Angels in America Read online

  HARPER: I don’t want to move to Washington.

  JOE: Well I do.

  HARPER: It’s a giant cemetery, huge white graves and mausoleums everywhere.

  JOE: We could live in Maryland. Or Georgetown.

  HARPER: We’re happy here.

  JOE: That’s not really true, buddy, we—

  HARPER: Well happy enough! Pretend-happy. That’s better than nothing.

  JOE: It’s time to make some changes, Harper.

  HARPER: No changes. Why?

  JOE: I’ve been chief clerk for four years. I make twenty-nine-thousand dollars a year. That’s ridiculous. I graduated fourth in my class and I make less than anyone I know. And I’m . . . I’m tired of being a clerk, I want to go where something good is happening.

  HARPER: Nothing good happens in Washington. We’ll forget church teachings and buy furniture at, at, Conran’s and become yuppies. I have too much to do here.

  JOE: Like what?

  HARPER: I do have things.

  JOE: What things?

  HARPER: I have to finish painting the bedroom.

  JOE: You’ve been painting in there for over a year.

  HARPER: I know, I— It just isn’t done because I never get time to finish it.

  JOE: Oh that’s . . . That doesn’t make sense. You have all the time in the world. You could finish it when I’m at work.

  HARPER: I’m afraid to go in there alone.

  JOE: Afraid of what?

  HARPER: I heard someone in there. Metal scraping on the wall. A man with a knife, maybe.

  JOE: There’s no one in the bedroom, Harper.

  HARPER: Not now.

  JOE: Not this morning either.

  HARPER: How do you know? You were at work this morning.

  There’s something creepy about this place. Remember Rosemary’s Baby?

  JOE: Rosemary’s Baby?

  HARPER: Our apartment looks like that one. Wasn’t that apartment in Brooklyn?

  JOE: No, it was—

  HARPER: Well, it looked like this. It did.

  JOE: Then let’s move.

  HARPER: Georgetown’s worse. The Exorcist was in Georgetown.

  JOE: The devil, everywhere you turn, huh, buddy.

  HARPER: Yeah. Everywhere.

  JOE: How many pills today, buddy?

  HARPER: None. One. Three. Only three.

  (At the cemetery: Rabbi Isidor Chemelwitz, heading home, walks past Louis, who is still staring into the grave. Louis stops the Rabbi with a question.)

  LOUIS: Why are there just two little wooden pegs holding the lid down?

  RABBI ISIDOR CHEMELWITZ: So she can get out easier if she wants to.

  LOUIS: I hope she stays put.

  I pretended for years that she was already dead. When they called to say she had died it was a surprise. I abandoned her.

  RABBI ISIDOR CHEMELWITZ: “Sharfer vi di tson fun a shlang iz an umdankbar kind!”

  LOUIS: I don’t speak Yiddish.

  RABBI ISIDOR CHEMELWITZ: “Sharper than the serpent’s tooth is the ingratitude of children.” Shakespeare. Kenig Lear.

  LOUIS: Rabbi, what does the Holy Writ say about someone who abandons someone he loves at a time of great need?

  RABBI ISIDOR CHEMELWITZ: Why would a person do such a thing?

  LOUIS: Because he has to.

  Maybe because this person’s sense of the world, that it will change for the better with struggle, maybe a person who has this neo-Hegelian positivist sense of constant historical progress towards happiness or perfection or something, who feels very powerful because he feels connected to these forces, moving uphill all the time . . . Maybe that person can’t, um, incorporate sickness into his sense of how things are supposed to go. Maybe vomit . . . and sores and disease . . . really frighten him, maybe . . . he isn’t so good with death.

  RABBI ISIDOR CHEMELWITZ: The Holy Scriptures have nothing to say about such a person.

  LOUIS: Rabbi, I’m afraid of the crimes I may commit.

  RABBI ISIDOR CHEMELWITZ: Please, mister. I’m a sick old rabbi facing a long drive home to the Bronx. You want to confess, better you should find a priest.

  LOUIS: But I’m not a Catholic, I’m a Jew.

  RABBI ISIDOR CHEMELWITZ: Worse luck for you, bubbulah. Catholics believe in Forgiveness. Jews believe in Guilt.

  (The Rabbi turns to leave.)

  LOUIS: You just make sure those pegs are in good and tight.

