(Not to be
copied without author�s permission)
A play in 9
scenes
Department of
Chemistry
Stanford
University
Stanford, CA
94305-5080
Tel. 650-723-2783
e-mail: [email protected] URL
http://www.djerassi.com
1101 Green Street, Apt. 1501 25
Warrington Crescent,
San Francisco, CA 94109-2012 London
W9 1ED, U.K.
Tel: 415-474-1825; Fax: 415-474-1868 Tel.
44-20-7289-3081
SHRINK (Dr. Theodore
Hofmann), indeterminate middle aged.
Time: New York City, the present.
SHRINK�S consulting room.
Desk and comfortable desk chair on the left, Freudian couch covered with
oriental carpet in center with low, relatively long rectangular coffee table in
front. Another comfortable chair behind head of couch; right upstage door is
exit from consulting room.
SCENE 1.
Shrink's
consulting room. STEPHEN MARX lies on couch, with SHRINK (with tie, coat, and
perhaps even vest) sitting behind him. STEPHEN is silent for 1 - 2 minutes,
long enough to make audience uncomfortable. The manner in which this handled
(including STEPHEN�s opening speech) is left to the director and actor, with an
optional scenario being the following: SHRINK occasionally glances at his watch
and at STEPHEN on couch, who lies silently, eyes wide open, staring at the
ceiling. Occasionally, STEPHEN raises his head slightly as if he were listening
to something. Suddenly he jumps up, follows the movement of a flying insect,
snatching at the bug. Opens his hands, then drops them. Continues in
the direction of Shrink and again claps his hand firmly—this time very
close to Shrink�s face who rears back. STEPHEN opens his hands.
STEPHEN: Gotcha! (Goes
back to couch and lies down).
SHRINK (Looking at his
watch): I charge by the minute, you know� not by the word.
STEPHEN (After long
pause): How much time have I left?
SHRINK (Again looks at watch):
Six minutes� going on five. So, if
there�s anything else�you�d�um�
STEPHEN: A question.
SHRINK: Hmm� progress.
STEPHEN: A legal question.
SHRINK: I don�t offer legal advice.
STEPHEN (Points with fingers toward
Shrink, then to himself and back to Shrink): How confidential do you keep
this?
SHRINK: If you went to church for confession, would you ask a priest that?
STEPHEN: I�m not here to confess. This is different.
SHRINK: Therapy and confession aren�t really that different. Call what usually
happens here an unburdening.
STEPHEN: In that case I could�ve saved a bundle by going to see a priest.
SHRINK: Ah! But the difference is that we don�t absolve� we help you
understand yourself. That takes much longer�.
STEPHEN: And that�s what you charge for?
SHRINK: Well� if you�re looking for bargains� perhaps you should go to church�
but lying on a couch is easier on your knees. (Pause). Just imagine how sore they would be after a full course of
therapy. Right now, this is only your 4th or 5th
session—
STEPHEN: Fifth!
SHRINK: And while you�d certainly benefit from therapy� by now it�s clear to
me that you came with something else in mind: some kind of justification� but
packaged in the form of a private confrontation.
STEPHEN: And why would I come to you for justification?
SHRINK: If I knew all of the answers, this would probably be your last visit.
But you also appear to need assured confidentiality. You could have gotten that
from a lawyer� but he would have charged more� and listened less.
STEPHEN (Impatiently):
Okay, okay! But you tell no one what we talk about? No exceptions?
SHRINK: There are exceptions to everything. If you told me
you had a gun in your pocket and were about to murder somebody, I�d call the
police. I�d have to.
STEPHEN: What about suicide?
SHRINK: There is nothing I take more seriously than suicide.
STEPHEN: Suppose I told you I was thinking of killing
myself?
SHRINK: I'd do my utmost to persuade you not to do that.
STEPHEN: Of course you would. But suppose you later learned
that I'd actually done it?
SHRINK (Taking it very
seriously): I�d feel terrible for not having prevented it. Personally� and
professionally.
STEPHEN: But would you tell someone about the conversation?
SHRINK In none of our sessions so far has the word �suicide�
even crossed your lips. Are you telling me now that you are contemplating—?
STEPHEN (Interrupts): Please! Just answer the question!
SHRINK (Impatient):
I might� if you left a suicide note—
STEPHEN I thought confidentiality is an absolute term. There
is no in-between situation.
SHRINK There is� when dealing with suicide. Suppose you asked
that I contact a close survivor� for instance your wife? (Anxious). But Stephen—
STEPHEN (Interrupting):
No note� nothing.
SHRINK: Then I probably would not.
STEPHEN: You�d keep mum?
SHRINK: Mum.
STEPHEN:
Good. (Pause). In that case, let�s
continue.
SHRINK (Looks at his
watch): Given the sudden shift in direction of our conversation, we really
need more time than we�ve got left today.
STEPHEN (Rises):
Well� if our time�s up, I might as well take off.
Shrink
beats Stephen to the door.
SHRINK: Be sure not to miss next week�s session.
STEPHEN: Rent coming due?
SHRINK: No jokes, Stephen. This is important.
The two men stare at each
other. Finally Stephen smiles, patting Shrink on the shoulder.
STEPHEN: I�ll see whether I can convince myself of that.
Shrink
reluctantly stands away from the door as Stephen exits.
SCENE 2.
Same location, following week. Exactly same position of the two
characters as in Scene 1.
SHRINK: You
aren�t really thinking of suicide?
STEPHEN (Breezily with a shift in tone): You� of all
people� must be used to that sort of talk: Suicide� justification�
interpretation of the uninterpretable� unburdening. Pay your money, pick a
neurosis. I might even paraphrase Descartes: �I�m analyzing myself, therefore I
am.�
SHRINK: Exactly!
Analysis is the key to self-knowledge. At least that�s how I—
STEPHEN (Suddenly
angry): Do you think I need
to come here to find out who I am? I can do that for $9.99 down at Borders! (As if reading his own dust jacket spiel): Stephen
Marx, author, misanthrope, genius, literary star, and winner of the Pulitzer
Prize! National Book Award! blah blah blah. Voted Best Dressed Middle-Aged Man!
Wearer of velvet jackets! Most Featured Writer in Women�s Magazines! Pick a
tagline Dr Hoffman. Pick a blurb! Everyone else does! Stephen Marx: great
author who will be remembered for generations to come? Or a smart con man who
peddles phrases for money? Am I an original thinker? Or is it all an act so I
can entice female groupies at book launches? Do you think therapy can answer these
questions, Doctor?
SHRINK (Quietly): Yes.
STEPHEN (Taken
aback) Doesn�t that smack of overconfidence?
SHRINK: No, it�s plain vanilla confidence. But it also assumes that the
analysand is willing to cooperate� meaning you, Stephen.
STEPHEN So you�re hedging your answer.
SHRINK: An analyst is mostly a guide.
It�s the analysand who ultimately must deduce his present circumstances from
his past history. If you want to call it hedging, so be it. (Beat). But how did the idea of... suicide... come into your head?
STEPHEN: Everybody thinks of suicide� sometimes. (Pause). I even wrote about it.
SHRINK: An article?
STEPHEN: A novel... (dismissive).
I don�t do articles. (Suddenly manic).
Did you know that Hemingway read his own obituary?
SHRINK: No.
STEPHEN: He was in a small plane in the middle of Africa that
crashed. Everyone thought he was dead. (Pause).
But he blew it: he reappeared too soon.
SHRINK: Perhaps he needed medical attention.
STEPHEN: He had a marvelous time reading the newspaper
obituaries. It was everything he wanted to hear. But what if he'd managed it
better? (Leans forward, excited). If
he�d waited?
SHRINK: All right, let�s take that question and apply it to
you. How long would you have waited? (Raises
his hand). No, let me rephrase it. Why would you�ve waited longer?
STEPHEN: Have you never dealt with people whose self-esteem
depends on the opinion of others? Haven�t you ever stopped to think how it must
feel to work in a field where success isn't something you can quantify? How
much uncertainty that involves? How much insecurity? Even James Joyce was
obsessed with reviews. I call it productive insecurity.
SHRINK: Well put!
STEPHEN (With irony)
So now I�m getting complimented? Is that part of therapy?
SHRINK Call it encouragement rather than compliment.
STEPHEN (continues
ironic tone) At this stage, I�ll
accept either one. Unfortunately� compliment or not�productive insecurity simultaneously nourishes and poisons
us.
SHRINK: Ah, yes! Scientists have that problem all the time�
peer recognition is all that counts. But you� a hugely successful best-selling
author? Of thirteen novels?
STEPHEN (Quickly):
Fourteen!
SHRINK: All right� fourteen! But surely a writer�s success
is based more on the opinion of the book-buying public. Reviewers and critics
are not essential to make the best-seller lists.
STEPHEN: You�re confusing selling thousands of books for a
couple of years followed by the oblivion of the remainder bins� with still
being read decades later. I want the latter.
SHRINK: And you're talking about dying for it?
STEPHEN: Not in the sense that Roland Barthes meant.
SHRINK (Not having the foggiest idea who Barthes is):
Who?
STEPHEN: French guy. Lived with his mother. Wrote �Death of
the Author.� He said it was the text, not the author that counted.
SHRINK
(Interested
in Freudian sense, but still struggling to keep up): He lived with his mother?
STEPHEN: What do you do when you�ve gone as far as you can
go? What can another novel tell me about myself that I don�t already know? What
concerns me is (deliberate tone)
whether I enter the canon.
SHRINK: Surely you can�t know that until it happens.
STEPHEN (Lying back on
the couch): The opinion of real critics writing about my work in depth. The
literary afterlife.
SHRINK (Looks at his
watch). Now we�re getting to something we can work with.
STEPHEN: When you�re dead, you�re likely to learn things
you�d never find out otherwise.
SHRINK: When you�re dead, you�re unlikely to enjoy it.
STEPHEN (Ignores
Shrink�s comment): Stephen Marx
has gone as far as he can go. Its time he�s put on the shelf to begin his
grapple with history.
SHRINK: Then why not simply retire?
STEPHEN One can always come out of retirement.
SHRINK: You�re trying to control events that are simply
beyond your control.
STEPHEN (Sits up):
In order to live on in literary history, one first must be dead. Nothing
improves the quality of a reputation better than death.
SHRINK Stephen! Just reflect for a moment: why did you tell
me all this in the first place?
STEPHEN: Didn�t you tell me it was for justification?
SHRINK: That�s only part of it. Even if you don't know it
yourself, Stephen, you want me to stop you.
(Stephen slowly sits down again.)
STEPHEN (A glimmer of
humor in his eyes.): Okay. So why should Stephen Marx stay alive?
SHRINK: Surely you should be able to answer that
yourself.
STEPHEN: I�ve already told you, my career has no meaning any
more.
SHRINK: So you�re going to jump off a building?
STEPHEN (Slyly):
No. I've always preferred the idea of drowning myself. (Eying the Shrink with irony). If you climb to the top of a building
someone can always talk you down.
SHRINK: I don't believe you�ll do it. Suicide doesn�t go
with your psyche.
STEPHEN: Is that your diagnosis?
SHRINK (Is
pushed into saying something even he won�t believe he�s said): This is only our sixth session� generally
much too short for a diagnosis. But with you, I�m prepared to risk it: yours is
a case of pure, unadulterated narcissism� and that may be untreatable.
