoohoo, it’s me, be right there’ and went charging into the bathroom, I almost emptied the tub. I was afraid you’d think I was trying to play the loving wife. And I knew you wouldn’t like it. The only role I want to play with you is that of your brother.” His eyes were all watery. I kissed him before it got any worse. “If you’d arrived five minutes later, the tub would’ve been empty. So you can stop feeling silly.”
By the time we remembered the food, everything was cold. And the candles had burned halfway down. Had to heat everything up again. At one point the phone rang. Some friends who were calling to get him to go to Expo and boo during the Confederation Day fireworks. Were part of some separatist group. Some nights when I went over to his place, he’d come home late, all excited. All heated up. Not drunk, but like he had a fever. Would take a while before I felt he was really there with me. Sometimes, in the beginning, when we hardly knew each other, he’d even try to tell me about their discussions. But it wasn’t really him talkin’ about that. Not the same guy I slept with anyway. In the beginning, the only reason I kept goin’ back was to fuck with him. ’Cause as soon as one of us opened our trap, we were sure to have a fight. But once he threw his roommate out, all that changed. I know he still kept goin’ to the meetings, but he didn’t try to talk to me about it. (Pause. Him sighs. Pause.) When you’re fed up, or when Guy runs outta paper, let me know and I’ll shut up. (Pause.) Anyway, that night, when he hung up the phone, he hadn’t changed. It was the opposite of what usually happened. I think that for a few seconds, a few minutes even, for the first time, it wasn’t the dream his friends stood for that won out, it was the dream I stood for. Instead of changing scenes, while he was on the phone, he stayed there with me. I don’t mean there in the kitchen, that’s obvious, That’s where the phone is. I mean he stayed there with me in his head. So he didn’t have to shift back to me, like usual, like a stranger who had to get used to me all over again. It was just the opposite. He talked to them like he was talkin’ to me. He told them he had somethin’ real urgent to do, and he was looking right at me. I felt hot. I was shivering. Didn’t know what to do. He told them he’d call them back the next morning. I think it had all been arranged in advance. Guess he figured we would’ve finished supper by then and he’d told them to call. And he changed his mind somewhere along the way. Anyway, it sounded like the girl on the phone was madder than hell with him.
When he hung up, he asked me if I intended to introduce him to my friends some day. I said I’d never thought about it. But it wasn’t true and he could tell. I’d never thought about introducing him to my friends ’cause I never thought it would last. Even tho’ we had been together for almost four months. The first time I ever dared believe it could last was while he was talkin’ on the phone. Because of his voice and his hands. And his skin. His eyes. But he understood. He said that it was the same for him. That he didn’t feel like mixin’ up things that didn’t go together. And that he knew that he’d probably have to choose. And that he thought he’d just made his choice.
I don’t know how to explain it, but … you don’t havta believe me, but I’d like you to understand … when he said that, he wasn’t asking me to choose. He wasn’t asking me to do anything. He just wanted me to know. That’s all. We started to kiss again. And to make love. I think it’s the only time in my life I ever really made love …
You know those corny stories: I am him and he is me? Well, it’s true. It exists. I dunno how to explain it. But that’s the way it is. I didn’t feel like I was holdin’ someone in my arms. It was like there was no difference between him and me. I know that sounds corny and it pisses me off. It’s like the words … the words … refuse … Just hot air. Empty. There’s no way you can put it into words … I don’t even think he could’ve done it. Anyway. That’s the way it was. I don’t remember thinkin’, I should do this to him, I should do that to him. I wasn’t thinking. It was just happening. We weren’t on the floor anymore, between the fridge and the table. We were somewhere else …
(Angry.) You see what I mean? Ya see? No way. How come there are no words for it? How come? You’re supposed to be able to put everything into words. That’s what they taught us in school, right? A word for everything. Everything has a name. Right? Just learn your irregular verbs and there’s nothin’ to it. Just learn to tell the subject from the object and where to put the adjective and you’re home-free. No problem. All you have to do is say it and everyone will understand. Right? Forget those weirdos who spend their lives writing. They’re sickies. Make a big deal outta nothin’. Got something to say? Say it. It’s easy. So what the fuck is wrong with me? It’s so simple. I know what I mean, so how come you don’t understand? How come it doesn’t come out right? When I try to talk about it, it sounds like some weird trip, but it was no trip. It was true. I was stone sober. We didn’t even open the bottle of wine. I hadn’t smoked a thing since noon.
We were holding each other. Rolling around. Moaning. Was it him or me? I dunno. I was like a yoyo. Like … like … What can I say? I felt like I was being turned inside out. Just when I was gonna come and him too, we’d stop and burst out laughin’. Then we’d hug each other even harder and flip over like pancakes. You name it, we did it. Then all of a sudden … all of a sudden …
(Pause.)