  (The Rabbi stops, looks down into the grave, then at Louis:)

  RABBI ISIDOR CHEMELWITZ: Don’t worry, mister. The life she had, she’ll stay put. She’s better off.

  (The Rabbi exits. Louis looks into the grave, one last, quick glance, then follows.)

  JOE: Look, I know this is scary for you. But try to understand what it means to me. Will you try?

  HARPER: Yes.

  JOE: Good. Really try.

  I think things are starting to change in the world.

  HARPER: But I don’t want—

  JOE: Wait. For the good. Change for the good. America has rediscovered itself. Its sacred position among nations. And people aren’t ashamed of that like they used to be. This is a great thing. The truth restored. Law restored. That’s what President Reagan’s done, Harper. He says: “Truth exists and can be spoken proudly.” And the country responds to him. We become better. More good. I need to be a part of that, I need something big to lift me up. I mean, six years ago the world seemed in decline, horrible, hopeless, full of unsolvable problems and crime and confusion and hunger and—

  HARPER: But it still seems that way. More now than before. They say the ozone layer is—

  JOE: Harper . . .

  HARPER: And today out the window on Atlantic Avenue there was a schizophrenic traffic cop who was making these—

  JOE: Stop it! I’m trying to make a point.

  HARPER: So am I.

  JOE: You aren’t even making sense, you—

  HARPER: My point is the world seems just as—

  JOE: It only seems that way to you because you never go out in the world, Harper, and you have emotional problems.

  HARPER: I do so get out in the world.

  JOE: You don’t. You stay in all day, fretting about imaginary—

  HARPER: I get out. I do. You don’t know what I do.

  JOE: You don’t stay in all day.

  HARPER: No.

  JOE: Well . . . Yes you do.

  HARPER: That’s what you think.

  JOE: Where do you go?

  HARPER: Where do you go? When you walk.

  (Pause, then very angry) And I DO NOT have emotional problems.

  JOE: I’m sorry.

  HARPER: And if I do have emotional problems it’s from living with you. Or—

  JOE: I’m sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean to—

  HARPER: Or if you do think I do then you should never have married me. You have all these secrets and lies.

  JOE: I want to be married to you, Harper.

  HARPER: You shouldn’t. You never should.

  (Pause)

  Hey, buddy. Hey, buddy.

  JOE: Buddy kiss.

  (They kiss.)

  HARPER: I heard on the radio how to give a blowjob.

  JOE: What?

  HARPER: You want to try?

  JOE: You really shouldn’t listen to stuff like that.

  HARPER: Mormons can give blowjobs.

  JOE: Harper.

  HARPER (Imitating his tone): Joe.

  It was a little Jewish lady with a German accent. This is a good time. For me to make a baby.

  (Little pause. Joe turns away from her, then leaves the living room.)

  HARPER: Then they went on to a program about holes in the ozone layer. Over Antarctica. Skin burns, birds go blind, icebergs melt. The world’s coming to an end.

  Scene 6

  First week of November. In the men’s room of the offices of the Brooklyn Federal Court of Appeals. Louis is crying over the sink; Joe enters.

  JOE:
Oh, um . . . Morning.

  LOUIS: Good morning, Counselor.

  JOE (He watches Louis cry): Sorry, I . . . I don’t know your name.

  LOUIS: Don’t bother. Word processor. The lowest of the low.

  JOE (Holding out his hand): Joe Pitt. I’m with Justice Wilson.

  LOUIS: Oh, I know that. Counselor Pitt. Chief Clerk.

  JOE: Were you . . . Are you OK?

  LOUIS: Oh, yeah. Thanks. What a nice man.

  JOE: Not so nice.

  LOUIS: What?

  JOE: Not so nice. Nothing. You sure you’re—

  LOUIS: Life sucks shit. Life . . . just sucks shit.

  JOE: What’s wrong?

  LOUIS: Run in my nylons.

  JOE: Sorry . . .?

  LOUIS: Forget it. Look, thanks for asking.

  JOE: Well . . .

  LOUIS: I mean it really is nice of you.

  (He starts crying again)

  Sorry, sorry. Sick friend . . .

  JOE: Oh, I’m sorry.

  LOUIS: Yeah, yeah, well, that’s sweet.

  Three of your colleagues have preceded you to this baleful sight and you’re the first one to ask. The others just opened the door, saw me, and fled. I hope they had to pee real bad.

  JOE (Handing him a wad of toilet paper): They just didn’t want to intrude.