STEPHEN: Isn�t that your job? To shrink big heads like mine down to normal size?
SHRINK: Next week then?
Stephen heads for the door.
STEPHEN: We�ll see.
END OF
SCENE 2
Scene
3.
One
month later. SHRINK sits behind the couch. MIRIAM MARX lies on the couch.
Through their discussion she will fidget about, stealing glances at the office
and SHRINK.
MIRIAM I�m standing in a white room. Everywhere there are
chrome saucepans shining in a harsh white light. I�m making a souffl�� and then
I see him, his face, lifted in the egg white, with two yokes for eyes. Or I see
him gasping for air in a� in a vat of� lobster bisque. Then he�s turned into a
fish, deboned� all floppy, spent and moist, laid out on a bed of creamed
spinach. (Pause). It's so horrible!
If anyone found out, they�d have me committed.
SHRINK: Not necessarily. Just consider what dreaming in images of food might mean. Freud
would say that food is a primal expression of your desire to consume your
grief� to literally eat
it so that it� no longer has the capacity to hurt you.
MIRIAM (Deadpan):
I run a catering establishment.
SHRINK: I see.
MIRIAM (Suddenly
composed): It�s called �Edible Art.� I'm also working on a book by that
title.
SHRINK: And your artwork gets eaten?
MIRIAM: First photographed. It�s too expensive to be
consumed without a record. Some customers even frame the photos. (Looking around her, while pointing at the
barren walls of his office). I can arrange one for your office if you'd
like. Something based on Chipirones en su
Tinta might work well.
SHRINK: What?
MIRIAM: Squid in its ink. It�s a Basque dish. But I could
use it on a bed of Tagliatelle and make it look like a Rorschach inkblot.
SHRINK: I think we�re getting off on a tangent� not that I
don�t appreciate your offer to improve the appearance of my office. But let�s
return to your thoughts about your deceased husband.
MIRIAM: You are so right� I shouldn�t digress. Sometimes
when I think of what he went through, I� I� It sounds terrible but I chuckle. I
can�t help myself doctor. To chuckle at the death throes of your husband. Is
that� normal?
SHRINK: Normal is not a word we use here. Call it a denial
of guilt or a failure to come to terms with a huge loss.
MIRIAM: Any death is a loss, huge or not.
SHRINK: Of
course� (Pause).
MIRIAM (Fidgets before continuing): I need to admit that what I wanted to talk to you
about doesn't really concern me as a patient, as such.
SHRINK
Everything that is brought up here does, in fact, concern the patient.
Sometimes, a surrogate is used as an excuse—
MIRIAM I don�t really know where to start.
SHRINK:
Don�t worry� just let it happen. Do you want to
start talking about your husband?
MIRIAM: For one, we had been talking about divorce. But we only talked� for
months on end, without taking the next step.
SHRINK Whose initiative was the idea of divorce?
MIRIAM: Mine.
SHRINK: Would you care to talk about the reasons?
MIRIAM: Why not? Now, it�s irrevocable history.
SHRINK Nothing� other than death� is irrevocable.
MIRIAN (Ironic) Is
that so? (Beat). My husband was a writer. At one time, I thought his writing
was wondrously clever� turning phrases inside out, upside down, back to front.
I felt like his partner. I critiqued his first drafts� I typed the final ones�
I was part of the creative process� or so I thought. And I considered the money
his writing earned our money. But as his success brought in some real
dough, he decided to get what he called a �writing pad� elsewhere. He showed me
fewer and fewer drafts� and eventually just the completed manuscripts. That�s when I started reading his books from the outside� like any other
curious reader.
SHRINK: Meaning?
MIRIAM: Looking for hidden autobiographical details.
SHRINK: That must have been a difficult adjustment.
MIRIAM: Living with a writer isn�t easy. (Beat). Have you ever heard about Fernando
Pessoa?
SHRINK Doesn�t ring a bell.
MIRIAM: My husband had introduced me to Pessoa�s poetry years ago and for a while,
even I was hooked, but he then became obsessed with Pessoa�s heteronomy ideas.
Do you know what that is?
SHRINK Not exactly.
MIRIAM: Writing as different authors with different personalities and styles�
not just under a different name. I took it as a special form of intellectual
polygamy from which I was automatically excluded. It got so that when he was
working on a book, I felt I had become a discarded wife living with a stranger.
That�s when I became jealous of his inner life.
SHRINK: Jealousy is man�s most common burden. We all show it in one way or
another.
MIRIAM: I thought that any jealousy of mine was solely related to my sense of
autonomy.
SHRINK: Could you expand on that?
MIRIAM: After my husband started to
write elsewhere, I was stuck in the house with time on my hands but none of my
own income. Then, when I became financially independent through my booming
catering business, it dawned on me that time without money is worth much less
than money without time. Suddenly, I had very little spare time, but I wanted
that to be quality time. That�s when I realized how little quality was left in
our relationship�
(Long pause)
I�ve been going through my
husband�s papers� his files. How does one go on with one�s life when the days
are filled with endless reminders of a dead man�s existence? When I think about
the end� how he must have struggled in the water... fighting to break the
surface� gasping for air�.
SHRINK: Sorry� Mrs. Engels, how did your husband die?
Miriam
turns to look at Shrink. She turns away, uncomfortable now.
MIRIAM: He drowned.
SHRINK: Drowned? How?
MIRIAM: In a sailing accident. He should never have gone out
in that weather.
SHRINK: This was when?
MIRIAM: About a month ago.
SHRINK: Who was your husband? What was his name, Mrs.
Engels?
MIRIAM (Sits up to face him): My name isn�t Engels. I
made it up as a dig at my husband�s student politics. His name is Stephen Marx.
SHRINK (Severely): Mrs. Marx, I�ll have to ask you to
leave.
MIRIAM: What?
SHRINK: Therapy involves trust, Mrs. Marx. Not just the
patient�s trust in the doctor, but my trust that the patient has come in good
faith. I don�t know what you�re doing here, but you certainly didn�t come in
good faith.
MIRIAM: I came because I need help�
SHRINK: You need to leave.
MIRIAM: You�re kicking me out?
Shrink
walks toward the door. Miriam slowly follows him.
What kind of a doctor are you?
SHRINK: One who takes his responsibilities seriously.
They�re
both at the door now, eye to eye.
This is not a catering service. When I make a mistake,
there are consequences.
MIRIAM (Turns around as she opens the door): Food poisoning kills more than a hundred people a
week in New York alone! (Exits).
END OF SCENE 3
Scene
4.
Two days later.
MIRIAM. I
know I was wrong to lie about my name. And I respect your concern about trust.
But this time, please hear me out. I couldn�t be sure you�d
even see me if I�d said I was coming for information about one of your patients. I needed to learn what Stephen told you.
SHRINK: What�s said in this room, between doctor and
patient, is absolutely confidential.
MIRIAM: Do you
know what it�s like to live as the widow of a famous man� of Stephen Marx, the best-selling author of thirteen novels?
SHRINK: Fourteen� at least according to him.
MIRIAM: Why would he say fourteen? He�s only published thirteen.
SHRINK (Shrugs his
shoulders in dismissal): Why did you come the other day� using therapy as
pretense? In fact, how did you know that your husband had been my patient? Had
he told you that?
MIRIAM: It�s amazing what you learn when you go through a
person�s checkbook. When I saw several checks written to you, I looked you up
and discovered who you were. (Pause).
Even your Freudian leanings.
SHRINK: Surely it doesn�t say that
in the Yellow Pages.
MIRIAM: That I only discovered when I arrived. Couches aren�t
used all that much today. Maybe it�s one of your selling points.
SHRINK: Maybe I�m old-fashioned.
MIRIAM: Is that why you�re wearing a tie?
SHRINK: This specific tie (fingers it)� or in general?
MIRIAM: Both.
SHRINK: It�s my conservative nature.
MIRIAM: Rather than the image you wish to project?
SHRINK: I think you better get to the point.
MIRIAM: So tell me: how many of your patients don�t even
inform their spouses that they�re seeing a shrink? (Seeing him frown). I guess you don�t approve of that word. I
shouldn�t transfer my irritation at my husband�s behavior onto you. Especially
when I came to ask you an embarrassing question.
SHRINK: Embarrassing for whom?
MIRIAM: Me, for one.
SHRINK: Go on.
MIRIAM: When I first realized my husband was seeing you I
couldn�t believe it. It was so unlike him. He was too self-centered and too
secretive. I can�t imagine him opening up� the way people do in therapy.
SHRINK (Nodding):
He certainly was self-centered.
MIRIAM So you are prepared to talk about him?
SHRINK (Smiling)
No, I�m not prepared to talk about him. I was just agreeing with you.
The phone
rings. The Shrink snatches it up. Speaks into phone:
Can I call you back? (Brief pause). Sorry, I can't talk right now. (Puts phone down firmly.) Sorry about that.
MIRIAM: I'm disturbing you.
SHRINK No, no. I usually have the answering machine on when
I am with a patient.
MIRIAM Which I am not.
SHRINK Precisely� and thus the reason for this interruption.
MIRIAM An answering machine? How quaintly charming. Is this
another manifestation of your conservative nature? These days, people don�t use
phones with clunky answering machines.
SHRINK Perhaps therapists are the exception. But I dislike
cell phones. With a passion. They assume that one is accessible all the time.
Besides, they are exceedingly rude.
MIRIAM (Reaches into
her bag for her cell phone and ostentatiously turns it off). Thank God mine
didn�t ring just now. (Beat). I
promise not to take much more of your time. (She fidgets a bit before suddenly blurting out). Did he talk to you
about our� physical relations?
SHRINK: You�re asking something very inappropriate.
MIRIAM: Are you suggesting we did something bizarre?
SHRINK: Bizarre is a word I use very rarely. I just meant
that it was inappropriate asking confidential details about one of my patients.
MIRIAM: Even if he is my husband?
SHRINK: Or was.
MIRIAM: Meaning?
SHRINK: Professional confidentiality generally has no time
limit. Dead or alive.
MIRIAM: Without exception?
SHRINK: Interesting� your husband once asked the same
question.
MIRIAM: And?
SHRINK: There are exceptions for everything.
MIRIAM: In that case, let me encourage you to make one by
providing you with some posthumous insight into one of your patients.
(Miriam produces
a bundle of letters from her bag and offers them to Shrink).
When Stephen died he also left this. And don't worry,
you're not in breach of anything. Stephen surrendered the right to privacy when
he left these lying in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet.
SHRINK (Assumes
increasingly shocked expression as he leafs through them): What a terrible
thing for you to have to find.
MIRIAM: Now you understand why I came. It wasn�t so much
grief as anger that brought me here. Women don�t write such letters after a
one-night stand! Not even after a three-night stand!
(Miriam becomes
progressively angrier, with sarcastic and even hysterical overtones.)
But
there weren�t just letters! There�s a poem too. Did you notice it was a goddamn
sestina! (Steaming). Tell me� have
you ever gotten a sestina from a lover?
SHRINK (Attempts to calm her down by humoring her):
No sestinas.
MIRIAM:
Not even a haiku after an affair?
SHRINK:
I have no affairs.
MIRIAM:
Of course, you don�t� you�re a therapist. But what about a limerick� from a
patient?
