Play

by James Comins

Kyū no Ha Ichi

  Act IV, Scene One

  Punch clears his throat and begins.

  "Dōjōji. A Buddhist temple on the coast of Japan.

  For a hundred years it has had no bell.

  Today, a new bell has arrived from the bellmakers.

  Why has the belltower been vacant?

  Why does the head priest look so concerned?

  And what happened to the old bell anyway?"

  The Understudy steps forward and assumes the stooped, dignified posture of an old Japanese priest.

  "Today is the day! The new bell is here.

  Assistant, help me to lift it into the belfry."

  That's you. Scurry ahead; your character has young legs and more enthusiasm than wisdom. You are, in your mind, wearing robes that flap as you walk. Shuffle to the rope. Help him lift the bell.

  Somehow, the silence of the empty seats becomes huge and oppressive, like reading a new declaration of war in the news. There's no audience. No one's watching your performance. No one cares.

  How can you put on a show when no one cares?

  But that isn't quite true.

  Quinn cares. She'll be your audience today. You can't even see her up in the control booth, but she's the only audience you've really got. Might as well show off to her a little bit. Play up how foolish and young the attendant is. Play the character. You're a good actor, and you know how to make up characters even though you're not wearing a mask.

  Quinn is a good enough audience. She cares about you, and you care about her.

  Together with the Understudy—the temple priest, that is—you hoist the bell into place and tie the thick rope to the wooden column.

  The temple priest continues:

  "The most important thing to remember

  Is that no women are allowed near the temple

  During this dedication ceremony. Send them away!

  The bell must be entirely free of women."

  It isn't fair to leave women out, obviously. But your character is an obedient young man from old Japan, and he'll agree with whatever the head priest tells him without asking questions.

  "I'll say the dedication prayers. Guard the gates for me,"

  the temple priest tells you.

  He begins a long string of Japanese prayers. Hand drums play. It's your job now to skip foolishly to the bridge and make sure no girls get through.

  Unless a particular girl convinces you, that is. . . .

  This is how the story of "Dōjōji" goes.

  In her long, burned-black dress and her still-colorful hat with a bird on it, Columbia appears at the edge of the bridge, swishing and twirling. She can't be bothered with the traditional mincing, delicate steps of Noh dance. Instead she saunters boldly, acting as if her black dress were a suit of armor, and then she sashays, turning her black dress into a sea of dreams. One, then the other. Armor, then dreams. Tough, then delicate.

  As she crosses the threshold of alchemical sunlight, her hat bursts into flame. She scowls and flings it into the blazing sun of the Green Lion, where the hat vaporizes. But she must stay in character, so she closes her eyes, reopens them, and resumes her role as the maiden of Dōjōji.

  "It isn't fair that only men get to pray today.

  I'm pious! I'm Buddhist! Let me attend the ceremony.

  After all, I came all the way down the coast.

  And anyway."

  Columbia winks at you, and both you and your character feel a flutter in your hearts.

  "And anyway, if you let me in, I'll dance for you."

  She bumps you with her hip. Your character looks over a shoulder at the head priest, over the other shoulder, then steps aside. Columbia sidles into the temple. The drums speed up, and the song becomes feminine and personal.

  She dances.

  And as she dances, she moves closer and closer to the taut rope that holds up the bell. Downstage, the head priest blithely continues his prayers. You watch the maiden of "Dōjōji" dance, and in the back of your mind you wonder whether Quinn is jealous of how your character watches Columbia. Is she as jealous of you as you were of Punch? Has she been jealous this whole time? Have you unwittingly screwed up your friendship with her?

  Punch speaks:

  "Who is this mystery woman? Why is she here?

  What sins does she carry, that she needs to pray so badly?

  Has she done something wrong? Or is she just a bell enthusiast?

  And why is she trying to ring the sacred bell?"

  As it is with every performance of "Dōjōji," the actor who plays the dancing maiden must be quick. She must be exact. She must be careful. She must be professional.

  Here's why:

  As the head priest continues his Buddhist litany, Columbia unties the bell. The block and tackle waggle, but they hold up the heavy bronze shape. Because of the pulleys, she doesn't have to hold on too tight to keep the bell aloft. Her eyes point straight up as she steps backward. Her feet don't dance anymore.

  The Green Lion ignores her. It ignores everything. It shines with perfect impartiality.

  In the exact center of the stage, she stands straight as a new flower stem. Holding the rope tightly, she brings her hands to her sides. Her chin is up like a soldier at attention. She takes one last look above her.

  Columbia lets go of the rope.

  Whistling mightily, the rope skids up and the bell flies down. The bronze torpedo sheaths Columbia and thumps into the stage. The nightingale floor lets out a shuddering boom. Columbia is gone. In her place is an iron maiden embossed in kanji characters and three pictures: Temple, woman, dragon.

  It went perfectly.

  Now the Green Lion notices. The nuclear sun turns to look at the bell. Its light seems to quaver like a sine wave, as if it's thinking. Brighter and weaker and brighter and weaker. But the disappearance of the maiden has not defeated it, merely drawn its interest.

  There is a lie here, and the monster wants to burn up the lie. But it's hidden under a bell.

  Turning dramatically, the head priest scolds you:

  "A woman! A woman in our temple?

  What have you allowed to happen?"

  You reply:

  "I apologize, your holiness. It's true, a woman came.

  She made some very good arguments. So I let her in.

  I throw myself at your feet! Clearly I made a mistake.

  Why aren't women allowed during the dedication ceremony anyway?"

  Like a curious elk, the Green Lion takes a few cautious steps forward, flexing its toes and bending its neck. Watching. Now your audience has doubled in size. Why not show off your acting chops for Quinn and for the Lion? Throw yourself into a Japanese kowtow, weep and beg for forgiveness. You are a temple attendant who screwed up.