  LOUIS: Hah. Reaganite heartless macho asshole lawyers.

  JOE: Oh, that’s unfair.

  LOUIS: What is? Heartless? Macho? Reaganite? Lawyer?

  JOE: I voted for Reagan.

  LOUIS: You did?

  JOE: Twice.

  LOUIS: Twice? Well, oh boy. A Gay Republican.

  JOE: Excuse me?

  LOUIS: Nothing.

  JOE: I’m not—

  Forget it.

  LOUIS: Republican? Not Republican? Or . . .

  JOE: What?

  LOUIS: What?

  JOE: Not gay. I’m not gay.

  LOUIS: Oh. Sorry.

  (Blows his nose loudly) It’s just—

  JOE: Yes?

  LOUIS: Well, sometimes you can tell from the way a person sounds, that—I mean you sound like a—

  JOE: No I don’t.

  Like what?

  LOUIS: Like a Republican.

  (Little pause. Joe knows he’s being teased; Louis knows he knows. Joe decides to be a little brave.)

  JOE: Do I? Sound like a . . .?

  LOUIS: What? Like a . . .? Republican, or . . .?

  Do I?

  JOE: Do you what?

  LOUIS: Sound like a . . .?

  JOE: Like a . . .?

  I’m . . . confused.

  LOUIS: Yes.

  My name is Louis. But all my friends call me Louise. I work in Word Processing. Thanks for the toilet paper.

  (Louis offers Joe his hand. Joe reaches, Louis feints and pecks Joe on the cheek, then exits.)

  Scene 7

  A week later. Mutual dream scene. Prior is dreaming that he’s at a fantastic makeup table, applying his face. Harper is having a pill-induced hallucination. She has these from time to time. For some reason, Prior has appeared in this one. Or Harper has appeared in Prior’s dream. It is bewildering.

  PRIOR (His makeup complete, he examines its perfection in the mirror; then he turns to the audience): I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille.

  One wants to move through life with elegance and grace, blossoming infrequently but with exquisite taste, and perfect timing, like a rare bloom, a zebra orchid . . . One wants . . .

  But one so seldom gets what one wants, does one?

  No. One does not. (Sorrow and anger well up, overwhelming the grand manner) One gets fucked. Over. One . . . dies at thirty, robbed of . . . decades of majesty . . .

  (Angry) Fuck this shit. Fuck this shit.

  (He consults the mirror, attempting to resume the pose)

  I look like a corpse. A . . . corpsette!

  (It doesn’t work. Commiserating with his reflection)

  Oh my queen; you know you’ve hit rock-bottom when even drag is a drag.

  (Harper appears. Prior is surprised!)

  HARPER: Are you . . . Who are you?

  PRIOR: Who are you?

  HARPER: What are you doing in my hallucination?

  PRIOR: I’m not in your hallucination. You’re in my dream.

  HARPER: You’re wearing makeup.

  PRIOR: So are you.

  HARPER: But you’re a man.

  PRIOR (He looks in his mirror, SCREAMS!, mimes slashing his throat with his lipstick and dies, fabulously tragic. Then): The hands and feet give it away.

  HARPER: There must be some mistake here. I don’t recognize you. You’re not—Are you my . . . some sort of imaginary friend?

  PRIOR: No. Aren’t you too old to have imaginary friends?

  HARPER: I have emotional problems. I took too many pills. Why are you wearing makeup?

  PRIOR: I was in the process of applying the face, trying to make myself feel better—I swiped the new fall colors at the Clinique counter at Macy’s.

  (He shows her.)

  HARPER: You stole these?

  PRIOR: I was out of cash; it was an emotional emergency!

  HARPER: Joe will be so angry. I promised him. No more pills.

  PRIOR: These pills you keep alluding to?

  HARPER: Valium. I take Valium. Lots of Valium.

  PRIOR: And you’re dancing as fast as you can.

  HARPER: I’m not addicted. I don’t believe in addiction, and I never— Well, I never drink. And I never take drugs.

  PRIOR: Well, smell you, Nancy Drew.

  HARPER: Except Valium.

  PRIOR: Except Valium; in wee fistfuls.

  HARPER: It’s terrible. Mormons are not supposed to be addicted to anything. I’m a Mormon.

  PRIOR: I’m a homosexual.

  HARPER: Oh! In my church we don’t believe in homosexuals.