SHRINK:
No limericks.
MIRIAM:
Flowers?
SHRINK:
Once� a cactus. (Points to cactus on his desk).
It flowers once every seven years.
MIRIAM: And has it yet?
SHRINK
(Shrugs): It's only been 4 years.
MIRIAM (Grins): Life's too short to wait for years for some ephemeral
pleasure. I�d suggest an instant high and go for a limerick. How about� �There was a shrink from St. Paul/Whose
sessions were sometimes a ball/He couldn�t avoid/Always thinking of
Freud/�Time�s up�� he panted� �for now that�s all.
SHRINK (Smiles): You couldn�t have made this up
just now.
MIRIAM:
I didn�t. I had brought it with me� just in case.
SHRINK In
case of what?
MIRIAM
Ease the tension. But I guess it�s not in the best of taste, given the
circumstances.
(She
picks up the letters and starts putting them away. Suddenly she starts sobbing.
He produces a tissue and she blows her nose, composes herself.)
I'm sorry.
SHRINK: It's okay.
Shrink looks rather ostentatiously at his
watch, which she notices.
MIRIAM: I guess my time is up. (Rises). But before I go, may I make another appointment?
SHRINK: Of course. I want to help� if I can.
MIRIAM: In that case, let�s make it tomorrow.
SHRINK (Goes to his desk and shuffles
through his appointment book): How about Friday� �3:00 o�clock?
MIRIAM: Twelve o�clock.
SHRINK: 1:00 o�clock.
MIRIAM: Deal.
END
OF SCENE 4
Scene 5.
Next day,
evening. SHRINK (in shirt sleeves or sweater) lies on couch, shuffling through
some notes. Suddenly, the phone rings.
SHRINK (Reaches for
telephone): Hello? (Pause). Yes,
this is Dr. Hofmann. An emergency? (Pause
while he listens). Yes� I suppose so. (Pause,
astonished). Now? (Pause). You�re
where?
(Goes to
door and shortly thereafter returns with Stephen, who wears dark glasses, a
hat, and a long coat).
STEPHEN (Removes hat
and glasses): TADA!
SHRINK: Jesus Christ almighty!
STEPHEN
(Grinning):
Not quite!
SHRINK: It�s you!
STEPHEN: Aren�t you going to congratulate me?
SHRINK (Angry):
Are you totally mad?
STEPHEN (Triumphantly):
Stephen Marx has been laid to rest.
SHRINK: But–
STEPHEN: Died in a tragic boating accident. (Stephen laughs. Continues almost manically
regardless of the Shrink's outrage). I often sail by myself during the
middle of the week. It's... where I get my best ideas. So, a month ago, I pick
a lousy, windy day when nobody else is on the water. I tell the Yacht Club, I'm
off for the day on Long Island Sound and I'll be back by five. The next morning
they find my drifting boat, it still has my life-vest in it, but no Stephen
Marx! I even cut the safety belt and then frayed it to get that worn-through
effect. Genius! Naturally they assume I�d drowned. No crime and of course, no
body. (Pause). Isn�t that what you
read in the papers?
SHRINK (Angry but
controlling it): I read about a man I thought had taken his own life.
Yes.
STEPHEN (Oblivious):
You want to know how I got to the shore, right? I mean it's early November� a
man without a life jacket won't survive beyond half an hour in that water.
Let's just say it involved a rubber raft, a miniature outboard� and a dose of
daring quite untypical of Stephen Marx! It was pure James Bond�Theodore. You
don�t mind me calling you Theodore, do you? Theodore�you should�ve seen me.
Surrounded by the blackness of endless water at the moment of rebirth�
absolutely exhilarating!
SHRINK
(Sarcastic):
I'll be sure to suggest it to some of my other patients.
STEPHEN (Manic): So
what about the obituaries, eh? You read 'em?
SHRINK (Acid): You
must be triumphant now that the floodgates of praise have opened.
(Stephen
produces a vast bundle of newspaper articles from his bag. He starts flicking
through them ostentatiously)
STEPHEN (Reading):
�Tragic loss of one of America�s great men of letters... literary world in
mourning for one of nation's great talents.� (Pause). Or listen to this: �his legacy will live on for generations
to come.� (Pause). And then this one
I love: �J. D. Salinger gives rare interview on Stephen Marx��
SHRINK: Your ego must be soaring.
STEPHEN: It's good
to see you! You know, I've been starting to miss human contact in a way...
SHRINK: I should ask you to leave.
STEPHEN (Chuckling):
Just when things are getting interesting.
SHRINK (Suddenly
furious): For heaven�s sake man� I thought you were dead!
STEPHEN (Defensive):
I killed Stephen Marx� not myself.
SHRINK (Staring at
Stephen as if he were a specimen):
Have you no conception of what effect your actions have on other people? For
weeks I tried my best for you and suddenly you were dead! (Beat). I tried to figure out what happened – where I went
wrong. A few days ago, I even looked at your home page. And you know what I
found? Your obituary� posted there.�
STEPHEN
Can you think of any more perfect obit than to write one yourself? A new genre:
auto-obits!
SHRINK And when did you put it
there? Before your demise?
STEPHEN
What�s the difference? But how did you like it?
SHRINK An unusual concoction� to
put it mildly.
STEPHEN:
Oh?
SHRINK For instance, the sort of
book review excerpts you quoted.
STEPHEN
(Enjoying himself, curious) You
remember which one caught your fancy?
SHRINK I�ve printed it out. (Goes to his desk, opens the drawer and takes
out some pages. Flips through them and then starts reading). �None of his thirteen novels contained
four-letter words of the �F dot dot dot� and �S dot dot dot� variety—
STEPHEN: You can say �fuck� and �shit.� No one is listening.
SHRINK I didn�t know that about your writing.
STEPHEN: I would�ve thought you�d have noticed.
SHRINK: Literary research on my clients is not included in my fee. (Continues
reading from page). Or this one? �And a
striking paucity of explicit sex.� (Puts down paper). Why?
STEPHEN: I�m the author� it was my choice.
SHRINK: That�s not what I meant. Why mention it here?
STEPHEN: Because the conventional obits are unlikely to say so.
SHRINK Do you realize that your appearance tonight
turns me into a potential accomplice? And if I keep it a secret, then into an
actual accomplice? So why did you come?
STEPHEN: I�ve
discovered that keeping it all to myself is more difficult than I�d imagined. You
are my lifeline� my accomplice� at least in spirit� and besides I trust you.
SHRINK: A lifeline� like a bridge� connects as well as separates. Give me one
reason why I shouldn�t just focus on separation� permanent separation!
STEPHEN: Curiosity� for one.
SHRINK: And you think you can keep that up?
STEPHEN So, are you pleased I�m not dead?
SHRINK (Exasperated):
Do you even know that a world exists outside of yourself?
STEPHEN (Fighting back):
That�s what this is all about: the outside world!
SHRINK: This is the outside world Stephen! For once,
you�ll have to accept my being judgmental. I realize that for a psychoanalyst
that is out of bounds, but then� so is dying and running around perfectly fit. You'd rather make a name for yourself among sterile
critics and college professors than be true to the people who care about you?
What monumental irresponsibility!
STEPHEN: Let�s
analyze my irresponsibility.
SHRINK: You resisted analysis for all of our earlier
sessions. What would be the point doing it now? (Shift in tone) Does your� wife know you�re up and about?
STEPHEN:
Of course not.
SHRINK: Have
you considered what impact your (draws
quotes in the air) �suicide� might have had on her?
STEPHEN (They trade glances):
You think I should contact her?
SHRINK (Cutting tone): How
can you even ask such a question? Of course you should!
STEPHEN (Sensing the
Shrink is right): After so
many years of barely communicating� to finally reach out, now that I'm dead...
seems... absurd. Besides, she wouldn't
understand.
SHRINK: What makes you so sure?
STEPHEN: Believe me, I know Miriam's limitations.
SHRINK: If it weren't so utterly beyond the pale, I would grant that your
antics are of potential clinical interest. Staging one�s death in order to read
one's own obituaries! The root is... Oedipal, but who is the object of
hostility? You are very successful. But Miriam now also has a very successful
career� at least that�s what you told me in our very first session. I even
deduced a touch of jealousy. All of which leads me to conclude that... she
is the father you are seeking to destroy. It's perfectly clear. It
was staring me in the face! (To Stephen)
You are envious of your wife�s
independence!
STEPHEN: Theodore. I'm not the first writer to disappear. What about Agatha
Christie? (Beat.) Her motive was revenge.
SHRINK: Revenge for what?
STEPHEN: Against her husband, who was about to leave her. She arranged her
disappearance quite carefully, but she didn�t devise a plausible way of
returning. In the end, all she claimed was temporary amnesia� rather clumsy,
I�d say.
SHRINK: So that's what you want? Revenge for Miriam wanting
to divorce you?
STEPHEN (Unsettled):
Now how did you know about the impending divorce?
SHRINK Then ascribe it to the therapist�s acumen. (Trying to change the subject): What has
she done to you to merit this kind of treatment? (Shrink becomes aware he is
overreacting). I mean�er�purely from the clinical standpoint, er�do you
think subconsciously you are motivated by hostility towards her�?
STEPHEN:
This has nothing to do with her.
SHRINK: I see.
You have the adoration of the literary establishment. Soon you'll be on every
university syllabus in the Western world. They'll name a journal after you.
There'll be a statue of you in the quad by the literature department of
whatever university you attended.
STEPHEN: Pigeons will shit on it.
SHRINK (Unthinking): Pigeons will sh(it)� what?
STEPHEN: They tend to do that.
SHRINK: When do you plan to return?
STEPHEN: Maybe that's not on the agenda.
SHRINK: I see. (Pause)
In that case, don't ask me to play along with your fake suicide. Because I
won't do it.
STEPHEN: Why call �living elsewhere under another identity� a
suicide?
SHRINK (Angry):
Social suicide, then. That�s even worse... consciously perpetuating a cruel
hoax on the survivors. It�s vicious!
STEPHEN: Not if you�re a writer and continue writing under
another persona. Then it�s a rebirth—a second life! Can't you see a
positive side to all this?
SHRINK: And you came to tell me all that now?
STEPHEN: You�re my shrink—
SHRINK (Cuts him off):
I was your therapist-
STEPHEN: You still are.
SHRINK: I don�t deal with dead people.
STEPHEN
(Angrily): Then why don�t you try to persuade me to return?
SHRINK: Persuasion is not a therapist�s function. It�s to
help you persuade yourself not to do something. (Finally losing his patience). But you can�t pull it off for
innumerable reasons. What about something as trivial as your insurance? It
would be fraud if they paid—
STEPHEN (Interrupts):
Miriam and I have no insurance, no children, no mortgage. And my wife runs her
own business.
SHRINK (Completely disgusted): What
about a new social security number? Trivial� but even more indispensable for a
second life. You can�t even open a bank account!
STEPHEN (Bragging tone) That�s the first problem I took care
of. I went to the Death Records office and looked for death certificates of men
born some 16 years ago. Can you guess why?
