SLEEPERS AWAKE - An Idiotic Verse Play by Martin Olson by Martin Olson

SLEEPERS AWAKE

A Mystery Play in Three Acts by Martin Olson

To Dorothy Jean MacPherson Olson

The Guests of Existence Arrive

ACT I. i. (In the foyer of Mister Black's house. Outside, a stormy night. A knocking at the door.) (Enter Dwarfo, Mister Black's demented servant, with a candle.) (Music in.) Dwarfo. (Sings) The day is down and dying, But I ford my fist in the fire, And curse the sun the day to run Its pathway ever higher. Of lice my hair is buttered And of dung my petticoats smell, My lovely Gert lies dead in the dirt And I'll see you all in hell. (Opens door. SFX: Wind and storm. Enter Doctor Black, Ned &Jack, carrying boxes of alchemical equipment.The Doctor is big, his assistants smaller. Ned is smart; Jack is not. ) Doct. What are you about when we have to batter the door to splinters? Are you Mister Black? Dwarfo. I am Dwarfo, opener of doors. Ned. Then conjure this one closed; learn a new trick. (Dwarfo closes the door against the wind.) Doct. (Theatrically). I am Doctor Black. This is Ned and this is Jack: my two nimble assistants.

Mister Black, your master, sits in repose upon a distant limb of my family tree. For a sliver of its ancient wood, in the form of a paper invitation called me to my namesake (your Master). Though weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve never met, my curiosity was sparked. Where then is your master? Dwarfo. Counting sheep. Give me your sliver of leprous wood. (Takes the invitation and lights it on fire with his candle.) So, and so! This sap-wood from my family tree ignites your slice in a shock of flame! Doct. What are you about, you bloodyâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; Ned. (Doctor, the bulbous eye, the veined, sloping head: he formulates a madman. Humor him to discover what's what.) Doct. I'll do so. Dwarfo. Our stumps mate like a sun; hot white to cold, black and dead. Thus your tree is identified: it's ash, black ash. Doct. Sir, kindly take me to your master. Dwarfo. I told you, he dreams. (SFX: Storm rising)

Doct. In this rage? Do your business. Come running at the tail end of your master's dream. Dwarfo. I'll tell you when dogs do their business, and dream of their runny tail ends. Doct. What!? Dwarfo. Here is the study. Therein putrify till the sleeper wakes. (Opens study door. A piano is heard inside, playing quietly.) (Dwarfo goes to leave) Doct. One moment. What music is that? You said Mister Black is asleep. Dwarfo. Herein, an early arrival, Esmeralda Black plays. Impregnate her with silence And I'll bury your first born bastard. Doct. Another Black on another branch. Are there other saplings still about? Dwarfo. Saplings? The melodious whore would howl to drink deep your vile sap in mid-cadenza. Ned. Answer plainly, dog-face: are there

other guests besides ourselves and the girl? Dwarfo. Dear baboon-maker, more guests follow, all to play. All to play like the whore plays, spraying sound like a bitch gives scent. Follow the scent, boys, and jab her your pitch. Leave no monkeys unmade. Doct. (Musing). If she and I share the name of our host, perhaps this is a case of imminent death (for Mister Black sleeps through the storm), and thus of inheritance by myself and this Miss Black, and whatever others be, of this magnificent estate. If this is the case, then, as with every other thing, my subject is money, and I am its king. Dwarfo. You lie. Money is king, and you are its jester. (Knocking at door) More rancid food! The house must feed through the door, which is its mouth. May it be fruit; we have already the pits. (Opens door. Enter Jane Black, a woman of forty, & Jolene Black, a girl of ten. They are dirty, drenched and disheveled.) Jolene. Look at my dress, Mother. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ruined. Jane. We both look like filthy urchins. (To Dwarfo) Will you please tell Mister Black that Mrs. Jane Black and her daughter Jolene have arrived on the hour. My husband

will be here presently. Here is our invitation, sir. Dwarfo. More pits. Doct. (Ned, the more Blacks appear, the more my theory of inheritance is chocked with substance.) Dwarfo (To Jane, taking her invitation). Your note be flat. And my note, B double sharp, or C sharp. Kiss my feet. Jane. What? Ned. (Doctor, you'd best intervene.) Doct. Ladies, I am Doctor Black, another guest of Mister Black, who presently sleeps. You must ignore this servant, as I fear he's deranged. Dwarfo. To derange is to madden; to madden is to anger; to anger is to excite; to excite, to impassion; to impassion, to love; and to love, to kiss: so, on command, I kiss you, Doctor, and your whores. (Kisses Jolene, then goes to kiss Doctor) Jolene. Mother!

Doct. Get off of me, you diseased flux! I'll kiss you, you shrunken dog! Take that! (Beats him) Dwarfo. Heal me, Doctor Jester; make my wounds laugh with blood. (Exit Doctor, beating Dwarfo) Jane. What sort is this Mister Black, to have sickness on his threshold, to assault his guests with such insensible matter? Jolene. Mother, he was oozing on me. Ned. This Mister Black must be merciful or perverse to employ such a boil; and a pricked boil at that, to exude such pus. Jane. Well, I hope your Doctor lances it clean. (Jolene, your button's undone.) Are you gentlemen guests? Ned. We are wards of Doctor Black and his assistants in his mystical experiments. He strives to snap the stem of nature, and suck out the secret of transmutation. Jolene. He also seems a poet.

Ned. He is versed in obscure tongues, but when he wishes, he tongues a crystal verse, especially to the ladies. Jane. I thought as much. But I ask you this: what is this Mister Black's motive in inviting us here? The invitation reads: (Reading note) "It is manifest that you attend." But what does that mean? What is manifest? Ned. I'm sure I have no idea. The Doctor's read the same. The simple flow of events will show what's to show; and I hope the wait will be entertaining, at least. (But I doubt it.) Jane. Well, I've a double wait: first for my husband, then our Mister Black. I beg your pardon, I am Mrs. Black, and this is my daughter Jolene. Ned. I'm Ned, and this is Jack. Jack. I'm pleased to meet your acquaintance. (Enter Doctor Black) Ned. Doctor, you played a tune upon his head. Doct. In my way, I merely administered

a sedative on his skull. But ladies! does not the knight deserve an introduction for banishing the miniature monster? Jane. Forgive me, Doctor: I am Mrs. John Black, and my daughter, Jolene. We are here as you, by invitation. My husband should arrive presently. Doct. (To Jolene). I hope, my dear, that that bonsai fiend did not frighten you with his base canards; I hope you are not silent out of fear. Jolene. No, Doctor. I was jittery from the storm, but then that little manâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; Jane. He's gone now, dear. Don't obsess. Doct. All is well; let us retire, ladies, to the study wherein Esmeralda Black, another guest, plays. There we may inquire among ourselves what is what with respect to our slumbering host; and if, concerning this Mister Black, we are still in the dark and unaware, at least we have each other's company to share. (They exit into the study)

I. ii. (In the storm. On a road to the house. Enter Jonathan Black, a gentle fool of twenty, in foppish dress.) (Music in as he speaks) Jonath. (Pretentious and overdramatic). This brain of night, skull of simple grief; herein I am lashed and spun like an abject dream. If the world be a skull, and I a dream therein, this excess of nature, in fists of fire, torrents of tears, spit, shock, and bolt, is the rage of the second imagination upon this battered shell; for in the mind of the creator, I stand an illusion, a transparent, faceless thing, a scrap of words, a dream, a nothing. Thus, I am imprisoned in the torment of thought, 'twixt that which is and that which is not. But mine is the eye of the storm, the calm amid the chaos, for nothing can harm the dreams of a melancholic: the darkness of events are expected. And when, like the fish who peeps his eye over the brim of the lake and sees the sky, a brief glimpse of infinite, maddening beauty is seen, the soul is brought to tears of joy: thus the melancholic knows only joy, for sorrow is the natural course. And as sorrow is the natural course, I accept, like a churl, the whip of his master's tongue. Thus I'm a passive dream in the curl of the storm, which is nature's brain, a home of homeliness: where only thoughts reside, all is loneliness. (Enter John Black, an alpha male of forty-five.) Who's there? John. A man, much like yourself, if you be a man.

What are you doing about in this chaos? I thought you my daughter. But you're much prettier in your costume. Tell me, where are you going? Jonath. Do you mean in general, or specifically? John. In general, we may both go to the dogs. Yes, specifically, where are you going? Jonath. To the house of Mister Black. John. Do you know this Mister Black? Jonath. No, I received a strange invitation which begged my attendance without naming the occasion. Who is he? John. I don't know. My wife and I also received such a note, of such strange, urgent aspect â&#x20AC;&#x201C; but these scathing tears pelt us from all sides. This cheeky night soaks the earthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shoulder like a babe wailing to its mother. But we may escape this mirthless brew through the power of words. My name is John Black. Jonath. My name is Jonathan Black. John (Shaking hands). Well, strike up the band, we share the bond of John Black through this deluge. My wife and child are waiting for me at Mister Black's house, as I was detained on business.

