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Authors: David Henry Hwang

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THE HOUSE OF SLEEPING BEAUTIES

(1983)

Adapted from the short story by Yasunari Kawabata

To Natolie

Production History

The House of Sleeping Beauties
opened with
The Sound of a Voice
under the title
Sound and Beauty
at The Joseph Papp Public Theater/New York Shakespeare Festival (Joseph Papp, Producer), in New York City on November 6, 1983. It was directed by John Lone and assisted by Lenore Kletter; the set design was by Andrew Jackness; the costume design was by Lydia Tanji; the lighting design was by John Gisondi; and the music was by Lucia Hwong. There was also a dancer, Elizabeth Fong Sung, in this production. The cast was as follows:

WOMAN	Ching Valdes
KAWABATA	Victor Wong

Characters

WOMAN, Japanese, late seventies.

YASUNARI Kawabata, a leading Japanese novelist, seventy-two.

Place

The sitting room of the House of Sleeping Beauties, Tokyo.

Time

1972.

Scene One:
night.

Scene Two:
the following evening.

Scene Three:
several months later, evening.

Scene Four:
one week later, evening.

Definitions

bon-odori
is a festival dance.

hara-kiri
is a ritual suicide.

koto
is a zither-like Japanese musical instrument.

sensei
is a revered teacher.

Shifuno Tomo
is a popular magazine.

Playwright’s Note

This play is a fantasy. In historical fact, Kawabata’s composition of his novelette
House of the Sleeping Beauties
and his unexplained suicide occurred many years apart.

Many people helped me develop this play, and I’d like to thank especially Grafton Mouen, Jean Brody, John Harnagel, Marcy Mattox, Natolie Miyawaki, Nancy Takahashi, Mitch Motooka and Helen Merrill.

Scene One

A sitting room. Not richly decorated. Desk, pillows, low table, equipment for tea, cabinet, screen, mirror, stove. It is night. Woman sits at desk, writing. Kawabata paces.

WOMAN: Now, you mustn’t do anything distasteful.

KAWABATA: Distasteful?

WOMAN: You mustn’t stick your fingers in the girl’s mouth or anything like that.

KAWABATA: Oh, no. I wouldn’t think of it.

WOMAN: Good. All my guests are gentlemen.

KAWABATA: Would you please put that down?

WOMAN
(Indicating the pen)
: This?

KAWABATA: Yes. I’m not here to be interviewed.

WOMAN: Perhaps.
I
am, however, accountable to my girls—

KAWABATA: Fine.

WOMAN:—and must therefore ask a few questions of those who wish to become my guests.

KAWABATA: You assume too easily, madame.

WOMAN: Oh?

KAWABATA: You assume that my presence here identifies me as just one type of man.

WOMAN: On the contrary, sir.

KAWABATA: Why did you assume I was going in there, then?

WOMAN: I never assumed any such thing. Did you assume I was going to allow you in there?

(Pause.)

KAWABATA: “Allow me”?

WOMAN: Actually, I identify two types of men, sir—gentlemen and those who do not behave. My guests are all gentlemen. They do not disgrace the house. Obviously, very few men meet these requirements.

KAWABATA: What are you talking about?

WOMAN: I must protect my girls—and the house.

KAWABATA: Well, I mean, I’m certainly not going to assault a girl, if that’s what you mean. Is that what you think? That I look like a man who goes to brothels?

WOMAN: Neither looks nor brothels has much to do with it, sir. My experience has taught me that in most cases if you scratch a man you’ll find a molester.

KAWABATA: Well, if you take that kind of attitude . . .

WOMAN: A look in most men’s bottom drawers confirms this.

KAWABATA: . . . how is any man to prove he’s a . . . a gentleman, as you say?

WOMAN: I take a risk on all my guests. But I have my methods; I judge as best I can.

KAWABATA: That’s ridiculous. That men must be . . . tested to become your customers. But all your customers are practically ghosts anyway—of course they don’t object. Their throats are too dry to protest.

WOMAN: Guests.

KAWABATA: I’m sorry?

WOMAN: They’re not customers, they’re guests.

KAWABATA: Well, I, for one, do not intend to become a guest, understand?

WOMAN: You are very proud.

KAWABATA: Proud?

WOMAN: But that doesn’t necessarily mean you are not a gentleman. Sometimes the proudest men are the best behaved. So, you don’t want to be my guest. What
do
you want?

KAWABATA: I only want to talk.

WOMAN: About what?

KAWABATA: Your house.