(SHRINK looks ostentatiously at his watch but says nothing):
STEPHEN: Never mind� you wouldn�t have
guessed. Most young men of that age would already have a Social Security
number, but too few benefits for the death to be reported to the Social
Security office. I just copied the name, date, and place of birth from the
death certificate of a man born elsewhere, preferably in another large city. I
then wrote to that Department of Vital Statistics for a new birth certificate.
Once I got it, I mailed that copy to the Social Security office in my new city
asking for a new Social Security card, which I had supposedly lost.
SHRINK: Wouldn�t they want to see you
in person?
STEPHEN: If you're below 18 years of
age, you can order a card by mail, provided you enclose a birth certificate.
Simple, isn't it
SHRINK: Oh yes. It�s simple all right� and surely illegal.
STEPHEN (Waving it off):
I haven�t told you the whole truth—
SHRINK: And you will now? Isn�t it too late for that?
STEPHEN: When I first came to you it wasn�t for
therapy—
SHRINK: And now you need it?
STEPHEN: To find out what I need, I first had to do what I
did.
SHRINK (Impatiently):
So what is it you need?
STEPHEN: To find out how to live in the future.
SHRINK: Your literary afterlife is pretty well assured!
STEPHEN: I want more. Have you ever heard of Fernando Pessoa?
SHRINK (Suddenly turns
wary): Should I have?
STEPHEN
(Spells it slowly and deliberately): P E S S O A.
SHRINK
(Sarcastically): Now you're going to tell me who he is.
STEPHEN: The greatest Portuguese poet of the last century� if
not the last three centuries� but he didn�t just write poetry� he wrote poets.
(SHRINK rolls
his eyes or shakes his head or some gesture of impatience)
STEPHEN (Impatiently):
He created alter ego authors� at least three of them� who wrote in totally
different styles!
SHRINK: Lots of authors write under pseudonyms.
STEPHEN: Not pseudonyms. Heteronyms. (Pause). One person� living
simultaneously in different personalities�
the heteronyms he developed.
SHRINK: Psychiatrists have a term for that syndrome.
STEPHEN (Ironic):
Don�t they always? For me, he�s a hero. And an integral part of my ongoing
experiment. Can you imagine the literary freedom Pessoa enjoyed?
SHRINK: He sounds like a candidate for life-long therapy.
STEPHEN: Implying that he needs to be cured? How about
emulated?
SHRINK: To accomplish what?
STEPHEN: Simple: to travel through space and time� forward to
self-perpetuation� and simultaneously backward to self-immolation. I shall
achieve what was always beyond Stephen Marx�s reach. Imagine the glory of not
just being a �great writer,� but several? Imagine what people will say
in the history books when they realize I was a literary genius—not just once
but time and time again, but under a series of different names, styles� even
personalities. Perhaps the public will never find out.
SHRINK: You don�t want to be part of the canon; you want to be the entire canon. I think you
may be certifiable.
STEPHEN: But you are intrigued, aren�t you? Some small part
of you wants to know whether I can pull it off. Come on, admit it!
SHRINK (Actually intrigued):
You�re delusional.
STEPHEN: Which leads me to my reason for being here? I have a
proposal.
SHRINK: I can�t wait.
STEPHEN: This is the first proper conversation I have had in
a month and already I feel more human. Theodore, I need someone to talk
to�spontaneously, openly�
SHRINK Just �someone�? Or specifically a therapist?
STEPHEN The life I have chosen is to surround myself with
heteronyms. They are real persons� in every sense of the word� but they are all
creatures of my imagination. I need one living person� someone I can trust not
to let the secret out� someone who has another voice than mine. I don�t have
anyone else but you. I propose that we continue our sessions� mostly by phone.
SHRINK: Now why on earth would I agree to collude in such an
act of fraud?
STEPHEN: Because I am the most fascinating patient you ever
had.
SHRINK: Megalomania is more common than you may think.
STEPHEN (Suddenly nasty):
Because the ethics of patient confidentiality forbid you from revealing what
passes between us. Because your professional duties require you to continue our
sessions in order to prevent me from going over the edge. You just said I was
certifiable. Well... certifiable people need shrinks!
SHRINK: You think you can blackmail me into seeing you?
That's unspeakable!
STEPHEN: Not as unspeakable as deserting a patient in need!
SHRINK: Get out!
STEPHEN: I only meant—
SHRINK: Out Stephen, out! Or I�ll call the police.
STEPHEN: You wouldn't.
SHRINK: Oh no? You once asked about exceptions to
professional confidentiality. Well� you�re about to find out. (Points to the phone).
STEPHEN: You�ll regret this.
SHRINK: Go ahead and die!
(Stephen slowly
leaves the stage. After he's gone the Shrink puts down the phone. Initially
angry (e.g. pounding fist into hand), he finally sits down slowly on the couch
and puts his head in his hands.)
END OF SCENE 5
Scene 6.
Two days
after scene 4. SHRINK paces the floor
occasionally looking at his watch. Clearly waiting for something. There is a
knock at the door. The Shrink smoothes his hair quickly. His nervousness is
clear. He heads to the door, then thinks again and sits down at his desk trying
to look like he is in the middle of working.
SHRINK (Clears his
throat): Come in!
(Miriam enters. She is carrying a stylish picnic basket. The Shrink
can�t stop himself from getting up and going to her.)
MIRIAM: Greetings.
SHRINK: Hello!
(Points at the basket). Is that a� pet? I should just say I am
terribly allergic to cats.
MIRIAM:
Relax. My pets are
larger and don�t come in baskets.
SHRINK (Laughs)
That�s reassuring. (Beat) You�re very
punctual�. 1:00 o�clock on the dot. But—
MIRIAM �But� isn�t the most encouraging word to start a session.
SHRINK You�re right. So let me explain what prompted the
�but.� Last night—
MIRIAM (Interrupts) Before
you continue, let me ask a question. (She
lifts the picnic basket). Have you had lunch?
SHRINK I don�t usually have lunch.
MIRIAM You mean you had nothing since breakfast?
SHRINK I had an apple and a glass of milk. (Looks at his watch). About an hour ago.
MIRIAM In that case, this will be something new for both of
us.
(She puts basket on the floor in front of the couch and sits down).
How about a picnic on the couch?
Miriam opens the basket. Starts
laying out a tablecloth and various dishes.
SHRINK (Taken aback,
but also amused): Well� a
picnic here would certainly be a first.
MIRIAM: Consider it a form of
pastoral homage to a kind therapist for allowing me to unburden myself the other day.
SHRINK: It�s what I do here.
(The
Shrink sits down next to her somewhat awkwardly.)
MIRIAM: Still� there really was no excuse for the way it all
started. (Handing him a plate of food).
SHRINK (Forced enthusiasm): Why there�s bread,
cheese, cold meat and some type of� olive�
MIRIAM: If you�re going to compliment the cuisine, at least
get it right. (Pointing to the dishes.)
Homemade focaccia, unsalted Pecorino, smoked reindeer, and caper berries! (She holds up a berry on a stem).
SHRINK (Cautiously tastes one caper berry): Rather assertive.
MIRIAM: Sometimes you need food that talks back. Besides, I dislike blandness.
SHRINK: In food� or in general?
MIRIAM: I don�t tolerate it in food� but �in general?� There, I simply
withdraw. (Points to food). But you seem to have expected something more
elaborate.
SHRINK (Looking at her, grins): Well� maybe something more photogenic.
MIRIAM: This time, it�s taste I�m after rather than
appearance. After all, I didn�t just come for distraction� (Beat). Why are you looking at me like
this?
SHRINK: I just noticed that subtle touch of asymmetry in
your face.
MIRIAM (Holding his
gaze somewhat seductively): We cultivate it in food design. Asymmetry, that
is.
SHRINK (Gulps):
Why not? It draws attention.
MIRIAM (Flirtatious):
Thank you Theo. I can call you Theo, can't I? I mean it's not as if...
SHRINK (Somewhat
stiffly): We may be in my office but this can hardly be called a therapy
session, so Theo is fine.
(They
both eat for a while. The Shrink starts to enjoy it.)
It�s certainly not bland.
MIRIAM (Reaching into
the basket): I brought one more thing.
(Miriam
produces two more dessert plates and two peculiar 3-pronged forks—the
central prong three times as long as the two side ones with none of them curved.
She holds them up against the light—providing ample opportunity for the
audience to notice them—before wiping them carefully and then putting
them to the left of their respective plates).
SHRINK (Points to the
forks): Is that for a scientific experiment?
MIRIAM: They're for mangoes.
SHRINK (Reaches over
to lift one of the forks): It looks lethal and so Freudian!
MIRIAM: In what sense?
SHRINK: The Freudian triad of the human psyche: Id� Ego� and
Superego. And never equal. (Speaking
nervously yet assertively): The Ego� the conscious part of our psyche�
controls thought and behavior �.
Whereas the Id� the unconscious part�
is driven by the primitive needs for satisfaction� much of it
libidinous. At any given moment, it�s difficult to know which is in control.
And then the superego� the internal censor� comes into play.
MIRIAM (Suddenly
remembering): I forgot the wine! How silly of me. (Miriam reaches for the basket and hands the shrink a bottle of wine
and a corkscrew.) Would you do the honors?
SHRINK I don�t normally drink on the job.
MIRIAM: What
about in vino veritas? Isn�t that
what you always look for in this office? Veritas?
(She
pulls the cork out swiftly and pours some in the two glasses that she produced
from the basket.)
What do you think?
SHRINK (Tastes wine timidly
while speaking slowly): Seems well-structured� a generous palate� certainly a boldly exotic nose.
What�s your opinion?
MIRIAM
(Tastes it
after first swirling and inhaling, then mimes tongue-in-cheek wine taster�s slowly
delivered judgment): Passionately entwined pepper and black currant
flavor� caressed � (long pause, while she takes another sip) by
just the faintest whiff of horseshit—
SHRINK
(Who had
taken a sip, chokes): What?
MIRIAM: The usual winespeak term is �barnyard.� Anyway, the wine is just right
for my toast. (Clinks his glass). To... revelations!
MIRIAM: By the way� you are single, aren�t you?
SHRINK: Is that relevant to our
lunch� or related to the toast?
MIRIAM: I�m just testing my
intuition.
SHRINK: Your intuition is
faultless� so far. Yes, I�m quite
unattached.
MIRIAM: Are you a bachelor or an ex-husband?
SHRINK: Ex.
MIRIAM: In that case, may I ask the same question you�d asked me? Whose
decision was it to divorce? Yours or hers?
SHRINK: Neither.
MIRIAM: What other alternatives are there?
SHRINK (Long pause while he hesitates): I think we�ve discussed this
sufficiently.
MIRIAM: Could we analyze that common ground?
SHRINK: Pretend we�re in a restaurant.
MIRIAM All right. Restaurant chit chat then. (Beat). (Reaches into basket to produce a
mango). Let me show you how to use a mango fork.
(Miriam takes a mango with her
left hand. She
places mango fork in his right hand and with her right hand takes his hand and
guides it so that the fork carefully penetrates the pit with the long middle
prong, until it has entered sufficiently that the two outer prongs enter the
flesh.)
The
tall one... penetrates. Only then do the other two fulfill their function of
holding the object in place.
SHRINK (Very turned on, but nervous): And then?
MIRIAM:
You mean Freud didn�t take a stand on mangoes? Well� first you strip it�
(Takes
mango, now supported on mango fork, holds it up vertically, takes the cutting
knife and quickly peels the fruit so that the skin droops down like four petals
leaving the naked fleshy part of the mango upright).