Jonath. What is your business? John. I am, in a sense, a juggler, a sideshow entertainer, a perfumed lecturer. Principally, I juggle words. Jonath. Are you a philosopher? John. I write books on the whys and wherefores of various matters. But that is neither here nor there. What I do is this: In my fashionable quarters, I take my scissors, and cut out scraps of fashionable phrases from the most fashionable rags, then dump them into a fashionable top hat, engage myself at a fashionable lecture hall, place the hat upon my head, and speak. What about you? Jonath. I am a clerk. Here, I've brought my ledger in case I have leisure time. But my principle interest in life is the study of poetry, the exquisite art of linking the sinews of words in novel juxtaposition, to create a flesh of unspeakable poesy. (Sounds of storm rising) John. What? Unspeakable poesy? How can you mince words in this feline way amid the face and embrace of this reeling cataclysm? Nature itself beats your foppish attire to a potato sack! Look around you at this sucking whirlpool! This is the way of the world! Why speak of poesy

and such stuff while we are ground up by the teeth of reality? You must be a man, a simple man! (Thunder.) Jonath. A simple man sees beauty in all things. Even this storm is a brash song of the elements if one can only read the notes. All of art is but the naming of a thing unnamed; it is a natural extension of the thing itself, and enriches it with beauty. John. Is that why you wear a silken, brocaded vest, to enrich yourself with beauty? There is a difference between beauty and fashion: the one is plain, the other ever pretentious. But forgive me, forgive me; a fool ever presumes to call a fool a fool while spluttering spittle on his shoes. It's the storm that brings out the beast in a man. For the fact is, I once wrote verses as well, long ago; but when I consider it now, it seems tasteless, banal, and completely inappropriate to prettily decorate the world with ornamental trappings, as it if were all nothing but a dull and empty room. But look, we've come to a gate. It's our destination, or my name is mud. Let's escape this foul rack, and speak again in the house of Mister Black, not in the rain. (Exit)

I. iii. (The Doctor's darkened room hastily set up as an alchemy lab. The Doctor and Jack labor over an elaborate arrangement of flasks and test tubes, replete with fantastic bubbling and smoke.) Doct. Hold it steady! Steady, maggot, steady! Substances, rage! Energies, sear and mesh! Atomic spirits, bridge the gaping chasm 'twixt these transmutable elementals! Look to, Jack! Behold the fundament, liquid gold transfixed, ready for its dealing metamorphosis! If these devices shift its excellent parts to those of pure lead, then scream the gods, a reversal of process creates ungodly gold. (Unnatural logic makes for unnatural wealth.) Any moment now! All right, get ready! Spin the valve, quickly! There, now! Watch the spill! No! No! Look what you've done! Carrot! This mixture wasted! (Striking him) Maggot in your mother's gut! Get away, get out! Ned, Ned! Jack. I'll fetch him, sir. (Exit Jack) Doct. Away, you measel, you red worm! My chemical changeling smashed by this gooning orifice! But patience, patience. I should rather admonish the gods for lacking existence. But the cause is just: the golden dream at my core. I hereby test my mettle

on metal's testy nature, and by unnatural means probe the art of change, which is the key to the mask of matter and man (the feeble repertoire of the ghostly gods). I'll pervert nature, if such a thing may be, and cheat the gods, before they cheat me. (Enter Ned) Ned. Halloo, master! Your beaming slave brings you intelligences of diverse harmonies and luscious dissonances, all manner of points and counterpoints! Name your tune, master. I know you dream a sweat on the little girl. Doct. What are her finances? Her parents seem well off. What is her status? Ned. She is a scab. It is the scab status. Doct. Tell me straight, Ned. You know my motives. Ned. Her father is John Black, man o' the world, A bit hollow-skulled, wherein philosophic nuances reverberate. Doct. Does he have any money? Ned. Wait for it. The wife of John Black, man o' the world, and the mother of Jolene Black, scab, is Jane Black, a barge, a veritable sack of potatoes, I kid you not, O master.

Doct. What are you talking about? She's a very comely woman. Ned. But to say she resembles a sack makes for more interesting conversation. But wait, there is more: the wife of John, man o' the world, and mother of Jolene, scab â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Doct. Get on with it! Ned. --enjoys the splendor of independent wealth, the result, I hear, of an inheritance, the whole of which, I hear, has yet to be posited on her lap, I hear, because her daughter (that being Jolene Black, scab), by dictate of the will, must first marry, I hear, and so goes the play. Doct. My excellent simpleton! Are you certain of the condition of the mother's inheritance, being the marriage of her daughter? Ned. I am an excellent simpleton, and I confess I made up the business of the conditional inheritance, to color my riposte. Doct. What's the use of talking to you if you will not give me the facts? Ned. I am simply allowing fantasy to preface the introduction of facts. Now come the facts:

in simple language, king of my brain, they do possess a modicum of wealth, as far as such things go. You may check yourself. Doct. If this is so, then I've a second project: To woo with charms the babe from mother's arms, and contrive to twist a persistent key in both the girl and her father's secret box, and both will make me a mammon king when I enter by the light of my candle. Ned. In her darken chamber. (Enter Dwarfo) What, halloo, corncob, half-dog! Freak-show, do you come to rail my master? Dwarfo. I love you sirs, with all my height. Ned. What do you want, besides a new mind and bodice? Dwarfo. A life in hell, for you and for you. For myself, a seasoning shrub. Doct. A seasoning shrub. Why, fool? Dwarfo. So that I may count the leaves of thyme. Ned. Demented jake, you are a deft cretin.

Dwarfo. Mister Black I presume hopes you are as comfortable as worms in a magician's brain. Doct. You presume? Dwarfo. To me, Mister Black indicates nothing, never, ever. Therefore, what I presume is nothing but nothing. Ned. He tells you nothing? Dwarfo. Nothing, baboon. Doct. Indicate to your master, then, that we are all well settled (thanks to his strange hospitality), and that we hope to converse with him at breakfast. He does attend breakfast, does he not? Dwarfo. Mister Black does not converse at breakfast, mole. Nor does Mister Black converse at lunch, ferret. Nor does Mister Black converse at supper, swine. Ned. What, is he mute? Dwarfo. I see you are a bunch of grapes. Doct.

Tell us, dog, is he mute? Dwarfo. And from grapes to whine. Ned. Let me thrash him, Doctor, on his bandy head. Dwarfo (Wildly) Let me train apes for a Christmas Pageant. Kneel, Suzabelle, get the banana, Jocko. Goodnight, baboons. Adieu, Doctor Satan, Doctor Donkey. Sleep like corpses in rubble, and wake refreshed, with dry rot. (Exit Dwarfo) Doct. If this amoeba was not the servant of our hostâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; But, we are all jackasses in one way or another, strange mules to the gods who ride us nightly with impudent dreams. Ned, I've had enough for one day. I'm off to bed. I'll be ridden well tonight, I assure you. Clean up this disarray, and wake me late. All day I wait for sleep, and now sleep cannot wait. (Exit Doctor. Enter Jack. Ned toys with him.) Jack. Is he gone? Ned. Come forward, nimble one! Jack. Did he not beat you? Ned. O yes, Jack, with flagellum,

with acids, with high torture. Jack. Acids? Fiendish master! O, shall we unite, shall we not rebel? Ned. But we have no general. What are we to do, Jack? Jack. Fear not, my friend. You have been beaten insensible. I must lead the cause, president the revolution. Ned. The doctor must, then, (dare I say the word) be killed? Jack. He favors you over me; you find the notion hard. But tyrants who twist and torture their slaves must be glued to death. (I have heard of such things; believe me, it is so.) Ned, we must incorporate others to our cause. Ned. What shall we do, Jack? Jack. Get the women to own to us, so that they may weep for us, if we fail. Ned. Ah, yes, that is a brilliant plan. Jack. But above all, Ned, the doctor must not find us out, or he will beat us.

Ned. What? What is this? Did you not say you would kill him? Jack. Why, why, yes, he is a stinking rogue, and the General, he must command his men to kill him dutifully. Ned. Oh, I see, jackanapes. I'll kill you dutifully. Jack. Come, let's devise a subtle plan, for we must be free, and in this house, so we shall. I pledge it to you, my Ned. Ned. Lead on, frankfurt. Your forces follow, man of brains. Ho, chuck, ho! (Exit Jack and Ned)

I. iv. (A dark room in Mister Black's house, A bed, a chair, a window. Storm without. Jolene sleeping in Jane's arms.) (Music in.) Jane (Sings) I lie among the lentils low Upon my mother's breasts of snow, And wet her words of whisper weep Of love that comes but does not keep: "I wish my heart had been my will, Had kept its solitary sleep. My silent love is silent still, For though it comes it does not keep." Leave thy golden Ned and Bill Like gold untouched inside the hill. Leave the pearl within the deep, And leave thy heart thy soul to keep." (Music out) How I envy you my dear; to sleep simply, to trance the name and face of God, and then forget them when you eat a piece of bread. (Enter John Black) Who is it? John. My dear, a man with double vision. But a chair of women is not a comfortable sight; let me put you to bed. Is she asleep? Jane. She's awake elsewhere, but not here.

John (As he takes her in his arms). Here is the embodiment of our love, in this dreaming girl. Heaven and earth were born when she was born, as simple as she is. Gently, let me take her. (He carries Jolene to the bed) Sweet, the storm has settled, and all is well. At least there's peace on earth, in your little slur of dreams. (Thunder. Jolene awakens, screaming) Jolene. No, no! O, Mother, Father! (John & Jane comfort her. The storm rises, then stills) I was running down into a black tunnel. I could hear he bats and insects chittering As I ran. I wanted to reach the end, But didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know if I should reach The near end or the far end. So I stopped Terrified and crawled into a corner Of the dirt in the dark. I could taste The dirt. But it was safe and warm and good. John (sotto to Jane). Counseling would be good. Jane. (Casts him a severe look, rocks her gently) Shh, be still, dear, it's just a dream. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s all just a dream. John. She's asleep. You should be too. It's late. Jane. I can't.

John. Why not? Are you ill? Jane. Only when I think sick thoughts. John. Then you must purify your thoughts. Jane. Shall I become a nun? John. Outside of the bedroom you may. What do you think of our invisible host? Jane. I don't know what to make of it. Do you? John. I assume that Mister Black has become unexpectedly ill. And the servant is so far out of his mind that he's useless as a channel of information. Jane. It seems a bit peculiar. John. Well, we should get some sleep. Things will be less strange in the daylight. (He begins to undress for bed) Jane (Not moving). John? John. Yes?

(She does not answer) What is it? You seem sad. Jane. I was thinking while sitting here with Jolene in my arms. John. Thinking makes you sad? Jane. I was thinking of the first time when I told you that I wanted to leave. John. That was long ago. Jane. And do you remember that you went out that night and didn't come home? John. I walked all night. I had to think. Remember, that was the first time you had told me. I was-- shocked. Jane. Where did you go? John. Nowhere. I just wondered about it all as I walked. I wondered what I should do. Jane. And what did you decide? John. Nothing. When I'd walked all night, a spider's web broke across my face,

and suddenly, it started snowing. My thoughts just went blank, and I felt the line of the spider and the little snowflakes hitting my cheek. And then, I was surprised that I had somehow found my way home. Jane. I never asked you where you'd gone. I only knew that I wanted to leave, I was so sick of you. John. You were? And now? Jane. Now the years swarm around my head like so many flies. I sit at home and look at the world through a book, or a window, and wonder what I'm doing here day after day, while my life spins away like thread hissing from a spool. When we first fell in love, I was caught up and dazzled and amazed by a life so magical; it was magic when I found this little pearl growing inside me... (kisses her sleeping daughter) ...and there at my side was a beautiful man with jewels for eyes. I was the treasure-keeper, and the key to the treasures, our love, was in fact the treasure. But it wears away, or we get used to it, and the perspective shifts. How much magic is there now in love and sex? The universe is vast; the sun is a little speck; our hearts are microscopic; our desires, sub-atomic. So, although my jewels are still jewels (though your eyes are dark from darker books, and my little pearl dreams of black holes),

all the glitter is gone. I still love you, but nothing goes on between us; nothing can ever really go on between anyone. People meet for a time and then fall in love for a time, and then drift their separate ways, no one knowing where they're going or what they're supposed to do. You fall into a pattern and you get lost in it, and soon it's too late to leave: you're trapped, and you can't go anywhere, because there's no place to go. John (Dramatically). You would do as well to hit your head with a sledge hammer. Are you astonished by the stale lassitude of time? by the daily drift of non-occurrence? by the rank boredom of events? Well, this is not new material; this is primordial stuff: from the blank walls of the cave it echoed hush and still. It was the same little bitter whispering that fluttered in the ears of great men and women, for the blank wall made them lovers of leave-taking and death. You shouldn't let such an ancient motif overpower you. Do I have to tickle you out of this brainy flak? (He tickles her) Jane. No, no, you're a madman, stop it, stop it, please, don't you know I'm trying to be serious. John. (Teasing). I almost forgot! I have a present for you, though you have presentiment of a kind. Quick! there's no time to lose! Take it with zeal, before I change the moon of my mind.

(Gives her a music box) Jane. You're a lunatic. (opens the box) Oh, it's a lovely tune. John. Perhaps it will put you to sleep, and when you're insensible, I'll ravish you. Jane. I'll not be ravished tonight, not with my daughter as score-keeper. Besides, the game is called, by rain. John. My darling moron. Jane. My darling lunatic. (They kiss) O but now I'm off to bed, to sleep. You put me off, tonight, but look at me: I know it's foolish, but this feeling always comes back. We'll have to talk about it again, but tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. (She closes the box, places it on the window sill, and goes to bed. Thunder as John takes up the box and gazes out the window into the darkness of the storm. As he speaks, he is occasionally silhouetted by flashes of lightning.) John. Tomorrow is an ephemeral jester, always promising an end to the tale told today.

But where is my simplicity? "I still love you, but nothing goes on between us, nothing can ever really go on. All the glitter is gone." (Opens the music box) When the stars open their indifferent grin and toot their mysterious saws, when the mainspring of the anti-clock bolts from its coil like a crazed Jack-in-the-Box, when a single unnatural thing comes to man: then and only then will something happen, in a powder and puff of unspeakable magic, beginning an unthinkable knowledge of all unknowable things. (Closes the box) But now the lack-lustre of this unkempt drama puts me to bed dramatically. (Extreme thunder) As the drums beat to drown the cries of tangled puppets. And as to the mystery of our Mister Black, and the meaning behind our little visit here, that's for tomorrow to show: for each day ends with everything to feel, and nothing to know. (Goes off to bed)

ACT II. i. (The next day. Study of mister Black's house. Esmeralda, a girl of twenty, is softly playing a piano in the corner. Enter Dwarfo, singing as he dusts and sweeps.) Dwarfo. An honest man he's soon to suck a pap of every whore. He sucks a flask and spits a tune To Him who sucked him from the womb and chucked him on the floor. And when the world has sucked him dry he weds a stinking bitch. And when he sucks his final cup, The stinking earth will suck him up to feed a stinking ditch. (Music out) My song attracts flies. Here comes a titmouse, after the worm. Twinkle your eyes like gems, my wormy whore, and he may amount you. (Enter Jonathan Black, now wearing plain clothes with his ridiculous hat) (Dwarfo again sings:) My eye is ever failing When courting plow and fallow Jonath. (To Dwarfo). Good morning! Did you sleep well? Have my clothes dried out as yet? (I have only my new hat.) And is your master about this morning? Dwarfo.

Are you a sausage? do the stars grow warts? is my hump a holiday? Your clothes hang in the cellar, where all good boys belong. (Sings) When courting plow and fallow, But I'll yet make of my earthquake A grave both deep and shallow. Jonath. Who is she? Dwarfo. A filthy whore. Jonath. She's lovely. Dwarfo. And the best kind of whore: she's mute as a corpse. Jonath. How softly she plays. Dwarfo. Ha! he's stupefied by a mute whore. Jonath. But what a heavy air for such a delicate vision. Dwarfo. Delicate as soot. Tuck it to her, titmouse. Make her bread some butter. The theme is ever the same: to grunt in her stinking flap. Go to it, like happy apes! Water down her flower, make it bloom

a stinking rag-weed. (Exit Dwarfo) Jonath. (Pretentiously) If these sounds harp from twining thoughts and feeling from within, then how finely balanced is her beauty, the glow of her face, the translation of her soul to sound. Yet a strange, turning melody it is, touching in me an irresistible harmonic, a tender romantic vision such as imbeciles entertain (for I have been a fool before); but are my two eyes separate fools, and my ears also? Are my two keenest senses idiots in unison? (Enter Jolene, at a distance) I wish to touch the tuneful strings of her head and play upon the instrument of her body. Let me indulge, then, the infant fancy of my body and mind, for although they are indifferent to me, and respectful only of their own nebulous desires, still they are all that I have, and so, I am taken. I must go over awhile, and sit awhile, as it goes, while this young woman plays the piano. (Retires to a chair) Jolene (Naively). What strange thoughts for such a beautiful boy. But even stranger is his deep gaze upon the mute girl who played so gently last night. (Enter Doctor & Ned, at a distance) Perhaps she is his wife, or girl-friend.

But no, her eyes are all dark and still, and look, she doesn't wear a single ring. Ned (To Doctor). (Behold the scab.) Jolene. Perhaps he lives here, perhaps this is his house, perhaps he's all alone and searching for a wife, and when he saw Esmeralda, he fell in love, as she was there when he needed someone there, and perhaps if I were to talk gently to him, perhaps he and I would become fast friends. Perhaps I should write him a letter and leave it under his door, and put some perfume on it. Ned. (Doctor, perhaps you'd best intervene before perhaps I vomit.) Doct. (I'll take her mind off the boy.) Jolene. Perhaps first I could find a mutual friendâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; Doct. (To Jolene). Good morning, my dear, how do you fare today? Do you fare fairly, or, I fear, unfairly? Jolene. The day certainly isn't fair. Doct. (Gesturing theatrically to the window). The eons make the gods grow putrid. Look at this clotted spittle they send for rain. Jolene. Doctor, do you know who he is? (Indicates Jonathan)

Doct. (Engrossed in his thoughts). But out of dark storms dance the gods. Jolene. Doctor, do you know that boy? I do so want to meet him, and— Doct. My dear June – Ned (Correcting him). (Jolene.) Doct. Ah, my dear Jolene, this destitute young man is not a normal healthy human being. His name is Tom Wiggs, the village idiot. Mister Black fetched him from town to amuse his guests, and – Jolene. But Doctor, you must mean someone else. I heard him speak just a moment ago. He could not be an idiot. Doct. Ah, but that, you see, is because he was imitating a normal person. He does that all the time. Jolene. Well, if he acts normal all the time, how do you know he's an idiot? Doct. (To Ned). (The simpleton is citing paradox. What should I do?) Ned. (Make him an undertaker.) Doct.

Ah, ah yes, I see now that I was in error, for although he resembles the village idiot, he certainly is not the village idiot, how stupid of me, rather, he's a very odd, odd fellow! Yes, he's the town undertaker, a very odd undertaker! Why, it's said that he bakes puddings and cakes inside the skulls before he sews 'em up, and buries old maids with young men's bones, and cuts off their heads and sews 'em onto different bodies, and other grotesqueries. I assure you that he is a blackguard, a villain, a heinous, fiendish undertaker! (And, it's said, steeped in necrophilia.) Jolene. An undertaker! Doctor, it's impossible; he's so young, and so beautiful. Doct. Now, now, take your mind off him, my dear. He's not a fit companion for a young girl. Fill your mind, rather, with a less alien lover, a man of distinguished years and character, someone professional, true-blue, courteous, and with impeccable tastes; a lover white in body and mind; a protector and gun-fancier; a teacher learned in dark and ineffable matters, in turning systems and all mystical chemistries; a man noble by birth and spiritual status; a humble man, intelligent, kind, and modest; a cavalier and scholar; but more than this, one who, dearer than life and death, loves thee; that man, myself, and this my true biography. (Enter Dwarfo, at a distance) Jolene (Startled at this proposal). Doctor, I've had no experience in answering a suitor. I don't know what to say. That I'm attracted

to this-this undertaker I do not deny; that I don't even know his name I don't deny; that he's never even seen me at all, I don't deny. Doct. My love do you deny? I have since consulted my assistants on this matter, and they are in complete concordance with me as to your worth, that is, your feminine graces, your keen, although youthful, mind, your cleanly habits, and finally, your admiration of truth and honesty. Therefore, I beseech you in the name of truth, to deal with me plainly, as I have dealt with you. All is told. (Kisses her hand) There is no time to lose, kiss me quick, kiss me quick, for then I will have done, having bartered for my love, and won. (Dwarfo comes forward) Dwarfo. Enter Dwarfo. Doct. What do you want? Dwarfo. I bring a message, and a messenger is not mad. Doct. All right, state your message, and depart. Dwarfo. The message is this: that Mister Black, I presume, demands the attendance of his guests for a supper of mustard cakes and warm beer. That he is mad I do not deny; that you inquire after his health and wealth I do not deny; that is a-going to die

I do not deny; that phlegm and mucous rule the world I do not deny; my love do you deny? No! no! What, then, do I deny? Doct. Remove your carcass straightaway, you amoebic scrap and in the future extoll information simply, without this absurd and witless elaboration, or I'll have you ground up for dog's meat. Dwarfo. To hear is to do, to do is to make, to make is to fashion, to fashion is to wear, to wear is to tire, and to tire is to sleep. So, upon command, I sleep, here, upon your breast, or upon the lady's. (He nuzzles his head on Jolene's breasts) Doct. (Pulling him off). Get out, you custard! (Beating him) Take that, you impudent cretin! Take that, and thus, and this, to the dogs of the world! Dwarfo (Beaten away). To be beaten is to lose, to lose is to misplace; to misplace, to forget; to forget, to skip; and to skip, to dance; so, on command, I dance, I dance, de, de, de! (Dwarfo jumps up on piano, dances, raves, waggles his bum at Esmeraldaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s face. Esmeralda flees in disgust from room. Calling after her, Jolene goes out) Dwarfo (Sings).

"There be tears of perfect moan" When she gives her Jack a bone. There be laughter, thief of tears When she grabs him by the ears. There be lusty flashing teeth With Jill above and Jack beneath. There be dextrous dives and loops That make all lovers nincompoops. (Doctor, Ned, & Jonathan subdue Dwarfo as he sings, and drag him from room)

II. ii. (The same bedroom as in I. iv. John and Jane playing at chess) John. Now you've done it. (Captures a piece) Jane (Moving a piece). What do you say to that? John. I say this. (Moves a piece) Jane. If you move there, I'll take your queen. John. You can't take my queen without putting your king in check. You cannot make an illegal move. Jane (Peevishly). They should allow illegal moves as a fast expedient. This is not a realistic game. John. Blindly blame the game, and not your brains. Jane. My brain is sick and tired. John My dear, you did not invent melancholia. All you have to do is think for a moment, that the world is neither good nor bad;

and that you may as well give me a little smile. Jane. I don't feel like smiling. John. And why not? Jane. Why don't we change the subject? John. What subject? Jane. John, I don't appreciate your teasing at certain times. There are times when I don't particularly feel like smiling. We've been through all this before, how restless I've been, how I've felt so useless and empty. I know it's foolish, but I must be going through some kind of stage. It's just a feeling that there must be something more, some greater purpose. And because I feel that what I'm doing has nothing to do with what really matters â&#x20AC;&#x201C; John (with mock theatricality). What really bothers you is that deep down, hidden beneath all your words, is the unspeakable fear that there is nothing more, no greater purpose, nothing to achieve, nothing to understand, nothing whatever to be done. Except, perhaps, to entertain, to be entertained, to entertain one another. Jane. Well, although you make it sound like a joke, yes, that's exactly how I feel.

John. Well, then, you must know that all of this jabber is a pointless spiel, achieving nothing but self-torture and stupefaction. And once you see this to be true, you should give me a beauteous, serene and radiant smile. Jane (Relenting). You're repeating yourself, a sign of premature senility. And old men don't make me smile. John. Then smile because you love me. Jane. I can love you and still be unhappy. John. Then smile because if you don't smile, I'll bodily throw you out the window. Jane. If an old man cannot make me smile, he certainly cannot throw me out the window. Therefore, I will not smile. (Folds her arms defiantly) John (Attacking her). So! You will not smile for an old man! Shall we take a little trip to the open air? (Lifting her in his arms) Will you smile or will you not smile? Jane. Put me down! John (Hanging her out window as she screams).

A lovely view, isn't it? Jane. Put me down! John. Put you down? All right. Jane. No! Don't put me down! You let me up, you wife-beater! I'll call the constable! Help! Jolene (Within). Mother! Father! (Enter Jolene excitedly) John. Jolene, what is it? (He lets up Jane) Jane. Are you all right, dear? What's wrong? Jolene. It's the mute girl, Esmeralda! She ran away! The crazy dwarf frightened her! She's run outside into the storm! The Doctor's searching the grounds now, and Jonathan is searching down in the cellar. The Doctor wants your help. John. All right, we'll be down immediately. Jolene. Dress warmly, and don't forget your glasses. You can hardly see a thing through the mist! Jane. All right, dear. We'll meet you outside.

(Exit Jolene. John & Jane dress hurriedly) It sounds serious. John. She can't have gone far. But it's easy to get lost in such thick fog. Jane. Perhaps we'll lose each other. If I fall into a bog, will you pull me out? John. Certainly not. I'll jump in with you and we will lie together at the bottom of the bog, forever entwined in each other's arms. Jane. My foolish darling. John. My darling fool. (They kiss) Jane. Shall we go? John. Yes, let's go. (They linger, looking at each other without moving, as the lights fade)

II. iii. (Cellar of Mister Black's house. Enter Jonathan Black with a candle in the dark) Jonath. (Pretentiously). A candle in the dark would once make me poetic, and my heart would sing symbolic dirges on man as a delicate flamelet, dancing in black night; or this pit a brain, and this the spark of life. But now, it seems a thing devoid of thought: another light in yet another dark. Plainness is the thing, yet it breeds in me a hidden swell of reeling fancies that soar and engorge my brain in a wander of blood. But here the stillborn dark; here a light; here the caking earth, where nothing occurs. (Candle light falls on Esmeralda who is weeping in a dark corner of the cellar) There you are! Everyone's been looking for you. Are you all right? Don't be frightened. My name is John. I saw what happened upstairs. You've had everyone worried. Here, take this. (Gives her the candle and dries her tears with a handkerchief) There, now. There's nothing to cry about. Everyone thought you had run out in the rain; but I was listening when you turned those dark sounds, and I thought you might come down to fill this darkness. But what darkness there must be inside of you to play so sadly such melodic haze. When I heard you play, I was amazed

that one so sweet should play darkness and mist. It must be that sweetness and shadow long ago conspired to grow as one in your mother's womb, entwining in your unborn soul. All this is told in your every glance, and I cannot think, but to think that I do love you. You're trembling. Are you cold? Are you frightened? No? I can't tell what you think or feel; I can only imagine your feelings, for love disguises my every vision of you, and I see your face as if through a silken screen. But no, no more romantic ravings. I've chosen a path of plainness. After the shadow falls, the silken screen wet with mold, the piano warped with worms, and all of our sweet bodies stripped of their strange garments of flesh, then all will be seen as it is, a neutral chaos inhabited by the simplicity of the skeleton, devoid of flesh and all of its philosophies, devoid of all mystery. (Enter Mister Black with a candle in the dark. In this and in every scene he wears a robe, and his eyes are hidden behind circular sunglasses.) Who's there? Is that you. Doctor Black? Doctor, is that you? (Exit Mister Black) He's gone; he's gone. Was it man or more than man we saw, of human kind, or some strutting transparency, some rarefied fiend whose calking step marks unholy ground and its own turbulent grave? But no more of this. I'll no longer be the fool of speculation, seduced by darkness to a blur of fantastic thought. Better, let's get out of here and up to the light.

