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Authors: David Henry Hwang

Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang (23 page)

BOOK: Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang
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MAN: There are stories.
WOMAN: What?
MAN: People talk.
WOMAN: Where? We’re two days from the nearest village.
MAN: Word travels.
WOMAN: What are you talking about?
MAN: There are stories about you. I heard them. They say that your visitors never leave this house.
WOMAN: That’s what you heard?
MAN: They say you imprison them.
WOMAN: Then you were a fool to come here.
MAN: Listen.
WOMAN: Me? Listen? You. Look! Where are these prisoners? Have you seen any?
MAN: They told me you were very beautiful.
WOMAN: Then they are blind as well as ignorant.
MAN: You are.
WOMAN: What?
MAN: Beautiful.
WOMAN: Stop that! My skin feels like seaweed.
MAN: I didn’t realize it at first. I must confess. I didn’t. But over these few days—your face has changed for me. The shape of it. The feel of it. The color. All changed. I look at you now and I am no longer sure you are the same woman who had poured tea for me just a week ago. And because of that I remember—how little I know about a face that changes in the night.
(Pause)
Have you heard those stories?
WOMAN: I don’t listen to old wives’ tales.
MAN: But have you heard them?
WOMAN: Yes. I’ve heard them. From other visitors—young—hot-blooded—or old—who came here because they were told great glory was to be had by killing the witch in the woods.
MAN: I was told that no man could spend time in this house without falling in love.
WOMAN: Oh? So why did you come? Did you wager gold that you could come out untouched? The outside world is so flattering to me. And you—are you like the rest? Passion passing through your heart so powerfully that you can’t hold onto it?
MAN: No! I’m afraid.
WOMAN: Of what?
MAN: Sometimes—when I look into the flowers, I think I hear a voice—from inside—a voice beneath the petals. A human voice.
WOMAN: What does it say? “Let me out”?
MAN: No. Listen. It hums. It hums with the peacefulness of one who is completely imprisoned.
WOMAN: I understand that if you listen closely enough, you can hear the ocean.
MAN: No. Wait. Look at it.
(He takes a flower from the vase)
See the layers? Each petal—hiding the next. Try and see where they end . . . You can’t. Follow them down, further down, around and as you come down—faster and faster—the breeze picks up. The breeze becomes a wail. And in that rush of air—you can hear a voice.
(Woman grabs flower from Man.)
 
WOMAN: So, you believe I water and prune my lovers? How can you be so foolish?
(She throws the flower to the ground)
Do you come only to leave again? To take a chunk of my heart, then leave with your booty on your belt, like a prize? You say that I imprison hearts in these flowers? Well, bits of my heart are trapped with travelers across this land. I can’t even keep track. So kill me. If you came here to destroy a witch, kill me now. I can’t stand to have it happen again.
(Man begins to pull out sword, but stops—he cannot use it.)
 
MAN: I won’t leave you.
WOMAN: I believe you.
Scene Eight
 
 
Day. Woman is modeling a kimono.
WOMAN: Do you like it?
MAN: Yes, it’s beautiful.
WOMAN: I wanted to wear something special today.
MAN: It’s beautiful.
(He takes out his sword)
Excuse me. I must practice.
WOMAN: Shall I get you something?
MAN: No.
WOMAN: Some tea, maybe?
MAN: No, thank you.
(He resumes swordplay)
WOMAN: Perhaps later today—perhaps we can go out—just around here. We can look for flowers.
MAN: All right.
WOMAN: We don’t have to.
MAN: No. Let’s.
WOMAN: I just thought if . . .
MAN: Fine. Where do you want to go?
WOMAN: There are very few recreational activities around here, I know.
MAN: All right. We’ll go this afternoon.
(Pause.)
WOMAN: Can I get you something?
MAN: What?
WOMAN: You might be . . .
MAN: I’m not hungry or thirsty or cold or hot.
WOMAN: Then what are you?
MAN: Practicing.
(Man resumes practicing; Woman exits. Man sits down. He examines his sword, thinks. He stands up. He places the sword on the ground with the tip pointed directly upward. He keeps the sword from falling by placing the tip under his chin. He experiments with different degrees of pressure. Woman reenters. She sees him in this precarious position.)
 
WOMAN: Don’t do that!
MAN: What?
WOMAN: You can hurt yourself!
MAN: I was practicing!
WOMAN: You were playing!
MAN: I was practicing!
WOMAN: It’s dangerous.
MAN: What do you take me for—a child?
WOMAN: Sometimes wise men do childish things.
MAN: I knew what I was doing!
WOMAN: It scares me.
MAN: Don’t be ridiculous.
WOMAN: Don’t! Don’t do that!
MAN: Get back!
WOMAN: But . . .
MAN: Ssssh!
WOMAN: I wish . . .
MAN: Listen to me! The slightest shock, you know—the slightest shock—surprise—it might make me jerk or—something—and then . . . So you must be perfectly still and quiet.
WOMAN: But I...
MAN: Ssssh!
(Silence, then . . . )
 