And now that the ripe flesh is exposed... (Hands mango supported on its fork to Shrink) then comes...
consummation. Start eating� but suck as you bite down� or, maybe just nibble to
tease out every drop of that tongue-licking juice. (Pause). Otherwise you�re going to get sticky.
SHRINK (Carefully takes a very small bite):
Like... that?
MIRIAM (Laughs): Not so timidly. Try again� but
a bit more aggressively. What other fruit is so swollen with juice? The taste
will pucker your memory. (Watches him
take a bigger bite). That�s better. And now, let�s multi-task while you
continue consummation. Can you talk while you suck? (Seeing him nearly choke after he has taken a big bite).
SHRINK I
can try.
MIRIAM Last time we met I showed
you some letters that my husband had received from various women. And that
poem� that sestina.
SHRINK: That poem really bothered you. Why?
MIRIAM: Because it raised the emotional level of intimacy
one notch further. So were these affairs a subject of discussion in your
meetings with my husband?
SHRINK: You know I shouldn�t answer that question.
MIRIAM: Do I hear another �but� coming?
SHRINK: No buts� and no ifs.
MIRIAM (After an
uncomfortable silence). Did he discuss us?
SHRINK: He barely talked about you.
MIRIAM: And you didn�t find that surprising?
SHRINK: Omissions are often more significant than
admissions. You had to go through his checkbook to find out that he�d been
seeing me.
MIRIAM (Nods):
True. But what about� you know�
SHRINK: The subject of sex hardly ever came up.
MIRIAM (Sarcastic):
In other words it did.
SHRINK: Now we�re crossing a boundary.
MIRIAM: I don't think you realize how important this is to
me. Officially, I�m now single. But I�ve got to get the past out of my system.
(Calmer). Did he tell you why he went
with all those women? (Increasingly
emotional). Did he say it was my fault? (Pause). That I drove him to it? (Her tone turns desperate). Just a simple �yes� or �no.� I won�t ask
for anything else!
SHRINK: Now you�ve gone too far.
MIRIAM (Even more
upset now): Who�s to know? Just nod or shake your head. Did he screw them
because he loved them? Or because he was just following his goddamn �Id�? Did
they mean nothing? (Brief pause as
the Shrink moves slightly). Hah! (Points
at him triumphantly). You nodded!
(Pause). Ever so slightly� but you
nodded!
SHRINK (With emotion):
If it helps, I can tell you one thing: there�s no doubt in my mind that he
admired� and respected you.
MIRIAM (Sad, yet
sarcastic): �Admire and respect.� (Pause).
But for sex he went to other women.
SHRINK (Leans forward
to touch her lightly on her hand): You should not blame yourself for his
infidelities.
MIRIAM (Sarcastic): I�m relieved to hear that. But what about this? (Drops sarcasm). Stephen Marx, the author who was famous for hardly ever writing
explicit sex scenes in his first twelve novels, suddenly made one salacious
exception in his thirteenth. I�d always wondered where he got that inspiration,
because it didn't come from his devoted wife, who prides herself on her steamy
imagination. Having come across that cache of letters, I now know where that
exception came from. Do you remember Andrew Marvell�s poem, �To His Coy
Mistress?" (Quotes, while looking
into the distance): �The grave's a fine and private place, /but none, I
think, do there embrace. / Now let us sport us while we may.� (Pause, then looks at SHRINK). �So tell
me, have you ever made love in a cemetery
SHRINK (Slightly
embarrassed, laughs self-consciously): Nobody has ever asked me this�
professionally� or personally.
MIRIAM: That question wasn�t addressed to you.
SHRINK: Oh.
MIRIAM: In
Stephen�s thirteenth novel, he has
a woman ask that question of a famous writer� after first quoting Marvell.
Typical Stephen: always quoting someone you should know, but never quite do.
SHRINK: I think I�d like to read that novel sometime.
MIRIAM: For prurient or professional reasons?
SHRINK: In my profession there are times when the two cannot
easily be distinguished.
MIRIAM: Lucky man! But if it�s for prurient reasons, I can
spare you the trouble. The next sentence reads, �Within forty minutes, he had
made love to the tallest woman he had ever met, upright, her back against the
stone figure of an angel. She had drawn the line at assuming a supine position
on a stone slab.�
SHRINK: Rather clinically put.
MIRIAM :Clinical? (Heavy sarcasm). It wasn�t a
prescription for treating a slipped disk� that�s for sure. I wanted to convince
myself that the scene was fiction—one of his sailing
inspirations—the result of nautical� not amorous cruising.
SHRINK: What is the real source of your outrage? His fantasy of making love in a
cemetery or encountering a real woman that suggested it to him?
MIRIAM: What�s the difference? What�s important is that the
letter was dated six months before the novel came out. The scene must have been
based on fact!
SHRINK: I see.
MIRIAM: I�m almost too embarrassed to admit what I once
tried during the period covered by that correspondence. Do you want to hear it?
SHRINK Only if it helps you come to term with this sordid
tale.
MIRIAM Culinary history is full of aphrodisiacal foods.
SHRINK: And?
MIRIAM: Not only did I incorporate some into my domestic
culinary repertoire, but I even went a step further. I arranged them in phallic
and vaginal shapes� subtly of course. I still remember serving a carefully
skinned ripe peach with some lines by D.H. Lawrence: �Why the groove?/ Why the
lovely, bivalve roundness?/Why the ripple down the sphere?/ Why the suggestion
of incision?�
SHRINK: Wow!
MIRIAM: But it didn�t work.
SHRINK: Perhaps you were too subtle.
(Long Pause)
SHRINK: And that�s when your marriage started unravelling?
MIRIAM: It�s a topic I�ve refused to raise with others—even my girl
friends.
SHRINK That�s what therapy is for.
MIRIAM So you say.
SHRINK Well� I hope in time you�ll say the same.
MIRIAM (Looks at him for long time and then away): You said that nothing
is irrevocable except for death. Well? Let�s take his presumed accident. You
must have been one of the last persons to have seen him. But since you hide
behind the curtain of professional confidentiality—
SHRINK: That isn�t fair!
MIRIAM: Perhaps not. But hear me
out. My husband was a cautious, contemplative sailor� not a competitive one. He
always sailed alone, but only when the weather was good� and he always told me
before he took off. In other words� when it came to sailing, he had no secrets
from me.
SHRINK: I know what you�re going to ask.
MIRIAM: Of course you do. So why would he leave on such a terrible day� in
November of all months� in the afternoon? Without telling me? (Bitterly).
Why? He was not the suicidal type.
SHRINK: How do you know that?
MIRIAM: He was much too preoccupied with himself.
SHRINK: In our business, we call it narcissism.
MIRIAM (Derisively): Even those outside your �business� call it that.
And suicide does nothing for a narcissist. So do you think—?
She is
interrupted by the phone ringing and then the answering machine picking up.
STEPHEN (Voice over):
Theodore, this is Stephen. Listen, I've been thinking about what happened
yesterday. I should never have done that to you. Believe me when I say that
I�ve got to talk to someone� and by that I mean you. I�m calling to tell you
that I�ve got to see you. I know you have my number� but don�t bother calling
back. I�ll just drop in. (Stephen hangs
up)
MIRIAM (Jumps up):
You bastard! The two of you! And you
have the gall to hide behind professional ethics! You looked me in the eye, you
started to eat my mango� and then you lied to me!
SHRINK: Miriam... please! I can explain. Try to understand!
I can't betray a patient's...
MIRIAM: Bull shit! You're worse than he is! At least Stephen
had the balls to fake his own death!
SHRINK: Miriam! Please—(The Shrink tries to hold her by the arm).
MIRIAM: Don't touch me!
(With that
Miriam stalks off stage, leaving the picnic basket behind. SHRINK crosses to
the couch. FADE OUT
Scene 7. Some minutes
later. Firm knocking is heard at the door. The SHRINK jumps up from his desk,
thinking MIRIAM has returned. He rushes to the door to find STEPHEN standing by
the door taking off his hat, coat and dark glasses (his disguise from his
earlier visit to the Shrink�s office).
SHRINK (Startled,
gasps): It�s you!
(As
STEPHEN steps in, SHRINK steps partly out to look whether someone else is there
then returns and closes the door. Remains standing by the door.)
Did you bump into anyone as you came up?
STEPHEN: No.
SHRINK: Thank God. (Walks
toward the couch and almost collapses on it).
STEPHEN: (Still standing, walks to
the couch): Are you okay?
SHRINK: Must be something I ate.
STEPHEN: Perhaps you should lie down on the couch.
SHRINK: Of course not. (Recovering
from his shock, stands up). What are you doing here? Get out!
STEPHEN: Please hear me out.
SHRINK: Out!
STEPHEN (Moves to
couch, but just sits, rather than lies on it, while SHRINK remains standing): Look, I realize I put you in a terrible position.
(The SHRINK notices a mango-fork lying on a
nearby surface. Flustered, he hastily picks it up and slips it in the desk
drawer without STEPHEN seeing it, but in full view of the audience.)
SHRINK: Which you are continuing to do by coming uninvited
and then not leaving.
STEPHEN Why don�t you at least sit down.
SHRINK I shall remain standing until you depart!
STEPHEN: Listen to this.
(Lies back on the couch, clearing his
throat before reciting).
The poet is a faker. He
Fakes it
so completely,
He even
fakes he�s suffering
The pain
he�s really feeling.
(Back to
ordinary tone). It�s from
Pessoa�s poems �Autopsychography.� (Laughs).
A shrink�s poem� wouldn�t you say? (Pause). But my current heteronym is doing
rather well� living the simple life.
SHRINK: As monastic as your Portuguese obsession?
STEPHEN: I�m not attempting to become Pessoa. What
interests me is the Pessoa phenomenon. (Urgently,
passionately). To start from scratch... each time with a blank canvas! To turn
into your own creation and continue living as that person. I don�t know of
anyone that has truly managed it in fiction. Let alone anyone who has employed
such a method in order to enter the canon repeatedly as two, three� four
different authors!
SHRINK: You�re unstoppable, Stephen.
STEPHEN: Lustig
SHRINK: Pardon?
STEPHEN: My current heteronym is (pronounces it slowly and emphatically) �T. H. Lustig.� But you can
call me �T. H.� Subtle homage to Dr. Theodore Hofmann.
SHRINK: I suppose I should feel flattered.
STEPHEN: But only initials� no indications of gender.
SHRINK: T. H. is a baffling case: a narcissist who sheds his
identity.
STEPHEN: Why not? What are we, Doctor, but the constructs we
build around ourselves? What happens when we shed them? What are we at our
core? That is what I�m discovering� that�s where the real work� real
literature� gets done. (Pause). A new work by Stephen Marx would only
be compared to what came before. To pull this off� to live T. H. Lustig�
to create a text unrecognizable as the work of Stephen Marx, but standing and
maybe soaring in its own right� that�s a real accomplishment. I�m testing the
ultimate limits of productive insecurity. Raising the ante� surpassing the last
success� but as another person, not just another name!
SHRINK: And in the process destroying everyone around you?
STEPHEN: Whom? (Pause) My fans? The public loves a tragic
death. The only one losing out is my former editor. He�ll have to find himself
some new talent.
SHRINK: You�re spending too much time alone.
STEPHEN: Most of the time, I feel freer than I have in years.
But you�re right: there are days when I crave some company. Communing solely
with my heteronyms� real as they seem� doesn�t make up for�. (Pause)� what shall I call it� the
frisson of truly human engagement? But I do compensate in other ways. (Pause). I�ve even taken up cooking.
Last night I had red snapper� in a white wine sauce. With grilled asparagus.
Little fat� not too many calories� I�m becoming a true Californian.
SHRINK: Wait till the novelty of eating alone wears off.
Believe me� (interrupting himself) You live in California? Did
you just fly in?
STEPHEN: Marx went to California, but Lustig now lives in
upstate New York� three hours away from you� by car� and an old one at that.
Initially, I went to California for my social security number and a cell phone.
I like their food and the fact that Californians don�t smoke� but that�s about
it. Earthquakes make me nervous. Besides, New York isn�t just Manhattan� upstate
there�s some spectacular countryside and plenty of privacy. Impressed?
SHRINK: Tell me, T. H. Who else do you know who cooks and
lives within a 3-hour commute of you?
STEPHEN: Don�t bring in Miriam.
SHRINK: Don�t you think she deserves some kind of consideration?
You may have thought the relationship was over. But what about her? (Stephen looks taken aback). What if,
after your disappearance, she discovered you�d been talking to a therapist� say
through something like a� memo or a� check stub even, made out to me? (Pause).
It�s a thought, isn�t it? And what if that caused her to suspect you had been
depressed for some time? A period, which could� for all she knows� span much of
your marriage, and which ended in your �suicide.� Don't you think it possible
that she might start to� blame herself? What if she began to think that your
entire marriage had been based on... lies?
(The phone starts ringing, whereupon the
Shrink snatches it up.)
SHRINK. (Into phone,
shocked): Who? (Pause) Oh, I see.
(With hand on mouthpiece, to Stephen).
Just one moment. (Pause). Don't worry
(Shrink looks at things that are left behind). There is no need for
that. (Pause). Right now? Impossible.
(Pause). I said �impossible.� Hello�
hello? Listen�(Hangs up).
STEPHEN (Who had not
been paying much attention suddenly in bantering tone): A hot date. Maybe I should hide in a closet.
SHRINK: Wait. Let me explain..
(Sudden
strong knocks on the door).
It's not... what you think....
STEPHEN (Grabs his
coat and hat and puts on his dark glasses):
You can tell me later. I don�t want to meet any stranger who might have seen my
picture somewhere.
(Walks quickly
to the door and opens it)
MIRIAM (dressed warmly in a long overcoat and scarf,
steps in, shocked to see Stephen
facing her): Stephen!
STEPHEN (Even more
taken aback): Miriam! What the hell
are you doing here?
MIRIAM (With
increasing fury to Stephen). Bastard!
Bastard!� (Turns to Shrink) God damn bastards!
SHRINK: Let me explain.
STEPHEN and MIRIAM: Shut
up!
STEPHEN:
What are you doing here? Are you sleeping with him?
MIRIAM (Furious): That�s the first thing you�ve got
to say to me? You� who�s supposed to be dead� who was hopping in and out of
beds� and I�m not referring to our chaste connubial one� are asking me
whether I�m sleeping with Theo?
STEPHEN: Oh, so it�s Theo, is it� not Dr. Hofmann or even
Theodore?
MIRIAM (Outraged):
You goddamn lying asshole! You�re asking me that? Huh? How about telling me
instead what you and that lying Shrink have just been up to. Figuring out how
to continue making a total fool out of
me? Was that it?
SHRINK: Will you both just calm down!
MIRIAM (Resuming
control): I�m perfectly calm�
STEPHEN Well I�m not. I want to hear from you (points to MIRIAM) what�s been going on
between you and the shrink.
SHRINK: Will you just listen—
(STEPHEN grabs SHRINK by the arm, twists it behind his back and propels
him toward the door.)
STEPHEN: I was asking Miriam—not you.
(Pushes him out, slams the door and closes it with the dead bolt. Turns
to Miriam)
MIRIAM: Don�t tell me you�re jealous?
STEPHEN: Have I ever been jealous with you?
MIRIAM: Have I ever given you a reason?
STEPHEN: I guess I have no right to be jealous now.
MIRIAM: Damn right!
STEPHEN (Growls
furiously): Did that hypocritical son of a bitch tell you I�d been seeing
him?
MIRIAM: No� I figured this out all by my little old self.
STEPHEN: And how did you manage to do that?
MIRIAM: Remember� you were supposed to be dead. So why would
your grieving widow not go through your papers?
STEPHEN (Muttering)
Damn! I should�ve thought of that. And then what? You looked him up?
MIRIAM Wouldn�t you have?
STEPHEN And that�s when he told you I was still alive?
MIRIAM He told me nothing of the sort. Instead of telling me
the truth, he wanted to lead me down some therapist�s garden path.
STEPHEN (Sobered): I
see�
(An
awkward silence. They speak at the same time.)
STEPHEN: Look
I� MIRIAM: I suppose�
STEPHEN: You first.
MIRIAM: I was going to say I suppose there�s good news and
bad news in seeing you.
STEPHEN: I hate that clich�! But start with the good news.
MIRIAM: The good news is that you aren�t really dead. (Pause). The bad news is that according to the newspapers, you are.
STEPHEN: I�m relieved you didn�t put it the other way around.
MIRIAM: That�s nasty� even for an undead person.
STEPHEN: Would you define �undead� for me?
MIRIAM: �In
limbo,� which can refer to a half dead as well as a half-living person. (Pause). The
point is, whether you like it or not, you�ve left me in an impossible position.
When the body of a presumed dead person is missing... five years must pass �
unless I place ads in the newspapers.
STEPHEN: And?
MIRIAM: I want to lead my own life and not remain in limbo
for 5 years.
STEPHEN: I fail to see why my actions are stopping you from
leading a normal life.
MIRIAM: Without your corpse� and I�m certainly not demanding
that� at least not yet� I�ve got to wait five years before this in-limbo
wife becomes a widow!
STEPHEN: What�s keeping you from divorcing me?
MIRIAM (Shudders): To me, there�s something cheap and
brutal about announcing openly that I�m seeking a divorce from a supposedly
dead husband� especially one whose wife now knows that he�s not dead.
STEPHEN: I�m sure some lawyer can handle that.
MIRIAM: Not for the first time are you confusing legality
with morality.
(A
more conciliatory tone comes over them.)
STEPHEN: What are you demanding?
MIRIAM: Resolution� from limbo.
STEPHEN: Miriam� be reasonable.
MIRIAM: Reasonable? Right now I�m mad enough to serve your
balls up on a bed of linguini.
STEPHEN: Another recipe for your book? (Pause.) Well,
I can�t send you my corpse. And I can�t come back. (A pause while Miriam digests this.)
MIRIAM: So you�re not planning on a resurrection?
STEPHEN: I wouldn�t choose such a grandiose word. But� no. No
return.
MIRIAM: I see. (Pause). And what�s Theodore�s role in
all this?
(The telephone starts ringing)
You
think it�s him?
STEPHEN (Goes to the phone
and rips the cord from the wall socket, and throws the phone on the floor):
He was my lifeline to an earlier existence. At least until today.
MIRIAM: I�m hot. (Unwraps her scarf and takes off her coat).
STEPHEN: You look well Miriam� in fact, very well.
MIRIAM: You mean anger becomes me? What a left-handed
compliment, coming from a dead husband!
STEPHEN: It was meant ambidextrously.
MIRIAM: I see you haven�t lost your touch with words
(Long pause, with both looking away).
(Quietly and
sadly) We lived together for eleven years.
STEPHEN: Eleven and a half years.
MIRIAM: Precise� as usual. But
then you decided to die—
STEPHEN: I didn�t die.
MIRIAM: You did�. Why did you pick him for a lifeline�
rather than me?
STEPHEN: We were heading for a divorce.
MIRIAM: Meaning we irrevocably sever all further contact?
Meaning that I wasn�t even entitled to a warning� let alone explanation� for
what you were about to do? Meaning that you could ruthlessly expose me to the
pain of your supposed drowning and then� even worse� to the uncertainty of
whether it might all be fake? Do you have any idea�?
STEPHEN: I had no choice.
MIRIAM: What a revolting thing to say. You informed your
shrink� so why not your wife?
STEPHEN: If I had told you ahead of time, you�d either have
spilled the beans—
MIRIAM: You think I would have done that?
STEPHEN: I couldn�t take that risk. But even if you had sworn
on a stack of cookbooks to keep that secret, think of the burden I would�ve
left you by turning you into a perpetual accomplice.
MIRIAM: How considerate of you! But now that I�ve seen you
in the flesh, you�ve made me� willy-nilly�your accomplice. (Pause). Tell me: why
should I be willing to conspire with you? (Accusingly). You� who never gave a
thought to my pain� thinking you had died?
STEPHEN: Miriam�I did think about it.
MIRIAM: For how long?
STEPHEN: Longer than you obviously give me credit for.
Certainly long enough to realize that that sort of pain passes with time.
Keeping a secret for life becomes more painful.
MIRIAM: So you went to a shrink?
STEPHEN It sounds like you lost no time in doing the same!
Just what the hell is going on between you two anyway?
MIRIAM: That is none of your concern. (Pause). Where are you
living now?
STEPHEN (Mocking her):
That is none of your concern.
MIRIAM: I�m still your wife. Either I always know how to get
hold of you� or I�ll blow your secret sky-high. (Pause).
STEPHEN: California.
MIRIAM (Derisive):
That limits it to about 150,000 square miles.
STEPHEN: San Francisco Bay area.
MIRIAM (Reaches in her
bag for notebook and pencil): What�s your phone number?
STEPHEN: 650-723-2783.
(Long pause before he answers)
STEPHEN Let me start with one of those good news/bad news
clich�s.
MIRIAM My, my! But if you do that, I might as well quote my
undead husband by saying �start with the good news.�
STEPHEN The good news is that your sudden appearance
prevented me from telling the Shrink a secret, because heaven only knows what
he would have done with that information.
MIRIAM (Shakes head in
puzzlement) In that case, what�s the bad news?
STEPHEN That I am now taking the monumental risk of telling
it to you.
MIRIAM And why are you risking that?
STEPHEN To explain to you why I had to kill your husband.
MIRIAM Are you about to shower me with tenderness?
STEPHEN I am about to tell you the truth.
MIRIAM This better be good.
MIRIAM: Congratulations.
MIRIAM: Nobody has seen �Obsession�
except for the publisher. It�s been accepted! And in record time. (Triumphantly). I knew it would be.
Territory I had never before thought I�d be able to handle.
MIRIAM (Taken aback): You�ve sent
this to your publisher? But they think you are dead. Or am I the only person
who thought so?
STEPHEN: Don�t be silly, Miriam. Of course to a different publisher. No one
must ever connect that new novel with Stephen Marx�s oeuvre.
MIRIAM: And you�ve written all this in the last couple of
months?
STEPHEN: Most of it was written before I drowned. I was well
on my way before taking my final step. Not just deleting that novel from
Stephen Marx�s hard drive, but deleting him from the world (Beat). Remember when we used to read
Pessoa together?
MIRIAM How could I�ve forgotten that? We always tossed a coin
to decide who�d read whom.
STEPHEN: You liked his non-sentimental shepherd, Alberto
Caeiro, best.
MIRIAM: He was the only sensual and passionate of all his
heteronyms. You chose the man who fled to Brazil� what was his name?
STEPHEN: Ricardo Reis� the doctor.
MIRIAM: A rather frail aesthete. Sex wasn�t exactly his cup
of tea.
STEPHEN: Miriam. I need to know whether I can pull it off.
�Obsession� will be the test.
MIRIAM And the author�s name?
STEPHEN: Lustig. T.H. Lustig.
MIRIAM Sounds German.
STEPHEN It is German. It means jovial� jolly� merry—
MIRIAM None of which applies to you.
STEPHEN Exactly! We are dealing with a heteronym� not me.
MIRIAM (Musingly):
It would be quite a coup� we thought so then. Of course then, it was only a
fantasy. But now? (Pause, then in a
warmer tone). Maybe we could manage it.
STEPHEN: �We?�
MIRIAM: Consider it the royal we. Your accomplice could help
you� if I were persuaded to continue in this role. Maybe I could even help
induce you to return to your earlier life.
STEPHEN: Sorry, Miriam� but from now on it�s all in the first
person singular.
MIRIAM: I see.
(There
is an awkward, painful pause as it sinks in.)
STEPHEN: No more lifelines.
MIRIAM (Angry): So you keep saying. (Beat). In that case� (She reaches
into her bag to produce a flash camera. She takes two or three flash photos of
him).
STEPHEN: Hey! What the hell is that for?
MIRIAM: (Smiling
cruelly) A memento of my dead husband� in case he�s foolish enough to think
of changing his phone number without informing his accomplice. An edible food
artist who�s never without her digital camera. (Malicious grin while quickly inspecting the image on the back of the
digital camera). You know (lowers
camera) this gives me an idea for my next culinary masterpiece: a wild
boar�s head� lying on a bed of nettles. (Pause).
Just the ticket in my present mood.
(STEPHEN grabs
his coat and hat and heads for the door)
MIRIAM (mockingly
blows him a kiss) Don�t forget I�ll be calling you� at least once a week!
END OF SCENE 7
Shortly after STEPHEN exits, the door is opened
cautiously with the SHRINK peering in. As he sees MIRIAM
pacing slowly up and down, he enters and closes the door behind him. Miriam
stops to face him.
SHRINK This was the first time in my life that a patient has
ejected me from my own office.
MIRIAM (Starting
to put on her coat): It�s
also likely to be the last time. I can�t imagine Stephen ever wanting to see
you again and I don�t think you will see me ever again either.
SHRINK (Pleading): Miriam, there�s nothing
I want more than to take away any doubt and pain you may be feeling. But please
don�t keep challenging my professional ethics! That�s all I�ve got to hold on
to. How could I have told you that he had reappeared a few days after you first
came to see me?
MIRIAM: Oh come on! Doesn�t mango foreplay on the couch constitute a breach of
ethics? After all we now both know that legally, I�m not yet a widow.
SHRINK: Operationally you are.
MIRIAM: You
pedant! (Pause). Sucking on an
operational widow�s mango? Where was your goddamn superego then?
Otherwise indisposed? Or had it popped out for a bit? Oh� don�t tell me, I
know: it had recently drowned in a
freak boating accident!
SHRINK: Miriam,
you�re putting me in an impossible position.
MIRIAM (Calmer):
Okay then� let�s see whether I can put you into a less impossible position.
Because things have changed just now in your office.
SHRINK: What
happened?
MIRIAM (Sarcastically): Marital
confidentiality prevents me from disclosing that.
SHRINK: I see. (Pause). So why you did you come?
MIRIAM It wasn�t for the picnic basket and the mango forks. I came for some
unfinished business. But I�m not here to talk about the women in those letters.
SHRINK: Good. At last you�re moving
forward.
SHRINK (Worried): All right.
But before you ask me anything, let me say one thing: I can�t violate Stephen�s right to privacy, but there
are other ways I might be of help.
MIRIAM (Relenting): For
instance?
SHRINK: By talking about you� we may discover something about Stephen
that he may not have discussed with me.
MIRIAM:
But then it would only amount to speculation.
SHRINK: Virtually all I do here (waves hand around the room) is
speculation.
MIRIAM: All right. Let�s speculate� but snappily.
SHRINK: When we had lunch in this office, we started to talk
about your marriage.
MIRIAM: I think we�ve exhausted that subject.
SHRINK: But what kept you together so long?
MIRIAM (Sighs, a pause):
I suppose� it was tact. Stephen could be a pompous ass, but he had tact. At
least I thought so until I came across cemetery trysts and sestinas.
SHRINK (Taken aback): Tact? There you are! Right away, you gave me an answer I would never have expected.
That brings me to a question I�ve wanted to ask you before. Why didn�t you have
kids?
MIRIAM: The usual reasons: no immediate urge� the two of us
too busy working on Stephen�s career� and then I got even busier building my
own. (Long pause.)
SHRINK: Any
regrets?
MIRIAM: You
know how it is. Some women are born mothers. I�m not. Some grow into it. I
didn�t. And some have motherhood thrust upon them. (Pause.) Is this getting us anywhere?
SHRINK: Just keep going with this. Do you still have feelings
for Stephen?
MIRIAM: The question is what kind of feelings? A few minutes
ago, they ranged from incipient homicide to something bordering almost on
sympathy. (Shakes her head). Right now, I�m not so much hurt as
deeply angry after what he�s done to me for just a clever career move.
SHRINK: �Career move?�
MIRIAM: Remember Pessoa?
SHRINK: Yes�
MIRIAM: He wants to out-Pessoa Pessoa.
SHRINK: You may be right.
MIRIAM (Stands up to face Shrink): I am right.
And that�s why I�m here. Tell me the real answer to Stephen�s remaining puzzle�
something only you know.
(Shrink
sighs, shakes his head)
Why did Stephen feel
he needed a shrink?
SHRINK: You�re now asking for a monumental violation of
professional confidentiality.
MIRIAM: So you�re not willing to make any exception, even
though you admitted there are exceptions to everything?
(Very long tortured silence
on the part of the SHRINK)
MIRIAM (Goes for her coat and starts putting it on):
In that case, good night� Theodore.
(She
exits. The Shrink stands there, bereft
before the lights fade out.)
END OF SCENE 8
Scene 9
Seven
months later, Sunday, late morning. The Sunday issue of the NEW YORK TIMES is
spread all over the coffee table. The SHRINK (wearing coat and tie, similar to
scene 3) is sitting on the sofa, impatiently browsing through the newspaper.
The buzzer sounds. He gets up releases the door. A moment later MIRIAM enters,
whereupon he jumps up to greet her.
SHRINK: Miriam! It�s wonderful to see you� It�s been months.
MIRIAM: Almost seven months. But as I wrote in my note, I
felt like I owed you this visit. I�ve been doing a lot of �.searching�
STEPHEN And found what you were looking for?
MIRIAM I wasn�t sure what I was looking for but I kept
rummaging around on Stephen�s computer hard-drive. I hit real pay dirt when I
went through his computer trash. It�s like reading the contents of someone�s
wastepaper basket� you learn more about a person from what he discards than
what he retains.
SHRINK: Does what you found have anything to do with this? (Points to newspaper on coffee table).
MIRIAM (Triumphantly):
How could you even ask? The cover of the TIMES Book Review! �Obsession,� a posthumous novel by
Stephen Marx. What did you think of the review?
SHRINK: It was such a rave, I went out and bought the book
last night. I couldn�t put it down. (Points
to book on table). What a marvelous read! (Pause). Well?
MIRIAM (Disingenuously,
while sitting down): Yes?
SHRINK: So, did the two of you get back together?
MIRIAM: And made up? You must be kidding. We stayed in
touch� but it�s more like a probation officer checking on the parolee. He
volunteers nothing� unless I ask point blank. (Pause). But then� why
should he? Volunteering information is not exactly a forte among the men I�ve
met recently.
SHRINK: So why did you come today?
MIRIAM: Theo, what�s the most powerful motive in life?
SHRINK: That depends.
MIRIAM: Stop stalling.
SHRINK: Some would say �love.�
MIRIAM: An attractive answer� quite romantic� for the lucky
few�
SHRINK: There
are all kinds of love.
MIRIAM: Instead
of love, what about revenge?
SHRINK: I�m sorry you feel that way.
MIRIAM: I thought twice about coming to see you. I didn�t
want you to see me at my worst. You can take that as a compliment, because it
meant that I had planned to see you again� once I�d worked out my problems by
myself. But not for therapy� at least not the garden variety you seem
accustomed to dispense!
(Walks over to
coffee table, rummages among the newspapers and picks up the Sunday Book Review).
How
did this gushing review of Obsession end
up on the front page of the Sunday TIMES
Book Review section? (Pause). Easy! I sent the manuscript to
Stephen�s agent and told him that I found it among my dead husband�s papers.
The publisher rushed it into print.
SHRINK: Good Lord. I wonder how Stephen will take it?
MIRIAM: I�ve left him with one choice. Stay dead forever� or
return as Stephen Marx and claim credit for the novel I just released. But
whatever choice he makes� it releases me from uncertainty.
SHRINK: You know� he may not yet have seen that review.
MIRIAM: Fat chance! The Sunday Book Review is on line by
Friday� even you saw it early.
She starts looking around
and suddenly notices a ceramic mug on his desk containing two mango forks.
Mango forks! (Intrigued).
Those aren�t mine. How come you have some here?
SHRINK (Embarrassed): I bought them.
MIRIAM: Where? They aren�t easy to find.
SHRINK: On the web. E-bay.
MIRIAM I�m glad you�re web-savvy even though you stick to conventional phones
and answering machines. (Warmer): Do
you still eat mangoes in your office?
SHRINK: I did� once� and never forgot it.
Suddenly peremptory knocks
on the door, which startle both of them. SHRINK walks to the door and opens it.
Stephen stands in the doorframe but does not enter.
MIRIAM: So you�ve decided to face the music?
STEPHEN (Enters room, heading toward
coffee table, picks up various parts of the Sunday NEW YORK TIMES and throws
them on the floor): You bitch! How could you?
MIRIAM: You�re dead! I exercised my function as your literary executor. After
all, you never changed your will. Still leaving me to take care of the family
crap? Well� I took care of it. (Pushes
the newspaper on the floor with her foot).
STEPHEN (Addressing Shrink): Do you
know what I did last Friday? (Pause).
I committed hara-kiri. (Beat). The
literary kind. Less bloody than the conventional disembowelment� but much more
painful and longer lasting.
(SHRINK puts finger over his lips to caution Miriam from interrupting)
Did you know that a new publisher had accepted my novel?
MIRIAM: Of course! Out of your own mouth!
STEPHEN: I was talking to the shrink� not to you.
(Turns to SHRINK)
As my loving wife knew so well from her stupidly confiding husband, �Obsession� was supposed to come out in
another couple of months. But two days ago, T. H. Lustig had to write his
publisher and withdraw the manuscript� before being openly accused of
plagiarism. And if that�s not literary hara-kiri, what is? (Mordant chuckle). Actually an
interesting legal point: can I� T. H. Lustig� be accused of plagiarism if I
admit that I�m Stephen Marx� and that �Obsession�
was submitted without my knowledge to my former publisher? Submitted by my
wife, who knew that I was still alive? Can I force them to withdraw that book�
have them pay me damages� and let Lustig�s publisher release it?
MIRIAM: I am talking about resolution in my life� not legalistic
quibbling.
SHRINK: Stephen, remember �productive insecurity?�
STEPHEN: That�s what it was all about.
SHRINK: Don�t you mean, �is� all about?
STEPHEN: Was all about.
SHRINK: Unless you misled me� or I misunderstood you completely� you planned
on a new literary life.
STEPHEN: No, living a new literary life.
SHRINK: Okay, okay� �living� it. So the author of �Obsession� was your first heteronym. The TIMES called the
novel a new literary Taj Mahal. What
greater praise do you want?
STEPHEN: This Taj Mahal is being credited to Stephen Marx� not to me as T. H.
Lustig! But what is much worse� in fact unforgivable � are the graffiti on its
walls. Graffiti that cannot be erased or deleted because they are in every copy
of that novel. Who will recall and then destroy them?
SHRINK: Stephen� the name
of Stephen Marx� instead of T. H. Lustig on the cover� is no graffiti.
STEPHEN (Screams):
Fuck the cover! Fuck Stephen Marx! I�m talking about the graffiti in the book� graffiti that only I
and the mutilator can see. The ultimate desecration! (Pause). Miriam!
MIRIAM (Disingenuously): Yes, Stephen.
STEPHEN: Why did you have to resort to this unforgivable� deeply humiliating
act?
MIRIAM: First, when did you notice these so-called graffiti?
STEPHEN: After reading the review and then driving for an hour to the closest
bookstore to buy my own book!
SHRINK: How come you only saw the book on Friday?
MIRIAM (Annoyed): Don�t
interrupt! What do you mean
�driving for an hour to the closest bookstore?� You can find one within five
minutes of any location in the San Francisco Bay Area.
STEPHEN: I don�t live in California.
MIRIAM: Excuse me? I called you every week. Area code 650.
STEPHEN: You�re talking about my cell phone, which for very good reasons
happens to be registered in California. I�m talking about where I live.
MIRIAM: One more lie!
STEPHEN: At best a minor fib. I was blackmailed into agreeing not to change my
phone number without notifying you� and I stuck to that bargain. I didn�t see
why I should risk your pounding on my door one morning. Since Stephen Marx�s
death, I�ve only done one thing: writing, writing� and writing� in other words,
practicing productive insecurity. I
don�t go out to bookstores. I don�t even read newspapers� on occasion I browse
the web. (Pause). So why did you do
it? (Points to newspaper).
MIRIAM: Revenge!
STEPHEN: For not informing you that I was still alive? I ask you again, how
deeply� and for how long� could you grieve for a husband whom you were about to
divorce?
SHRINK: How can you be so callous—?
MIRIAM (Cuts him off, annoyed): Would you please let me handle
this! (Addresses Stephen). So you left me in limbo without another
thought? Well I took your limbo� your self-designed limbo� from you. I wanted
to remind you that Stephen Marx still exists. That an escape into the
wonderland of heteronyms is a luxury I�m not prepared to grant you forever.
STEPHEN: Why?
MIRIAM: When I went through your papers� I came across deeply humiliating
material.
STEPHEN: I�ve never humiliated you.
MIRIAM: Is that so? After your death I found out that you fucked� sorry� I
meant carnally embraced� (assumes heavy
sarcasm while pointing with her palm toward the ceiling) a female
basketball player� at least that�s how she appeared to me when I read that she
was the tallest woman you had ever encountered� in a cemetery
STEPHEN (Dismissive): Come on! Doing
it in a cemetery isn�t a capital offence. We did it once� and it was her idea.
MIRIAM (Sarcastic): Oh� you poor
victim of a seductive woman�s guile! (Angrily). And the other women? Natalie, Kyle,
Meredith� and that crummy poet named Felicity.
STEPHEN: She wrote great sestinas!
MIRIAM: Are these just companions for your heteronymic escapades?
STEPHEN (Vicious tone): You think I
am indulging in escapades? (Pause). Miriam, do you remember the line
�What would you use to commit suicide?�
SHRINK: Stephen!
STEPHEN: Stop interrupting all the time!
MIRIAM: Yes.
SHRINK (Wounded, to Miriam): You
think I�m interrupting all the time?
MIRIAM (Dismissive): Just most of
the time. (Points to Stephen): I was responding to him.
STEPHEN: Well? Do you still remember the answer?
MIRIAM: Cyanide.
STEPHEN (Exaggerated approval): V e r
y g o o d. (Resumes ordinary tone, addressing Shrink). It�s from one of my
novels. (Turns back to Miriam). You�d
be surprised how easy it is to buy cyanide. Scandalously easy! So when I
embarked on what you so lightly dismissed as my heteronymic escapade, I put in
a supply.
MIRIAM: You did not!
STEPHEN: I shall refer you to the same impeccable source from which we both
quoted. �But you aren�t serious?� asked one character, whereupon the
other replied: �About wanting some cyanide? Dead serious. But not about
committing suicide. I only want some� just in case.�
SHRINK: You�re playing an obscene game!
STEPHEN: You again? But what you call a �game� was my insurance. From the day I
left New York, I decided that if I was incapable of slipping out of Stephen
Marx�s skin� if I couldn�t create the heteronyms I aspired to live with� I
needed a final option.
SHRINK: Stephen� Stephen! Listen! Listen carefully! This new book is a
masterpiece.
STEPHEN: Of course it is! T. H. Lustig wrote it. (Pause). But Miriam murdered him� my first heteronym and my only
companion. Even worse, she violated
that book. Murder and rape� those are capital offences� in contrast to a single
dalliance in a cemetery.
SHRINK (Irritated): What on earth
are you talking about.
STEPHEN: She�ll tell you� if you�d stop interrupting.
MIRIAM: I made some changes� here or there� before submitting the manuscript
to his agent. Small changes� noticeable to the careful reader� of which there
was only one.
STEPHEN (Screams): Small? You call
those desecrations �small�?
MIRIAM: Except for the one the TIMES picked up� and since they had no
way of knowing that these were a woman�s graffiti� it�s obvious that I hit a
literary home run.
STEPHEN (Still screaming): Home run!
How dare you?
MIRIAM (Picks up the BOOK REVIEW and
starts reading in fake precious tone):
�Among the many attention-drawing features of this remarkable
masterpiece�—
STEPHEN (Outraged): Remarkable
masterpiece? �Tainted masterpiece� is what it said in my issue
of the TIMES!
MIRIAM (Still bantering but mean):
Really? Let me see. (Pretends she is
checking the text and then pretends
surprise). Oh� why yes� it does say tainted.
SHRINK (To Stephen): You learned
that review by heart?
STEPHEN: So would you� after staring at it for three days.
MIRIAM: Let�s start over again. (Resumes
precious reading tone). �Among
the many attention-drawing features of this (emphasizes next word while looking at STEPHEN) tainted
masterpiece, one needs emphasis: the recurring� exquisitely erotic�
female visions—�
STEPHEN (Outraged): Where does it say
�exquisitely?�
MIRIAM (Grinning): My editorial
comment. (Resumes precious reading tone).��so totally out of character for a male
author� especially one like Stephen Marx� whose earlier signature
weakness—�
STEPHEN: God damn you! It says �whose remarkable signature strength!
MIRIAM (Enjoying herself): Whatever.
(Resumes precious reading tone, but louder). � �was the virtual absence of any sex scenes. Had he left his sexual
labyrinth unexplored� only to now lay it bare in such a spectacular orgasmic
fashion?�
STEPHEN (Loud, but ice-cold): �Distasteful
orgasmic fashion� is what he wrote! (Cutting
tone): Fucking in my Taj Mahal� openly having orgasms there� that�s what
you were doing� and do so every time someone opens my book.
MIRIAM (Interrupts, in faked sweet tone):
My dear husband� �erotic female visions� in your Taj Mahal do not represent
�fucking�� as you so crudely put it.
STEPHEN: Is that so? Are you finished reading?
MIRIAM: Sure. Just because you chose not to explore your sexual labyrinth
hasn�t kept me from finally getting out of the barren one that you had me in
for some years. As the TIMES
confirmed, I am well on my way to emerging with my fantasies intact. All that�s
still missing is� consummation.
STEPHEN: And in the process permanently defacing Lustig�s masterpiece? (Points to TIMES). Why didn�t you continue
reading? (Picks up Book Review section and pounds it furiously as he recites):
�What could have been Marx�s opus magnum has thus become just a superior
addition to his oeuvre. Instead of a perfect diamond, we�re left with an
imperfect jewel. Are we to attribute all that detailed sexual fantasizing on
the part of the heroine solely to political correctness? If so, then at least
this reviewer considers it an unfortunate blemish in a book traversing such new
literary territory that nobody would have associated it with Marx�s. Bravo!...
but not quite bravissimo!�
(Proceeds to tear it up).
(To Shrink): So it�s not
graffiti? (To Miriam, viciously):
Tomorrow is my 50th birthday. I know how to celebrate it� by pushing
you� who craves certainty� into the purgatory of perpetual uncertainty. Here�
look at this. (Takes a cellophane
envelope filled with white solid out of his pocket and places it on the desk).
I brought some cyanide just to prove that I�m not bluffing.
MIRIAM: How dare you threaten me like that?
STEPHEN: If you think it�s fake, feed it to your pet Dalmatian. As for me,
you�ll never find out what happened, because I�ve plenty more where this sample
came from. (Beat) Here, catch the
goddamn phone�
(Takes cell phone out of his
pocket and tosses it to Miriam).
it�s dead. I�ve had it with lifelines� for good!
(Starts heading for the door).
SHRINK: Wait! You can�t do that to her!
STEPHEN: Says who? (while rushing toward
the door)
MIRIAM: Wait! I�m not going to let you get away with that!
She rushes forward, but
Stephen quickly steps out and slams the door in her face. Miriam follows, opens
the door and runs after him).
(Frantic voice from the corridor) Wait Stephen! Wait!
The Shrink stands alone in his office, shaking his head
while looking around. Looks at the New York Times strewn around the office
carpet, picks it up, puts the Book Review section on his desk and throws the
rest into the waste paper basket. Then stands erect, looking around the office,
and eventually straightening some furniture or adjusting some other aspect of
disorder. Suddenly, the telephone rings. He is about to pick it up, but then
stops and listens to the answering machine.
MIRIAM�S VOICE: The bastard ran away! What now? (Pause) Theo? Theo! Are you listening to this message or have you
left?
(Shrink is about
to pick up the phone, but then changes his mind).
Listen, Theo. Please call me as soon as you get this message.
(She hangs up)
After a moment Shrink picks up the phone and is about
to dial. Then changes his mind. He activates the answering machine and speaks
into it.
SHRINK (Lifts phone and records new message): �This is Dr. Hofmann. My office is closed until further notice.�
Finally, he wipes his
hands as a gesture of dismissal, heads for the door, opens it, turns out the
light, and leaves.
END OF PLAY