Are you all right? Can you rise? Good. Watch your step, here; there's something on the ground. It's a pile of filthy rags. What? This looks like a gentleman's cloak, torn to bits, and this, this a shredded blouse, and this a scarf - ! Why, these are my own clothes, my beautiful new suit, ripped to shreds and sopped in the muck, by that maniac! Look, they're completely ruined! But perhaps in his madness he did me a favor, destroying these old emblems of the fop I used to be. Well, what's done is done. Come, let's go upstairs now. I'll hold you near me and help you out to the light. There we may find out what has occurred, and all that everyone has seen and heard. (Exit Jonathan and Esmeralda)

II. iv. (In the storm. Enter Doctor, Ned & Jack) Doct. (Raising his voice over the storm). As demon copulated with demon, and bore the dark novelties and manic legions of black night, so the gods in the rudimentary paunch of the skull mate our derelict fancies to fear this stupid theatre of misty darkness and goon at the roaring sky, our mouths gaping, like idiots eating flies. Rather, we are simply standing in a vortex of swirling atomic parts, hearing the simple collision of those mute particles, while we search for a lost girl who, at worst, is demented, and at best, is a frenzied simpleton. Ned. Why, Doctor, no one fears this soup in itself; rather, one tiptoes through mist and haze lest one's footing slips to a pit, or a den of snakes. Jack. Are there snakes about? Ned. And as to this atomic applause, why, it's music to my ears; and though mine is a small part, I bow in humility, remembering former times, when heaven was more critical, and sitting on its hands. But look, there's a figure in the vapor, coming closer. (Enter John and Jane Black)

John. Hello, Doctor, has the girl been found? Doct. Doubtless she's been found, by the mist, or by a ditch. Either way, we haven't seen her, nor do we expect to. Jane. The poor girl. She'd cry for help if she could. Perhaps when we find her and comfort her, she'll come to play a happier tune. Doct. You're wrong as the day on our backs, Madam. The girl is oblivious when she plays, attuned to a mysterious key, a private and impenetrable zone; her silence attests to it. Jane. The girl is no more mysterious than any of us, Doctor. To know her and to love her would dispel any mystery. John. Well, that's the case with anything that seems mysterious: there is the mysterious and the ordinary only by convention; so by convention there is hot and cold, by convention diverse color. Doct. Well, the reality of convention is simply that there are only atoms -- and the void. (Enter Mister Black with a lantern) Ned. Look!

Doct. Who's there? Who is it? What do you want? Speak, if you have a tongue! Ned. He's off! Doct. Speak, I say! Have you no ears? Have you no brains? (Exit Mister Black) Illusion! Idiot fabrication! Did you all see him? Jane. I saw a man. Ned. But such a man I've never seen. Jack. He wore glasses. Ned. No! His eyes were as pits, and wet. Jack. I say he wore glasses. Doct. Silence! John. I think perhaps we have just seen our Mister Black. Doct.

You think that was our host? John. Perhaps. It is an explanation. And if that was our Mister Black, well then, which is more likely: that he's mute and shy of our company, or rather, that he's a lunatic? Doct. You think him mad? John. The servant is mad, perhaps the master as well. And if it is true that our host is a lunatic, I suggest we find the girl at once, gather together our belongings, and depart immediately. But for now, let's separate in order to search more effectively. Jane. Wait one moment, please. So far, we have only a phantom host, on whom we're heaping all sorts of characteristics which may have nothing to do with anything real. One thing we do know: he's invited us all to dinner. I think it would be better if we stayed; that way, if he is mad we may leave; if he's not, we may find out what he wants and what he means by inviting us here. Doct. Well said; although I begin to feel that this is all something of a bad joke. (And if that was our host, then all of my theories of inheritance come to nothing.) John. In any case, we agree to stay for dinner.

That's settled. Now we must find the girl. Perhaps the best course is to search separately, each of us his own way. Doct. Very well. I'll this way, you that. Ned. Adieu, adieu. The fog sucks me up. (Exit all separately, except Jack) Jack (Pompously). No, no, this isn't right. This is not the way to conduct a search. We are looking for the girl and the girl is looking for us. Therefore, we have two bodies: Body A, that's us, in search of Body B, that's the girl. Now, if Body B remains still, and if Body A searches everywhere, sooner or later Body A that's us, remains still, and if Body B searches everywhere, then sooner or later Body B will find Body A. A fact. Now, since Body B, the girl, is lost, we must assume that Body B doesn't know enough about searching to remain still, and that Body B is now searching for Body A. Therefore, since we can only control the actions of Body A, since we are Body A, we must remain still and allow Body B to find us, Body A. So what we should do is find a good place to remain still: say, back inside the house, by the fire, and wait for supper. This way, Body B must find Body A eventually, if Body A only sits by the fire, and waits for supper. I'll do so, while these fools weed through the bogs, and that is that. (Enter Ned)

Ned. Halloo, Jack! Is that you, my sap! Jack. Here I am. Ned. Well, Jack, have you seen hide or hair of the girl yet? Jack. I've seen her hide, but not her hair. Ned. A bald lie. Once the hide is seen, the hair soon follows. Jack. I do not lie. I mean to say her hair is hidden. Ned. Then you lie in her hidden hair. Shame, shame, Jack! I thought you a valiant and noble leader. In this connection, tell me, what became of your plan, Jack? What happened to your revolt? Jack. Are we alone? Ned. Together we are alone by this cover of mist. Now, what's happened to your plan? Jack. Why-- nothing. Ned. Nothing! Excellent, Jack. You were to scream

revolution and president our escape; now you whisper "Nothing!" and loll in the mist. What does this mean, Jack? What has happened? Jack. Why, nothing, Ned, nothing has happened as yet. You must give these things time. Ned. Impossible! as time can only be taken away! O Time, thou who art self-begottenâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; Jolene (Within). Mother! Father! Jack. It's the mute girl! Ned. Rest your brains, my swami. (Pats Jack's head) It's the sweet scab. (Enter Jolene) Jolene. Father, is that you? Ned. Hello, my dear. It is Ned, and Jack. Have they found the girl? Jolene. Jonathan found her down in the cellar. Jack. I knew it! Body B found Body A because Body Aâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; Ned. And you've come out like a good girl

to fetch the search party? Jolene. Yes. Have you seen my Mother and Father about the grounds? Ned. Why, it was only a moment ago I gave them my last adieu. Jack. Adieu means goodbye in French. Ned. But as they are lost in the mist, Jack and I are at your service. We will sound them out through the fog Jack, we will go this way, you that. Adieu, adieu, my sap! The fog sucks us up! (Ned and Jolene walk to stand apart from Jack) (Watch me, and don't say a word. He's ripe for some sport.) Jack (To himself). O, another search, and again, another waste of time. They won't find them that way, no: I'll leave, I'll depart, I'll go back to the house and wait by the fire. That way Body A will-- ; wait a minute, someone's coming. Who is it? Ned? Ned, is that you? Ned (Assuming a voice). I am Mister Black. Jack. Mister Black! Is that you?

I can't see through the mist. Ned. I am Mister Black, and I live inside my bones. Who are you? Jack. I am Jack, Doctor Black's assistant. Ned. I am Mister Black. Jack. I'm pleased to meet your acquaintance. Ned. What do you want? Jack. Me? Why, nothing, sir. I was only looking for the others. Ned. The others? Jack. Yes, sir. The other guests. Ned. Murderers! Murderers! Jack. Murderers? What do you mean? Ned. One of them murdered my Mother. My poor, sweet Mother, who wouldn't hurt a fly. It was market day at the fair, and she â&#x20AC;&#x201C; she

Jack. What happened? Ned. It was market day at the fair, and--and--she slipped! Jack. She slipped? Ned. On a banana peel. I was but a lad, but I caught a glimpse of the fiend who had eaten the banana, and who had thrown the banana peel into my Mother's path. Jolene (To Ned). (This is cruel!) Ned. (Shh!) Jack. (Banana peel? Something here is not quite right.) Ned. I saw the killer for but an instant as he fled, but along the despicable length of his arm was a fabulous array of wristwatches which, as I reflect, screamed the brilliant sun at my eye. But there is more: clogging the seams of the killer's coat was a border vignette of pocket time-pieces, fixed like the notes of the scale, swaying on golden stems, to the tune of the physical laws. This, then, was the only clue: my killer was obsessed with time!

Jack. (His voice is so strange and quavering: I think he's sick.) Ned. I pursued my Mother's killer in revenge. I narrowed the search to these my guests, whom I invited here as suspects. One of these men and women is my killer, whom I will destroy. Jack. (I think he's completely crazy, and that's not good.) Ned. Tonight at dinner we shall sup with the fiend hidden among us, and we shall discover his identity by the mark of his obsession: by his pocket-watches, by his precise punctuality, by his inquiries after the time, by his swift and timely chatter. All of this I shall mark well. And when I have uncovered the fiend, I shall shoot him with this pistol through the head, there at the table, and watch him bleed like a sack of black bile! (To Jolene) (That should hold him nicely. Let's depart.) (To Jack) I bid you adieu, until to-night, to-night! Jolene. (You should be ashamed of yourself!) Ned. (Shh! He deserves all he gets.) (Exit Ned and Jolene)

Jack. Wait, Mister Black! One moment! He's gone, with his pistol. Why, he's a madman, a madman with a pistol, and he means to use it tonight, on the one he thinks killed his mother, with the banana peel. The others are fools led into a trap! I must warn them! They don't know what not to say, what not to do! one false move means a bullet in the head! I must go back to the house! back to the hearth! back to the fire! back to find Ned, to help me warn the others! Through the mist, I'm off, I'm off! (Exit Jack)

ACT III. 1. (Bedroom, with chessboard, as before. Knocking at door. Enter Dwarfo) Dwarfo. Swinelings? Are there no swinelings about? Have you deserted your sweet swineherd? And my pockets stuffed with luscious slugs! Ah, but there you are, my little sucklings, my bantling brats in miniature! (Approaches chessboard) So, you have shrunk to match your brains! So, the midget match begins! The horse mounts the whore, while the knave castles her from the rear! The king of homunculus hogs takes a piece and check-mates his pygmy slut, and at night, too, while the puny pawns dance in the street! Come, my stinking marionettes! It is the puppet master come home! Let us stumble the light mediocre! de, de, de! (Takes up the board and dances about the room. Enter John) John. What are you doing? Dwarfo. My dance attracts a dunce! Ten cents a dunce, or the whore for a half-penny! (Takes handkerchief from John's coat & drapes over his arm as a waiter) Or would you prefer an hors d'oeuvre?