  PRIOR: In my church we don’t believe in Mormons.

  HARPER: What church do . . . Oh! (She laughs) I get it.

  I don’t understand this. If I didn’t ever see you before and I don’t think I did, then I don’t think you should be here, in this hallucination, because in my experience the mind, which is where hallucinations come from, shouldn’t be able to make up anything that wasn’t there to start with, that didn’t enter it from experience, from the real world. Imagination can’t create anything new, can it? It only recycles bits and pieces from the world and reassembles them into visions . . . Am I making sense right now?

  PRIOR: Given the circumstances, yes.

  HARPER: So when we think we’ve escaped the unbearable ordinariness and, well, untruthfulness of our lives, it’s really only the same old ordinariness and falseness rearranged into the appearance of novelty and truth. Nothing unknown is knowable. Don’t you think it’s depressing?

  PRIOR: The limitations of the imagination?

  HARPER: Yes.

  PRIOR: It’s something you learn after your second theme party: It’s All Been Done Before.

  HARPER: The world. Finite. Terribly, terribly . . . Well . . . This is the most depressing hallucination I’ve ever had.

  PRIOR: Apologies. I do try to be amusing.

  HARPER: Oh, well, don’t apologize, you . . . I can’t expect someone who’s really sick to entertain me.

  PRIOR: How on earth did you know . . .?

  HARPER: Oh that happens. This is the very threshold of revelation sometimes. You can see things . . . how sick you are. Do you see anything about me?

  PRIOR: Yes.

  HARPER: What?

  PRIOR: You are amazingly unhappy.

  HARPER: Oh big deal. You meet a Valium addict and you figure out she’s unhappy. That doesn’t count. Of course I . . . Something else. Something surprising.

  PRIOR: Something surprising.

  HARPER: Yes.

  PRIOR: Your husband’s a homo.

  (Pause.)

  HARPER: Oh, ridiculous.

  (Pause, then very quietly:)

 
Really?

  PRIOR (Shrugs): Threshold of revelation.

  HARPER: Well I don’t like your revelations. I don’t think you intuit well at all. Joe’s a very normal man, he . . .

  Oh God. Oh God. He . . . Do homos take, like, lots of long walks?

  PRIOR (A beat, then): Yes. We do. In stretch pants with lavender coifs. I just looked at you, and there was . . .

  HARPER: A sort of blue streak of recognition.

  PRIOR: Yes.

  HARPER: Like you knew me incredibly well.

  PRIOR: Yes.

  HARPER: Yes.

  I have to go now, get back, something just . . . fell apart.

  Oh God, I feel so sad . . .

  PRIOR: I . . . I’m sorry. I usually say, “Fuck the truth,” but mostly, the truth fucks you.

  HARPER: I see something else about you.

  PRIOR: Oh?

  HARPER: Deep inside you, there’s a part of you, the most inner part, entirely free of disease. I can see that.

  PRIOR: Is that— That isn’t true.

  HARPER: Threshold of revelation.

  Home . . .

  (She vanishes. Prior’s startled. Then he feels very alone.)

  PRIOR: People come and go so quickly here . . .

  I don’t think there’s any uninfected part of me. My heart is pumping polluted blood. I feel dirty.

  (He starts to wipe off his makeup; suddenly, he smears it furiously around.

  A large gray feather falls from above. Prior stops smearing the makeup and looks at the feather. He goes to it and picks it up.)

  A VOICE (It is an incredibly beautiful voice): Look up!

  PRIOR (Looking up, not seeing anyone): Hello?

  A VOICE: Look up!

  PRIOR: Who is that?

  A VOICE: Prepare the way!

  PRIOR: I don’t see any—

  (There is a dramatic change in lighting, from above.)

  A VOICE: Look up, look up,

  prepare the way

  the infinite descent

  A breath in air

  floating down

  Glory to . . .

  (Silence.)

  PRIOR: Hello? Is that it? Helloooo!

  (Very frightened) What the fuck? . . . (He holds himself)

  Poor me. Poor poor me. Why me? Why poor poor me?

  Oh I don’t feel good right now. I really don’t.

  Scene 8

  That night. Split scene: Prior and Louis in their bed. Louis reading, Prior cuddled next to him. Harper in Brooklyn, alone. Joe enters.

  HARPER: Where were you?

  JOE: Out.

  HARPER: Where?

  JOE: Just out. Thinking.