  The head priest turns up his nose in disgust at you.

  "You disgust me! Miserable fool! Insolent wretch!

  Do you have any idea why women were banned?

  A terrible thing happened here a hundred years ago.

  Do you want to hear the story?"

  The drumline changes, a new rhythm, a new beat for a new part of the story. Nod vigorously. You want to hear the story of the terrible thing. The head priest begins to pace the stage.

  "The cherry blossoms had just fallen, and the tide washed the shore.

  A girl watched from the village gate as a penitent priest walked by

  To and fro, praying the Buddhist rosary and blessing everyone he met.

  The priest was young and very handsome."

  The head priest clasps his hands behind his back.

  "The girl told her family she was going to marry him.

  They laughed. She didn't know that priests can't marry.

  One day she approached the priest and proposed to him.

  Sadie Hawkins proposals were forbidden then in Japan."

  Glaring light pours over the head priest as the Green Lion walks closer, sniffing. The Understudy winces, but the show must go on.

  "The priest was s
o shocked that he loudly placed a curse on her.

  Then he ran away.

  Holding up his robes, he swam across the river.

  He hid inside the old temple bell.

  At once the girl's heart was broken.

  Chasing him, she found herself on the wrong side of the river.

  She couldn't swim. She couldn't swim!

  But the curse mixed with her broken heart—

  Transformed her. A dragon burst forth from her breast

  Until nothing was left of her, just dragon.

  On the wild winds she flew across the river to the temple.

  The temple priests couldn't stop her with prayers.

  Broken hearts are too terrible to be fixed.

  She wrapped her coils around the bell where the priest hid,

  And her fire poured forth, and she cooked him."

  Your character gasps. Why, that priest might as well have been you! The guy did nothing wrong. He was just saying his prayers when he got attacked by a crazy girl.

  It's your turn to speak. Rise up from your apologetic squat.

  "So the maiden under the bell—

  She's a broken-hearted ghost?

  Will she turn into a dragon again?

  Will she burn down the temple?"

  Clutch your pretend robes. Clutch your hair. Something supernatural might happen! Who will protect you? Who will carry you to safety?

  "I'll say the exorcism prayers,"

  the head priest informs you.

  "Raise the bell back to the belfry.

  Together we will be safe.

  Together we will lift the curse."

  Terrified, you bow once and take the rope. You and the priest flank the huge bell.

  Punch prances forward and peers up at the perched head of the Green Lion. Multitudes of imps continue to trail in his shadow.

  "Here we take a moment to observe.

  A woman in love is cursed. Can this be true?

  Is love enough to pour a dragon from a heart?

  Is our play no more than play, or is it art?

  Are misspent wishes enough to turn a girl into a ghost?

  What is underneath the bell?

  If it be no more than woman, our story is a lie.

  If it be more, then too-simplistic truths must die."

  Punch sweeps his arms toward you. No longer does he seem wicked. He seems as bothered by the bald literal light of the Arhat's pet as you are. Perhaps he is no longer your enemy. Perhaps there is as much good in him as anyone.

  Pull the rope. End this. Show the Green Lion that disbelief and doubt aren't the same thing as truth.

  Then, just as the bell lifts an inch from its solid spot on the ground:

  "Columbia, I love you!"

  shouts honest, simple Pierrot, weeping tears in floods.

  And to the rhythm of drums and the priest's chanted prayers, you pull on the surprisingly lightweight bell. Long stretches of thick rope zip through the pulleys. You walk the rope toward a column. Only when the rope is hitched sturdily do you turn around.

  Columbia is more than a woman.

  Columbia is white wings. Perfect feathers. Unfolding feathers.

  Columbia is a lamp of pure, mystical, heavenly light. From inside her heart the white light shines.

  Brighter and more beautiful than the moon.

  More honest and real.

  Truer.

  An angel.

  Columbia's wings are not a special effect. There are no wires, no mirrors, no screens. Her wings stretch beyond the limits of the small stage and grow outward, communicating her light so widely that she reaches the horizon in both directions. Her black dress has gone white. Glowing hands touch glowing heart.

  The Green Lion stands on one side of the stage, the sun.

  Columbia is opposite, floating inches off the ground, the moon.

  The drums cease. Pierrot stands. He can scarcely believe what he sees.

  "You,"

  the clown says, ducking beneath the rope,

  "Heard me speak. My lonely voice,

  Made so long of lonely tears

  Could become joy itself

  For no more than a kiss."

  Pure, shining Columbia turns to him and lifts a hand. When the starry-eyed dreamer is too dazzled to take it, Columbia rolls her eyes and grabs him and pulls him close.

  "Why do you think I was always alone?"

  she says.

  "Why do you think I never loved Punch or Shanne?

  Do you think me so small-brained, so foolish, so lame,

  That I couldn't tell who you were under your clown makeup?"

  Pierrot nearly swoons.

  "My heart is overwhelmed, cherie.

  I have never imagined such happiness.

  But I must ask:

  Why did you not speak sooner?"

  Columbia's wings twitch and she crosses her arms.

  "Do you imagine me any braver than you are?

  What if I were wrong? What if you recoiled from my kiss?

  What if you didn't agree with me

  When I said I loved you?"

  In her cross, irritable way, Columbia pulls Pierrot toward her and wraps her arms around him.

  "But now that I know you agree,

  We can be in love after all."

  She runs down the steps of the Noh stage, white wings streaming out behind her, Pierrot chasing. With only a few flaps of infinite moonlight, they fly up, up, until they cannot be seen from Earth.