I don’t know what happened. I guess we knocked the table too hard. I dunno. Anyway, stuff fell off the table. On the other side, a glass fell and broke. Maybe it was a plate. No. It was a glass. The plates stayed on the table. Then a knife fell, right in front of me. Right beside his head. We were on our way. We were gonna come together. For sure. For sure. I could feel it in every part of my body. And I could feel it dead centre. I thought I was gonna explode. And I know it was the same for him. Then … Then … I dunno. I could feel all that but at the same time, there was these other pictures going through my mind. And they felt as real as his skin, as our noises. As real as my hands, as the sound of the glass hittin’ the floor … It was all happening at once. Not over it or under it, but right there. You know how they say you see your whole life pass by just before you die? Well, it was just the opposite. I wasn’t dying, I was being born. So I wasn’t looking back. What I saw was ahead of me. Like realizing you’re alive in the middle of an earthquake.
(Him stands up.)
He was so beautiful. So tall. So everything. He was all … fur and flesh … all rock. And he made me feel as beautiful as him. He. He. He went right through me. Understand? Eh? It was like nothin’ I ever knew. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. On my belly or flat on my back. Then a second later: Pow. Just when the knife hit the floor, in the time it took for the sound to register, we came. Together. Not him. Not me. Both of us. And suddenly I saw us. Me leavin’ to meet my custome
rs, or havin’ to decide not to. And him, having to argue with his friends. How long could we have stuck it out? Eh? How long?
(To the Inspector.)
A while ago, you called me an asshole. Do you think I feel insulted? Dontcha think I know why you said that? Dontcha think I know how you wanted to make me feel? Do you think it’s the first time?
Do you know how it feels to screw some guy, about this high and this wide? With a bald spot the size of a dinner plate? All pimply. With a purple nose. And you can tell he was good-lookin’ when he was young and you know it wasn’t just age that wrecked him. Married. With kids. A job. And you’re afraid he’s gonna have a stroke before he can say “take your pants off.” Jumps on you like a tiger. Huffin’. Puffin’. Snortin’. Sweatin’. But he looks like a kid who’s seen Santa Claus and can’t believe it. He wants more. Lots more. But he comes after two minutes. And then he gets scared. Scared he’s gonna get caught. His job. The wife. The kids. The pension. Labelled a FAG for the rest of his life. And while I go to take a piss (He points to the side door.) he has time to pull himself together. And he fuckin’ flips out. Doesn’t know where to hide. He wants to pull up his pants but he’s forgotten how to do up his fly. His shirt half-buttoned. That’s when his so-called real life takes over again. ’Cause what he just did was nothin’ but a passing weakness. No doubt about it. Look, he’s got a wife and a good job. Kids. Two cottages. A big car. He almost offered you all of it, just before he told you to take your pants down. But that’s all over now. Now he feels like he had an epilepsy attack. Now that he’s come, it’s a whole other scene. He doesn’t think about the fact that tomorrow morning he’s gonna start all over again. He doesn’t think about nothin’. He just throws your clothes on the floor beside the door and kicks your sneakers on top of the pile. Then he comes over to the bathroom door and starts screamin’ and yellin’: “Get outta here. Get out! Scram! Beat it. You hear me? Trash. Get out, I said. Out!” But that’s nothing. If you’re dumb enough to tell someone about it, one of your friends, and you tell him that while you were pissin’, you thought to yourself, maybe this time he’s gonna be all right. Cause you know he’s gonna start all over again tomorrow. And you know he knows. You know that if you told anyone that you were ready, if he didn’t have his usual fit, to give him a kiss and go for a walk with him. The one think he didn’t dare hope for in his life, you were gonna offer it to him. You know that if you’re dumb enough to tell that to anyone, they’re gonna tell you you’re stupid. Naive.
How come people can spend ten minutes making love with someone, just once, and not know what he’s dying of? How can you go through five guys a day and not wanta get involved? Eh? Can you tell me? How? That’s my job, goddammit, to get involved. In the only way I know how. With my ass. I got nothing but my ass? So what the fuck, I havta use my ass to get involved.