 
I learned this exercise from a friend—I can’t even remember his name—good swordsman—many years ago. He called it his meditation position. He said, like this, he could feel the line between this world and the others because he rested on it. If he saw something in another world that he liked better, all he would have to do is let his head drop, and he’d be there. Simple. No fuss. One day, they found him with the tip of his sword run clean out the back of his neck. He was smiling. I guess he saw something he liked. Or else he’d fallen asleep.
WOMAN: Stop that.
MAN: Stop what?
WOMAN: Tormenting me.
MAN: I’m not.
WOMAN: Take it away!
MAN: You don’t have to watch, you know.
WOMAN: Do you want to die that way—an accident?
MAN: I was doing this before you came in.
WOMAN: If you do, all you need to do is tell me.
MAN: What?
WOMAN: I can walk right over. Lean on the back of your head.
MAN: Don’t try to threaten . . .
WOMAN: Or jerk your sword up.
MAN: . . . or scare me. You can’t threaten . . .
WOMAN: I’m not. But if that’s what you want.
MAN: You wouldn’t do it.
WOMAN: Oh?
MAN: Then I’d be gone. You wouldn’t let me leave that easily.
WOMAN: Yes, I would.
MAN: You’d be alone.
WOMAN: No. I’d follow you. Forever.
(Pause)
Now, let’s stop this nonsense.
MAN: No! I can do what I want! Don’t come any closer!
WOMAN: Then release your sword.
MAN: Come any closer and I’ll drop my head.
(Woman slowly approaches Man. She grabs the sword. She pulls it out from under his chin
.
)
 
WOMAN: There will be no more of this.
(She exits with the sword. He starts to follow her, then stops. He touches under his chin. On his finger, he finds a drop of blood.)
 
Scene Nine
 
Night. Man, wearing a coat and carrying a bundle of his possessions, is leaving the house. Woman appears in the doorway to the outside.
WOMAN: It’s time for you to go?
MAN: Yes. I’m sorry.
WOMAN: You’re just going to sneak out? A thief in the night? A frightened child?
MAN: I care about you.
WOMAN: You express it strangely.
MAN: I leave in shame because it is proper.
(Pause)
I came seeking glory.
WOMAN: To kill me? You can say it. You’ll be surprised at how little I blanch. As if you’d said, “I came for a bowl of rice,” or “I came seeking love,” or “I came to kill you.”
MAN: Weakness. All weakness. Too weak to kill you. Too weak to kill myself. Too weak to do anything but sneak away in shame.
(Woman brings out Man’s sword.)
 
WOMAN: Were you even planning to leave without this?
(He takes sword.)
 
 
Why not stay here?
MAN: I can’t live with someone who’s defeated me.
WOMAN: I never thought of defeating you. I only wanted to take care of you. To make you happy. Because that made me happy and I was no longer alone.
MAN: You defeated me.
WOMAN: Why do you think that way?
MAN: I came here with a purpose. The world was clear. You changed the shape of your face, the shape of my heart—rearranged everything—created a world where I could do nothing.
WOMAN: I only tried to care for you.
MAN: I guess that was all it took.
(Pause.)
 
WOMAN: You still think I’m a witch. Just because old women gossip. You are so cruel. Once you arrived, there were only two possibilities: I would die or you would leave.
(Pause)
If you believe I’m a witch, then kill me. Rid the province of one more evil.
MAN: I can’t—
WOMAN: Why not? If you believe that about me, then it’s the right thing to do.
MAN: You know I can’t.
WOMAN: Then stay.
MAN: Don’t try to force me!
WOMAN: I won’t force you to do anything.
(Pause)
All I wanted was an escape—for both of us. The sound of a human voice—the simplest thing to find, and the hardest to hold on to. This house—my loneliness is etched into the walls. Kill me, but don’t leave. Even in death, my spirit would rest here and be comforted by your presence.
MAN: Force me to stay.
WOMAN: I won’t.
(Man starts to leave.)
 
 
Beware.
MAN: Of what?
WOMAN: The ground on which you walk is weak. It could give way at any moment. The crevice beneath is dark.
MAN: Are you talking about death? I’m ready to die.
WOMAN: Fear for what is worse than death.
MAN: What?
WOMAN: Falling. Falling through the darkness. Waiting to hit the ground. Picking up speed. Waiting for the ground. Falling faster. Falling alone. Waiting. Falling. Waiting. Falling.
(Man exits. Woman goes out through the door to her room. After a long beat, he reenters. He looks for her in the main room. He goes to the mat, sees her
shakuhatchi.
He puts down his sword, takes off his bundle and coat. He goes inside. He comes out. He goes to the mat, picks up her
shakuhatchi,
clutches it to him. He moves everything else off the mat, sits and puts the
shakuhatchi
to his mouth. He begins to blow into it. He tries to make sounds. He continues trying through the end of the play.
The upstage scrim lights up. Upstage, we see the woman. She has hung herself and is hanging from a rope suspended from the roof. Around her swirl thousands of petals from the flowers. They fill the upstage scrim area like a blizzard of color.
Man continues to attempt to play. Lights fade to black.)
 
 
 
END OF PLAY
BOOK: Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang
2.86Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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