(Offers board as a tray) Vanilla or chocolate? John. What do you want? Dwarfo. Won't you try a tasty whore? I eat â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;em raw like crackers. John. My wife will be returning in a moment. I'd appreciate it if you would leave. Dwarfo. But I have a message. John. What is it? Dwarfo. To dine on delectable dainties, to masticate, to gormandize, to feed, consume, and otherwise eat a succulent myriad of luscious biscuits. John. Biscuits? Dwarfo. Are you a cannibal? John. No. Dwarfo (Wildly). Then biscuits will do nicely, you dogfaced boy! You bald bastardo of a two-bearded whore! You miscreant toad! You unwiped rump!

You suckage from a diseased bitch's teat! I work my stumps to the bone and you question the succulence of my stinking biscuits? (Dwarfo beats John with chessboard, scattering pieces) Wax from a dog's ear! Drinker of standing pools! Drooling, deformed, demented, degenerate disease! (John secures the chessboard & throws Dwarfo out of the room. He picks up a chess piece and the handkerchief, replaces the blank board on the table, and sits as before. Enter Jane.) Jane. I was just accosted in the hall by that madman. What's happened in here? The pieces are all over the floor. (She picks up a chess piece) John. Nothing. The maniac upset the board. He wants us to dine tonight, on biscuits. Where's Jolene? Jane. In her room with Esmeralda. Ned and Jonathan are amusing them with wild stories of their adventures. Every claim Jonathan makes Ned squashes with some outrageous lie. They're all holding their stomachs from bursting with laughter. John (Noticing the chess piece in her hand). What piece is that? Jane. The king.

(She places king on board) What piece have you? John. The queen. (He places queen on board) Do you concede? Jane. Certainly not. I have the king. Do you concede? John. No. The game itself concedes. We may as well draw the flag of surrender before the battle begins anew. Here, I draw the curtain; the farce is played out. (Drapes his handkerchief over king & queen) Jane. Old staunchers. I rather envy them, those two. Their powers are fixed. They know that neither can ever win over the other. Therefore they need never hope. Therefore they need never be disappointed. John. Stalemate. Jane. Therefore they need never win. John. Therefore, like a magic trick, in a quick succession of years,

they simply...disappear. (Lifts handkerchief and, by a device, the pieces have disappeared) Are you going to go on about the futility of life now? That's your general program. Jane. That's your specialty as well. I rather like the trick, though. How's it done? (John has fashioned a rabbit hand-puppet from his handkerchief. Dwarfo enters at a distance) John. Only my little friend knows, and he doesn't like you. Jane. If he's a friend of yours, he's no judge of character, and I don't care whom he likes. John. He doesn't like you. (He makes puppet attack Jane) Jane. Stop it, you're always abusing me, it's so stupid, stop it, John! John. It's not me. (To puppet) Stop that. Leave her alone. (He makes the puppet chase her around the room)

Jane. Stop it, you blooming idiot, stop it, stop! Throw away that stupid rabbit! (Teasing and fighting, they fall on the bed. Dwarfo watches them through a telescope. They stop fighting and stare at each other.) John. Shall we take a little nap, before the dinner bell? Jane. We may as well draw the flag of surrender, before the battle begins anew. (She draws the sheet up over them. John puts out the light. Dwarfo comes forward to address the audience) (Music in.) Dwarfo. (Sings:) If love be grand illusion, sweet distraction, Then lovers cannot know the simplest truth: The fairest flesh is formed from putrefaction, And truest love a grunt of groveling youth. Yet beauty still is beauty to the senses, And love, though randomly conceived, still is true, For beauty every frailty recompenses, And love disguises chance from lovers, view. Therefore he and she basely strive to prove That love was destined for each other's arms, Whereas in truth another simple love Could easily replace each other's charms. For banal chance dictates whom they embrace, While maudlin time exchanges face for face. (Exit Dwarfo)

III. ii. (Doctor's room, as before. Doctor and Ned over fantastical chemicals and smoke) Doct. This is the flesh of my profession; this is my harp, this smoke my breath, these flasks my very guts: as I am a chemical machinery, so are my works. (Enter Jack in a nervous flurry, upsetting some of the equipment) Be careful, you idiot! Where have you been? Never mind! I should have warned you; this is my last attempt! The clamp, Ned, the clamp! This stew has been sulking long enough; it requires transmission, and mixture. Ready with the valve, Jack! Have you the gold, Ned? Ned. Here, Doctor. Doct. Very well! Watch for the acid, and broken glass! This is the end to attempts, the attempt to end! When I drop the gold, immediately spin the valve! Ready: turn the glass! stand back! now! (He drops the gold into the mixture) Look out! look out! (Bursts of fire and smoke. As the flames subside, the Doctor is raving in his excitement)

In the char! The work is lost in the char! Don't just stand there! Weed through this waste! If a fragment of lead is left in the ashes, then teach the angels how to dance: I've undone the knot of nature! This scream of smoke and haze conceals a palpable occurrence! I feel it in my bones! To have discovered the secret mating of molecules, I am the master of atomic whores! Have you found it? There! What is it? What have you found? Ned (Surprised & disappointed). Only gold, Doctor. Only gold. Jack (Finding a piece). And here, look: gold. Doct. No! There must be some lead here somewhere! There must be! Here's a piece! Look, I've found apiece! Ned. Is it lead? Doct. (After a pause, quietly). The gods must be shaking with laughter. Jack. What is it? Doct. Our experiments have been heaving the sweet vomit of nothingness, and like dogs, we must lap it up. Here is my gold, unchanged, intact. We torture inanimate metal, and call ourselves more than apes. This was to be my last attempt, gentlemen. But I suppose I'll go on again, even after all of these irresolute failures. But later; perhaps tomorrow.

Once again, my boys, the mystery remains intact, and nothing has happened. Ned. Don't despair, Doctor. You still have the gold. Doct. That will pay for my coffin. Jack. And you still have me, Doctor. Doct. (Enraged). You! Get away from me! It's you who's jinxed me from the very start! Ever since I took you on I've been plagued with bad luck! I have you to blame for all this! I'll transmute you, you whining dog, you pile of slush! Come here, ignoramus, you brainless parrot! you can't escape me! (He begins to chase Jack around the table. Enter Dwarfo) Dwarfo. A race, a race! Doct. Another moronic clump! I must catch my breath. Ned, are there no asylums? Dwarfo. A race for leprous time. (Dwarfo takes up an hourglass from the table, breaks it in two, and pours the sand into his hand) And here is your task-master.

(Blows the sand out of his hand) Mute dust. Doct. (Wearily). Ned, you deal with these cretins. I'll bury myself in sleep. To escape these shadows, I must step into the shade. Clean the premises and draw the curtain; the farce is played out. (Exit Doctor) (Ned puts his arms around both Jack and Dwarfoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shoulders). Ned. Gentlemen! I love you both exceedingly well. (To Dwarfo) You, because you are sick and deformed. (To Jack) You, because you are ignorant and child-like. And in the end, do you know what will become of you both? Dwarfo. Nothing. Jack. Nothing. Ned. Gentlemen, you will conquer the world! All will swim stupid and mad! And in the end, when the great trumpet of the anus curves its note around the earth, your brains will sing through the stench, and celebrate the curse of a turning sphere. Jack. You've made a good speech. But I'm not stupid.

Dwarfo. And I am not mad. My pigs, let me prove I am sane. First, you magpies must grant me that a child is not mad. Ned. Very well, sap! A child is not mad. Dwarfo. And that a child, like a good boy, plays at marbles and cards by regulation. (Displays a bag of marbles and a deck of cards) Ned. Certainly, worm-face. Dwarfo. Then a child is not mad, and plays at marbles and cards by regulation. I, on the other hand, my stinking turd-mongers, have lost my marbles, and do not play with a full deck! (Scatters the marbles and cards wildly) Therefore I am mad. (Bows) Jack. But you said you were sane. Dwarfo. Of course, pus-brain: only a sane man can prove through geometric logic that he is mad! Furthermore, I carry a sweet message, and a messenger is not mad. Ned.

What message? Dwarfo. To present your fetid selves in a future repast; namely, supper, or dinner, that is to say, food, for your shimmering brains. Ned. At what time are we to dine, sir? Dwarfo. (To Jack). Did he say "die", or "dine"? Jack (Fearfully). He said "dine", "dine"! Dwarfo. Presently. But for now, my pigs, I go. For as I am a saucy messenger, so am I a chitty chef. I must mix paper in the pie, and ordure in the hors d'oeuvres. (Exit Dwarfo) Ned. Now tell me, Jack, why have you been clinging to my clothing, your mouth gaping, and your lips orbiting your tongue? Why do you cringe like a simpleton? Jack. It's Mister Black, he's mad, he means to shoot us, because of the banana, through the head, at supper-time, and the maniac, now he wants to poison us, like his master! Ned. Wait a moment. How do you know this?

Jack. Mister Black! he spoke to me, in the mist, outside, in the last hour, when you left with the girl! Ned. How do you know it was Mister Black, if it was in the mist, as you say? Jack. Why, he told me so! Ned. And you believed him? Jack. I tell you there is no mistake! I spoke with Mister Black, and he means to kill us, and you must help me to warn the others! We must tell everyone not to be prompt at the dinner table, and not to wear a pocket-watch, and not to ask what time it is! Ned (As a trick). What are those spots on your cheek? Jack. Spots? What spots? Ned. And your face is so pale! Have you been feeling well? Jack. Am I pale? Ned. Sickly pale. Don't you feel tired, Jack? You look ill.

Jack. Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit poopy. Ned. A strange phrase. But why don't you lie down before supper, and I'll tell the others myself that you spoke to Mister Black, and that they should beware. Go and lie down. It's best to sleep when the body's sick. Jack. Yes, I suppose you're right. But Ned, you must go and warn the others, at once. Ned. Immediately. (Ned lights two candles from a lantern, blows out the lantern, and gives one of the candles to Jack) Here. Now go to bed, and I'll see you at supper. Jack. All right. Good night. (Exit Jack with candle. Coming forward with his candle in the dark, Ned addresses the audience) Ned (Sings). O the wick is short, the 'flame is dim, the wax a shapeless medium; The cave is dark, the eyes are weak, the world a stuff of tedium. And so I sing, with a ding dong ding, this fun is strangely done.

O the spirit's sick, the body's worse, and it raineth every day. The brain's a sot, and thoughts are clots where drunken blood doth play. And so I sing, with a ding dong ding, this song is simply sung. O the earth is drab, the sky's a bore, and life away is stealing; And scattered are the tattered cards that Death is swiftly dealing. And so I sing, with a ding dong ding, this game is soon begun. (Exit Ned with candle)

III. iii (Dark dining room in mister Black's house. A long table with nine chairs.) (Music in.) (Dwarfo sings as he lights the candles from the lantern) Dwarfo. (Sings:) O my mother she's in Mexico, My father he's in France, My candle's in my handle and my dandle's in my pants. I'll eat my slop and smack my lips And finish amid the farce, And soon I'll croon a luscious tune and I'll croon it with me arse. O they say there's gods atop of the world And demons down below But the girls in France don't wear no pants and that's all I need to know. (Music out) After the din, the wicked dimwit dims the wick. Out, out, brief candle! (Blows out lantern) Thus I am emperor of the evening of the empire, and my luxsome kings crowned with dim delight. (Addresses the row of lit candles) Out, out, brief kingdoms: I sing your dirges. (He belches) And now to consolidate my flaming forces, bare my birthday sword, and, with an auger's lightning, too swift for trepidation, charge,

to fetch my steaming meat-pies! Come, my shimmering liegemen! We must save my curdling mulch from mooning cats! Come hither! (He charges, stops, looks back in anger at the candles) Spindly cowards, you do not advance? Come hither! (He charges, stops) Quislings! You do not advance? The enemy is soon at hand! Cretinous candelabra! Carroty coxcombs! Waxing cowards! (Wearing another absurd outfit, Jonathan enters, accompanying Esmeralda) Courage! The enemy approaches! The battle begins! Stay your stinking feet, you raw syphilitic scab! Jonath. (To Esmeralda). Pay him no mind; he's out of his wits. Come, let's go. Dwarfo. And stay your mute side-car, and her sewage of flesh! Jonath. We'll none of this. Now if you'll excuse usâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; Dwarfo (Brandishing candle as sword). Stay, soda-water! Stay, bread-box! Forward your sluttish assistant to scabbard my sluicing sword! Stay, stay I say' forward her fleshy wound! Wait! I see your pustuled sword is in its sheath: you come in peace! Forgive me, my pimply friend. Come, dog-face, I will leave you in peace; and I will come to leave her in pus.

The other leprous guests will presently make dramatic entrances. As for myself, I'm off to the sewer, to drink succulent juices, and to fetch my steaming, stinking meat-pies. I bid you-- adieu! (Exit Dwarfo with a flourish) Jonath. (To Esmeralda; Ridiculously romantic). We'd best sit, though it is before the dinner bell. You may tell me tales with your glances, for tales of perfect vision are borne from the eyes, as tales of perfect kindness are borne from the heart. Speak your silent speech, as the butterfly speaks to the flower: whisper sweet nothingness in my ear. (Esmeralda rolls her eyes; Enter the Doctor, Ned, John, Jane &Jolene) Doct. (Gaily). So, we are all gathered together for the nonce! Shall we not dance to banish this exterior idioplasm? Shall we not sing for our supper? I grow progressively lightheaded at this dizzy encounter, at this preternatural motif; for here we are like chessmen off the board, and this house the box in which we lie scattered and tumbling about. But forgive me, I am in a state, it is an ambivalent fit: jocularity tinged with the disappointment of my experiments. But enough! I am in need of food! of whippings and toppings and rounding plates piled vertically with meats and greens: this will soothe my distraction. John. Your experiment has failed? Doct.

No, no, I would rather that than what is: they are inconclusive, always inconclusive. This way, you see, my little god has me where he wants me, a fool ever nipping at his heels. Jane. What god is that? Doct. Gold. And like the quacking theologians, I have minced and contrived and manipulated, shuffling my house of cards, building on a spinning vortex wherein the fixed center is none other than my god of gold. But my every structure is whipped from the wheel and shattered to pieces, leaving my god untouched and unfathomed. And so, like the preening theologians, I am left with nothing but inconclusiveness. Jolene. At least you can still have hope, Doctor. Doct. (With mock theatricality). My dear, I would rather distinct failure than this unrelenting irresolution. John (In good humor). Well, that's all one. Doctor, we have yet a mystery to solve, and one likely to be resolved, for we are soon to meet with our queer host, and then answers will be dealt out like biscuits. So, in this connection, shall we not sit down? (They all sit down at the table) Jane. I would like some biscuits, the non-metaphoric kind.

Ned. Yes, I'm hungry too: it's been a dissonant day. Doct. That piping toad, that roving electron came to our chamber with a thousand absurdities, and announced the dinner bell. Have you seen that wedge-shaped lendling, Jonathan? Jonath. He accosted Esmeralda and I with a thousand obscenities, but in the midst of it all, I think he promised to return with supper. John. Well then, let's be seated, and begin what I hope will be a shimmering conclusion. Doct. Ned, where is our boy pistachio, our red-shelled Jack? Ned. I fancy he's dancing. Doct. Dancing? Ned. The sweet simpleton sleeps and swirls in a musical dream, dancing in a fancy dancing fantasy. The fact is, he fancied himself ill, I sent him to bed, set his clock to rouse him at any moment, and he will be down in a jiffy. Jane. Oh let the poor boy sleep. Doctor,

you should reward your wards; you've been too mean with your glittering assistants. They've helped sparkle-up our stay. Ned. Aye, and poor Jack is a strangely glinting prism. There's more to come, I warrant you. Doct. Enough of that idiot and his napping. Asleep or awake, we are all on a treadmill to oblivion. John. There is red wine here; shall we not celebrate what appears to be our concluding scene? Jonath. Then we shall have a drunken scene. (Pours the wine) Jane. Someone propose a toast. Doct. A toast: to oblivion. John. To oblivion. Cheers! All. Cheers! Doct. Well, why don't we have a song? My voice is well oiled! Ned.

Then let's slip through "The Merry Month of May". John. We know that old chestnut; let's each of us take a part. Ned (To Jane). Then you take the woman's part and we'll snatch the notes around you. Doct. Very well! Let's take up our glasses and arrange ourselves for the tune. Jonathan, can you sing without lisping? Jonath. I've been told I have a lovely voice. (They laugh as the Doctor, Ned, Jonathan, John and Jane come forward to sing to the audience) Ned. Give us the note, Doctor. (The Doctor gives them a note, they hum a chord, and sing. Music in:) (Husband:) I'll sing till I'm dead In the merry month of May In the merry, merry, merry merry, merry month of May I'll sing till I'm dead In the merry month of May. And how my wife Will love that day In the merry, merry (etc.) When I sing till I'm dead In the merry month of May.

(Wife:) When you're dead I will dance Upon your grave every day In the merry, merry (etc.) And I'll cast your Wedding ring away In the merry, merry (etc.) When you're dead I will dance on your grave every day. (Husband:) Then truly I'll be Buried at sea In the merry, merry (etc.) Then my wife & my life Both buried will be In the merry, merry (etc.) (All:) When I sing till I'm dead In the merry month of May. (Enter Dwarfo, pushing a cart full of pies) Dwarfo. Silence, silence in the courtroom! All will rise before my pies! Is this not cause for? Then why do you not? My pies rise to the occasion, and yet you do not rise for my pies? John. Will Mister Black be joining us for dinner? Dwarfo. He will join you, and I will rip you apart. My drooling masters, shall I entertain as I serve? Doct. No. Just serve, then leave, depart, go hence.

Ned. I for one am game for more entertainment, and he is a very droll lunatic. John. Yes, what entertainment have you for us? Dwarfo. A riddle. Doct. Very well, very well, proceed. But serve us first, for I'm sure this will end chaotically. Dwarfo. I shall do both. Allow me to serve you laterally. (Serves as he speaks) The riddle is, to wit, this: (Music in.) (Sings:) What do demons love that gods require; The poor possess, yet the rich desire; What lies obdurate hidden in the heart, And yet extends to hold the stars apart; From what comes man from which he cannot come, And starts and stops the moon and stars and sun; That which misers discard and paupers save, And each man brings unto his grave? (Music out) Doct. That seems simple enough: the answer is Death. Jane. No, Death is not hidden in the heart,

and doesn't hold apart the stars. Jonath. Is it Life? Ned. No, demons do not love Life. Jane. Is it Time? Ned. No, demons do not love Time. John. Nor is Time hidden in the heart. Doct. Well, what is it, then, what is it? Dwarfo (Gesturing towards Esmeralda). This mute mistress, this music-box has spluttered the tune. Jonath. Esmeralda knows the answer? Dwarfo. Yes. Doct. Well, what is it? What is the answer? Dwarfo. Nothing. Doct. Nothing?