With him. With … with … Claude. I saw it in his eyes. I saw everything shake, and I saw what he understood, all of a sudden. That’s why we kept stoppin’ just before we came. That’s why we stopped 15 times. And every time, it started up again, stronger than ever …
And the second the glass hit the floor, I knew I had to make a move. I knew we’d never be able to walk outta that apartment like nothing happened. We couldn’t, shouldn’t. We shouldn’t even try to act like nothin’ happened. The only thing that’s real is him, screaming. Crying for joy, in my arms. I felt like we were drowning. I felt like we had almost drowned and suddenly it’s all over, we’re not in the water any more and we’re breathing for the first time. I was drowning with him, in him. And there was the rest of the world. The opposite of what was happening to us. I know. I know real life means being able to handle both. I know. I know you gotta take the bad with the good. I know there’s lotsa shit in life. I learned the hard way. You don’t havta draw me any pictures. But right then and there, I wasn’t thinking. Nothing else seemed real. Nothing. But we couldn’t stay locked up, like monks, with the blinds down, living the love of our lives. And we couldn’t relive what was happening then, just a few minutes a month, and spend the rest of the time dealing with everyone else. So all I remember is, suddenly I had the steak knife in my hand. And I could feel it coming over me. I could feel it. I could feel myself taking off. Head first. Feet first. Spinning and exploding Then I heard our cry. Then … then. All of a sudden. We were drowning. Then I heard crying again. Then I heard bubbles. Bubbles. Like in a milkshake. And then. Then. At the same time I could feel myself exploding. Drowning. And I could see us never leaving his place. Never getting up. And I could feel his sex, like a tree, exploding. Then already, I didn’t have the knife in my hand anymore. And I was screaming. And he … He … His throat was bleeding. He was coming and at the same time his blood was spurting all over the place. On the windows. The fridge. The stove. The table. Then I was kissing him all over. Everywhere. Everywhere. On his wound. I was drinking his blood. I had it all over me. And he was still throbbing. And his body was still arching, and trembling. Just like mine.
Then, I guess I fell asleep. On top of him. Couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. Something had changed. I think first thing I realized was that his heart wasn’t beating anymore. Before I even opened my eyes. Before I really woke up. You know, on TV, when you see those guys, those runners, who fall on the ground as soon as they’ve crossed the finish line? I guess that’s how they must feel – empty. That’s all – empty.
Something had changed – everything.
I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes closed. I kissed him. He was still warm. I kissed him. All over.
I pulled myself away from him. Slowly.
Real slowly.
And I walked outta the kitchen without lookin’. I turned off the light. I took a shower. I think it was the best shower I ever took in my life. I went back into the kitchen and got dressed. That’s when I looked at him. (Beat. Him looks at Inspector. Looks away.)
You know what? (Beat.) He was beautiful.
He wasn’t even holdin’ onto his throat. For a minute I was afraid it had hurt. But I’m sure it didn’t. No. He was smiling. Lying there with his arms spread wide open. It’s true, he couldn’t have held on to his throat, he was holding on to me. I just hope. Just hope he didn’t see the same pictures as me. I just hope he was born, without seeing what was ahead. Without seeing the other side of the coin first. I closed his eyes. I wasn’t even able to do that for my father, cause I wasn’t there when he died. My mother neither, cause she was alone when she died. But him, my brother, my twin, my reflection, him, yes, I closed his eyes. And he died of pleasure. Without seeing his life go to ratshit.
I love him.
When I left his body …
I told you the rest …
Later on, down by the port …
I dunno …
The second one who picked me up, in the square … I thought about my sister … I knew I had to call you, cause just the thought of… rotting… I give up.
(Pause.)
(There are three loud knocks at the main door. The Stenographer gets up. The Inspector motions to him to take his things and leave with Him by the side door. The Stenographer picks up his things and goes over to Him. Him stands up, takes a small key case out of one of the front pockets of his jeans and throws the keys on the desk in front of the Inspector. The Stenographer goes over and opens the side door. Waits. Outside, the Police Officer is waiting in the doorway. The Stenographer walks out. The Inspector and Him exchange a long look. Him turns away and walks out slowly. The Inspector gets up and picks up the keys from the desk. Hesitates briefly, wondering whether he should clean up the judge’s desk. Decides not to.)
Gong.
Blackout.
THE END
Zero Hour
Arthur Milner
Arthur Milner has, been resident play-wright at The Great Canadian Theatre Company in Ottawa since 1983. He is the author of many plays for children and adults, including Shantymen of Cache Lake, Home Sweet Robin Hood’s Latest Adven
ture (with Greg Tuck), 1997, Cheap Thrill, Zero Hour, Learning to Live with Personal Growth, The City, Masada, and Sisters in the Great Day Care War. He has also been involved as the writer on two GCTC collective creations, Sandinista! and Red Tape, Running Shoes and Razzamattazz. In 1992 Arthur Milner was appointed Artistic Director of GCTC.
Zero Hour was first produced by The Great Canadian Theatre Company in Ottawa on 14 May 1986.
PRODUCTION
Director / Patrick McDonald
Sets and Lighting Design / Peter Gahlinger, Larry Laxdal
Costume Design / Sheila Singhal
Music and Sound Effects / Ian Tamblyn
Stange Manager / Season Osborne
CAST
Robert Bockstael / Ross
James Bradford / Harlan
John Koensgen / Wade
Zero Hour was workshopped by the National Arts Centre English Theatre Playwright’s Circle in March 1986, under the direction of David Mcllwraith with Maureen LaBonté as dramaturge, and the following cast: