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Authors: David Henry Hwang

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GRACE: But it’s always easy just to dump whatever happens to be in your hands at the moment.

(She sticks the tape blob on Steve’s face.)

STEVE: I suggest you answer my question at once!

GRACE: And I suggest you grab a menu and start doing things for yourself. Look, I’ll get you one, even. How’s that?

STEVE: I want it from your mouth!

GRACE: Sorry. We don’t keep ’em there.

STEVE: If I say they are there, they are there.
(He grabs her box)

GRACE: What—what’re you doing? Give that back to me!

(They parry around the table.)

STEVE: Aaaah! Now it’s different, isn’t it? Now you’re listening to me.

GRACE: ’Scuse me, but you really are an asshole, you know that? Who do you think you are?

STEVE: What are you asking me? Who I am?

GRACE: Yes. You take it easy with that, hear?

STEVE: You ask who
I
am?

GRACE: One more second and I’m gonna call the cops.

STEVE: Very well, I will tell you.

(She picks up the phone. He slams it down.)

I said, I’ll tell you.

GRACE: If this is how you go around meeting people, I think it’s pretty screwed.

STEVE: Silence! I am Gwan Gung! God of warriors, writers and prostitutes!

(Pause.)

GRACE: Bullshit!

STEVE: What?

GRACE: Bullshit! Bull-shit! You are not Gwan Gung. And gimme back my box.

STEVE: I am Gwan Gung. Perhaps we should see what you have in here.

GRACE: Don’t open that!
(Beat)
You don’t look like Gwan Gung. Gwan Gung is a warrior.

STEVE: I am a warrior!

GRACE: Yeah? Why are you so scrawny, then? You wouldn’t last a day in battle.

STEVE: My credit! Many a larger man has been humiliated by the strength in one of my size.

GRACE: Tell me, then. Tell me, if you are Gwan Gung. Tell me of your battles. Of one battle. Of Gwan Gung’s favorite battle.

STEVE: Very well. Here is a living memory: one day, Gwan Gung woke up and saw the ring of fire around the sun and decided, “This is a good day to slay villagers.” So he got up, washed himself and looked over a map of the Three Kingdoms to decide where first to go. For those were days of rebellion and falling empires, so opportunity to slay was abundant. But planned slaughter required an order and restraint which soon became tedious. So Gwan Gung decided a change was in order. He called for his tailor, who he asked to make a beautiful blindfold of layered silk, fine enough to be weightless, yet thick enough to blind the wearer completely. The tailor complied, and soon produced a perfect piece of red silk, exactly suited to Gwan Gung’s demands. In gratitude, Gwan Gung stayed the tailor’s execution sentence. He then put on his blindfold, pulled out his sword, and began passing over the land, swiping at whatever got in his path. You see, Gwan Gung figured there was so much revenge and so much evil in those days that he could slay at random and still stand a good chance of fulfilling justice. This worked very well until his sword, in its blind fury, hit upon an old and irritable atom bomb.

(Grace catches Steve, takes back the box.)

GRACE: Ha! Some Gwan Gung you are! Some warrior you are! You can’t even protect a tiny box from the grasp of a woman! How could you have shielded your big head in battle?

STEVE: Shield! Shield! I still go to battle!

GRACE: Only your head goes to battle, ’cause only your head is Gwan Gung.

(Pause.)

STEVE: You made me think of you as a quiet listener. A good trick. What is your name?

GRACE: You can call me “The Woman Who Has Defeated Gwan Gung,” if that’s really who you are.

STEVE: Very well. But that name will change before long.

GRACE: That story you told—that wasn’t a Gwan Gung story.

STEVE: What—you think you know all of my adventures through stories? All the books in the world couldn’t record the life of one man, let alone a god. Now—do you serve
bing
?

GRACE: I won the battle; you go look yourself. There.

STEVE: You working here?

GRACE: Part-time. It’s my father’s place. I’m also in school.

STEVE: School? University?

GRACE: Yeah. UCLA.

STEVE: Excellent. I have also come to America for school.

GRACE: Well, what use would Gwan Gung have for school?

STEVE: Wisdom. Wisdom makes a warrior stronger.

GRACE: Pretty good. If you are Gwan Gung, you’re not the dumb jock I was expecting. Got a lot to learn about school, though.

STEVE: Expecting? You were expecting me?

GRACE
(Quickly)
: No, no. I meant, what I expected from the stories.

STEVE: Tell me, how do people think of Gwan Gung in America? Do they shout my name while rushing into battle, or is it too sacred to be used in such ostentatious display?

GRACE: Uh—no.

STEVE: No—what? I didn’t ask a “no” question.

GRACE: What I mean is, neither. They don’t do either of those.

STEVE: Not good. The name of Gwan Gung has been restricted for the use of leaders only?

GRACE: Uh—no. I think you better sit down.

STEVE: This is very scandalous. How are the people to take my strength? Gwan Gung might as well not exist, for all they know.

GRACE: You got it.

STEVE: I got what? You seem to be having trouble making your answers fit my questions.

GRACE: No, I think you’re having trouble making your questions fit my answers.

STEVE: What is this nonsense? Speak clearly, or don’t speak at all.

GRACE: Speak clearly?

STEVE: Yes. Like a warrior.

GRACE: Well, you see, Gwan Gung, god of warriors, writers and prostitutes, no one gives a wipe about you ’round here. You’re dead.

(Pause.)

STEVE: You... you make me laugh.

GRACE: You died way back... hell, no one even noticed when you died—that’s how bad off your PR was. You died and no one even missed a burp.

STEVE: You lie! The name of Gwan Gung must be feared around the world—you jeopardize your health with such remarks.
(Pause)
You—you have heard of me, I see. How can you say—?

GRACE: Oh, I just study it a lot—Chinese-American history, I mean.

STEVE: Ah. In the schools, in the universities, where new leaders are born, they study my ways.

GRACE: Well, fifteen of us do.

STEVE: Fifteen. Fifteen of the brightest, of the most promising?

GRACE: One wants to be a dental technician.

STEVE: A man studies Gwan Gung in order to clean teeth?

GRACE: There’s also a middle-aged woman that’s kinda bored with her kids.

STEVE: I refuse—I don’t believe you—your stories. You’re just angry at me for treating you like a servant. You’re trying to sap my faith. The people—the people outside—they know me—they know the deeds of Gwan Gung.

GRACE: Check it out yourself.

STEVE: Very well. You will learn—learn not to test the spirit of Gwan Gung.

(Steve exits. Grace picks up the box. She studies it.)

GRACE: Fa Mu Lan sits and waits. She learns to be still while the emperors, the dynasties, the foreign lands flow past, unaware of her slender form, thinking it a tree in the woods, a statue to a goddess long abandoned by her people. But Fa Mu Lan, the Woman Warrior, is not ashamed. She knows that one who can exist without movement while the ages pass is the one to whom no victory can be denied. It is training, to wait. And Fa Mu Lan, the Woman Warrior, must train, for she is no goddess, but girl—girl who takes her father’s place in battle. No goddess, but woman—warrior-woman
(She breaks through the box’s wrapping, reaches in and pulls out another box, beautifully wrapped and ribboned)
—and ghost.
(She puts the new box on a shelf, goes to the phone, dials)
Hi, Dale? Hi, this is Grace... Pretty good. How’bout you?... Good, good. Hey, listen, I’m sorry to ask you at the last minute and everything, but are you doing anything tonight?... Are you sure?... Oh, good. Would you like to go out with me and some of my friends?... Just out to dinner, then maybe we were thinking of going to a movie or something... Oh, good ... Are you sure? . . . Yeah, okay. Um, we’re all going to meet at the restaurant... No,
our
restaurant . . . right—as soon as possible. Okay, good... I’m really glad that you’re coming. Sorry it’s such short notice. Okay. Bye, now... Huh? Frank? Oh, okay.
(Pause)
Hi, Frank... Pretty good... Yeah?... No, I don’t think so ... Yeah… No, I’m sorry, I’d still rather not . . . I don’t want to, okay? Do I have to be any clearer than that? . . . You are not!... You don’t even know when they come—you’d have to lie on those tracks for hours . . . Forget it, okay?... Look, I’ll get you a schedule so you can time it properly... It’s not a favor, damn it. Now good-bye!
(She hangs up) Jesus!

(Steve enters.)

STEVE: Buncha weak boys, what do they know? One man—Chinaman—wearing a leisure suit—green! I ask him, “You know Gwan Gung?” He says, “Hong Kong?” I say, “No, no. Gwan Gung.” He says, “Yeah. They got sixty thousand people living on four acres. Went there last year.” I say, “No, no. Gwan Gung.” He says, “Ooooh! Gwan Gung?” I say, “Yes, yes, Gwan Gung.” He says, “I never been there before.”

GRACE: See? Even if you didn’t die—who cares?

STEVE: Another kid—blue jeans and a T-shirt—I ask him, does he know Gwan Gung? He says, he doesn’t need it, he knows Jesus Christ. What city is this now?

GRACE: Los Angeles.

STEVE: This isn’t the only place where a new Chinaman can land, is it?

GRACE: I guess a lot go to San Francisco.

STEVE: Good. This place got a bunch of weirdos around here.

GRACE: Yeah.

STEVE: They could never be followers of Gwan Gung. All who follow me must be loyal and righteous.

GRACE: Maybe you should try some other state.

STEVE: Huh? What you say?

GRACE: Never mind. You’ll get used to it—like the rest of us.