Dwarfo. Demons love nothing; gods require nothing; the poor possess nothing; the rich desire nothing; nothing lies hidden in the heart; nothing holds apart the stars; misers discard nothing; paupers save nothing; and each man takes unto his grave -- nothing. (Enter Mister Black in his robe and circular sunglasses. Oblivious to or ignoring his guests, he sits at the head of the table and begins eating.) (Exit Dwarfo with the empty cart.) (There is a long silence as they all look at Mister Black and at each other in confusion.) John (Standing up to address his host). Mister Black. (No answer) Mister Black? (No answer) Doct. (Loudly). I say, Mister Black! Ned. Perhaps he's deaf. Doct. Well, he could look at us, couldn't he? Jolene. Maybe he's shy. Doct. This is most inexplicable behavior! He could at least nod to us politely and acknowledge our presence. We're due some courtesy as his guests.

Jane. Perhaps he's blind as well. Ned. He made his way to the chair. Jane. Perhaps, through the years, he has learned his way and can see by the light of his memory. Jonath. If he is deaf and blind, then surely he must be dumb as well. Deaf, dumb and blind; that is why we thought him mad. Doct. No, no, he appeared in the fog with a lantern! A blind man needs no light! He's mad, I tell you! What else explains his bringing us here? Jonath. Perhaps it was his servant who invited us here, without the knowledge of his master, who perhaps is indeed deaf and blind. Doct. You mean we may be here on the caprice of that roving mustard, that bicarbonate of soda? Ned. I begin to believe it. Jane. "It is manifest that you attend": it seems the program of a madman. Ned.

And that little pin-head is surely one. John. Wait. We're making too many assumptions at once. It is unlikely that Mister Black is blind, in the light of his appearance with the lamp. Secondly, it is obvious that the dwarf is mad, but this is not to say that Mister Black is mad (but rather of a peculiar bent); it could be that his invitations lean toward some eccentric end yet to be revealed. Doct. Well, if Mister Black is mad, or eccentric, or blind, or in some peculiar imposture, the only solution is to wait out the evening. Our carriages are not due for a time at any rate, and it seems likely that the answers to our questions will come to light here, in this room, tonight, for this is the conclusion of our stay. If Mister Black will not or cannot be induced to listen, then we must simply wait until he chooses to reveal his purposes. John. You propose, then, that we let things run their due course. Doct. That is correct. Are we all in agreement? All. Yes. (Enter Jack, in a swoon. He suddenly sees Mister Black and is palsied with fear) Doct. So, Jack, you prefer our night-delirium

over yours! Come and meet our queer host. It's time we all dined. Ned (To Jolene). (Now we'll have some fun. These pies will do better than eating.) Doct. (To Jack). Why are you all aquiver? Had you a stupefying nightmare that makes you so blubbery? Take your seat and eat. What's dreamt is done: you are now the guest of reality. Ned (Slyly). Jack, what kept you so long? Is your clock keeping right time? Doct. (To Jack) What are you trembling for? Clock or no clock, you are ever late. One should keep a proper accounting of time as one values one's life. There is no more valuable commodity than time. What are you gaping at? Jack. Sir! You must stop! You must keep quiet! Doct. What? You stripling! Have you lost your mind? Ned. Doctor, perhaps if Jack had a beautiful pocket watch like yours, he would better accommodate the time. Doct. (About to take out his watch). Yes, my godfather's timepiece

has served me well, and â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Jack (Desperately). Stay, Doctor, if you value your life, and all of our lives, don't say another word! Doct. What? What? Jack. If you love life, do not take out your watch! Do not say the word-- (Whispers) --"time"! Doct. (Incredulously) Is it possible that you threaten me? Have you gone completely mad? I will take out my watch as I please, do you see? And I will not say the word "time", rather, I will shout it up to the sleeping gods! O Time immortal! Ned (Handing Jack a pie). (You must silence him, Jack!) Doct. O Time our endless master! O Timeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; (Jack hits the Doctor in the face with the pie. A shocked silence as everyone watches the Doctor) Doct (To Jack, wide-eyed). You attack me? Jack. But-but-it was just a pie! Doct. Do you know I will kill you, boy?

(The Doctor madly grabs a pie and throws it at jack; Jack ducks; the pie hits Jane. John laughs; Jane hits John with a pie. John throws a pie at Jane; Jane ducks; the pie hits Jonathan. Ned laughs; Jonathan hits Ned with a pie.) (Piefight ensues. Only Mister Black remains unscathed.) (All finally sit back and laugh uproariously. Suddenly through the windows we see lights and hear the sounds of carriages stopping outside.) (Enter Dwarfo) Dwarfo. Your carriages have come. It is time to leave, depart, go hence! Jonath. No, not now, this could not be the end. Dwarfo. The end, the endless end, my wailing boy, when we sail away into the sunset, when all good people of flesh must cartwheel through the muck and mire. But beware of all ways home, for the moon is furious tonight, and clothed in rings of fire. Get up, you masks of meat, and leave! depart! go hence! I say no more word! (Dwarfo's arm extends, pointing to the door. During this speech, Esmeralda has quietly come up behind him. She taps him on the shoulder, and when he turns she hits him with a pie.) (With his arm still outstretched, Dwarfo exits.) Doct. (Laughing). Oh, congratulations, my dear silent sprite! You have fulfilled all our dreams.

John. Well done, well done! Ned. The way she decked the little noodle! Jane. Look at us all! What a ridiculous dinner! Jonath. (Looking out window). You know, it's true. Our carriages have come. Jack. Doctor, I want to go home. Doct. Silence! I propose a final toast: to this brief, ridiculous, meaningless visit, and to our inexplicable host, whomever he may be. Good night to you, Mister Black, and to all, a good night. Cheers! All. Cheers! (All toast and drink.) John. Somehow, I do not want to leave this mystery. For here, everything sparkles and gleams, and against it, reality contrasts badly. There are times when all the teachings of the world seem the illusion of wizards, the highest conceptions but a glistening broach in a dream, and all the religions and gods simply flowers blooming from one's eyes. So it seems now, as we conclude this parting scene: nothing is known, and nothing occurs. This has been a night's entertainment,

and nothing more. And as for myself, and my wife, and my child, we're off. Jane. Jonathan, Esmeralda, you're both welcome to come with us, if you wish. Jonath. Thank you. We'll leave presently. There's nothing here. John (To Jane). Shall we get our things? Jane. Yes. Well, goodnight, everyone. John. Good night. All. Good night! Jolene. Goodbye, Ned! (Exit John, Jane & Jolene) Doct. (Standing up, perhaps lighting a cigar). And now that the time has come for concluding remarks (although a third of my audience has walked out), I would like to raise my thanks again to our thankless host, the king of silent meditation, silence incarnate. For if Silence be the necessary soul of Sound, and Sound the necessary soul of Harmony, and Harmony the necessary soul of the Universe, then the Universe be thrice-fold engendered by Silence, which is the fecund fundament of all. Thus, Silence is ever profound, and thus

Mister Black seems a profound mystery, though he be but a diddle, a speck, a blip in the absurd expanse of the universe in which we are all concealed and revealed. Thus, Mister Black, I respectfully salute you. (Jack, grab the wine.) It has been an experience without meaning, but one does well with a touch of the inexplicable. It keeps reason in reason's own perspective. My friends, good night, best wishes to you both. Come along, men, we must pack our gear and wend our way home through the night prospect. Ned, tell the driver we'll be down presently. (Exit the Doctor and Jack. Ned experimentally waves his hand in front of Mister Black's oblivious face, shrugs, and exits) Jonath. (To Esmeralda). My love, I've found nothing here but you. In another place, we'll speak of this again. There's nothing more to say. Let's go. (Exit Jonathan & Esmeralda. After finishing his meal, Mister Black rises. He goes to each candle in the room, extinguishing all but the last, which he takes to front center stage) (Music in.) Mister Black. (Sings). When all men's work seems all undone with a hey ho & a diddle diddle dum There's nought to soothe the mind but rum with a hey ho diddle dum dee But all creation's off and on Silence and sound, sunset and dawn All men and stars pirouette and prance A light and dark ridiculous dance We are all drawn to earth's domain

with a hey ho & a diddle diddle dum To right our wrongs again & again with a hey ho diddle dum dee We cannot see the forest through the trees The cosmos through the stars The ocean through the seas We are in god like cells in the toes We live within the root of the rose When all god's work seems all undone with a hey ho & a diddle diddle dum It's but the cusp of what's begun with a hey ho diddle dum dee For creation's all below & above No & yes, hate & love A grand illusion sent from the soul To entertain us and make us whole And now we're off unto our bed with a hey ho & a diddle diddle dum To mock at death by feigning dead with a hey ho diddle dum dee We cannot see the forest through the trees The cosmos through the stars The ocean through the seas A grand illusion sent from the soul To entertain us and make us whole. (Blows out the candle and exits in darkness) (Curtain, and the play is over.)