WOMAN: Window shopping?

KAWABATA: No.

WOMAN: I’m sorry.

KAWABATA: I want to know why the old men come here.

WOMAN: But all your answers are in there.

KAWABATA: No, they’re not. I could never feel what they feel, what brings them back—a parade of corpses—night after night. But you—perhaps they share their secrets.

WOMAN: I have no secrets.

KAWABATA: Old Eguchi—

WOMAN: And I’m no gossip.

KAWABATA: He talked to me last week.

WOMAN: Yes, he called and said you were coming.

KAWABATA: Said he comes here almost every night. I wanted him to tell me more, but he said I could only know more by talking to you.

WOMAN: He said you wished to gain entrance.

KAWABATA: No—he’s making the same mistake as you. I won’t be able to feel what he feels because my mind’s different.

WOMAN: Oh?

KAWABATA: Eguchi’s so old.

WOMAN: And you’re young?

KAWABATA: Well, no. Not in years.

WOMAN: Oh.

KAWABATA: But my mind is young. Eguchi’s is gone. He sits on his futon each afternoon swatting bees with tissue paper. Listen, I know you’re a woman of business—may I offer you some fee for what you know?

WOMAN: Money?

KAWABATA: Don’t worry. I’m not with the police or anything.

WOMAN: Don’t be ridiculous. What do you take me for?

KAWABATA: What do I—?

WOMAN: You might as well pay me to tell you how one falls in love.

KAWABATA: What do you take yourself for, madame—acting like a sorceress, a
sensei
. You’re just an old woman running this house. I have questions, and I’m willing to pay for the answers.

WOMAN: I have questions also. Fair, sir?
(Pause)
How old are you?

KAWABATA: I won’t answer just anything, you know.

WOMAN: Don’t worry. Neither will I.

KAWABATA: Seventy-two.

WOMAN: Married?

KAWABATA: My wife passed away . . . several years ago.

WOMAN: I’m sorry. Children?

KAWABATA: Yes. Two. Daughters. Why are you asking this?

WOMAN: Don’t worry. I’m no gossip. Retired?

KAWABATA: Uh—no . . . I mean, yes.

WOMAN: Yes or no?

KAWABATA: Uh—no.

WOMAN: No? No. Profession?

KAWABATA: Uh—teacher.

WOMAN: Teacher.

KAWABATA: University level, of course.

WOMAN: There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

KAWABATA: That’s all?

WOMAN: Now, what would
you
like to know?

KAWABATA: From that, you decide?

WOMAN: I
would
like you to join me in a game, though.

KAWABATA: A game?

WOMAN: Yes. And as we play, we can talk about the rooms. Do you mind?

KAWABATA: Well, if it’s harmless.

WOMAN: Quite. Would you like some tea?

KAWABATA: Oh, yes. Please. Thank you. This game—what’s it called?

WOMAN: I don’t know. It’s old. Geishas used to play it with their customers, to relax them.
(She brings the tea, pours it)

KAWABATA: Relax? Perhaps it will relax me.
(He laughs softly)
Now, why do you want me to play this?

(Woman pulls a box out of the desk and opens it. Inside are twenty-five smooth tiles, five times as long as they are wide. While she speaks, she stacks them in five layers of five tiles each, such that the tiles of each layer are perpendicular to those of the layer below it.)

WOMAN: So we can get to know each other. As I said, I must protect my girls from men who do not behave.

KAWABATA: You talk as if men should be put on leashes.

WOMAN: No, leashes aren’t necessary at all.
(She finishes the tower)
There. We’ll take turns removing tiles from the tower until it collapses. Understand?

KAWABATA: Is this a game you ask all your customers to play?

WOMAN: Guests. You can’t touch the top layer, though, and you can only use one hand.

KAWABATA: But what’s the object? Who wins, who loses?

WOMAN: There are no winners or losers. There is only the tower—intact or collapsed. Just one hand—like this.
(She removes a piece)

KAWABATA: My turn? What am I trying to do?

WOMAN: Judge the tiles. Wriggle that one, for instance—yes, that one you’re touching—between your fingers. Is the weight of the stack on it? If so, don’t force it. Leave it and look for another one that’s looser. If you try to force the tiles to be what they’re not, the whole thing will come crashing down.

KAWABATA: A test of skills? There—
(He removes a piece)
Your turn.

WOMAN: See? Simple.

KAWABATA: What kind of a test—? You’re just an old woman. What kind of a contest is this?

WOMAN: Let’s talk about you, sir. We want to make you happy.