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Authors: David Henry Hwang

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BOOK: Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang
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SPACE TWIN 1:
Good-bye
To prizes and politics
 
COMMANDER:
Good-bye
To the warm part of my heart
 
COMMANDER, SCIENTIST/FIRST MATE AND SPACE TWIN 1:
Good-bye
To the gem of my future
Good-bye
Good-bye
Hello
Hello
 
Epilogue
 
The space travelers fade away, revealing Columbus, lying on his deathbed. Dominican monks chant a requiem mass. The year is 1506. Isabella appears before Columbus.
COLUMBUS:
They chant for me
Am I to assume that I no longer live?
 
ISABELLA:
Cristóbal Colón
Cristóbal Colón
 
COLUMBUS:
And now the song
Of she who led me to sea
But neglected even to call
On her deathbed
You promised me one-tenth of all I discovered
 
ISABELLA:
Well, monarchs may change their minds
 
COLUMBUS:
You promised me glory and honor
 
ISABELLA:
I regret that you were brought back in chains
 
COLUMBUS:
You promised that I would find Asia
But cruelest of all
You swore to me
That I would magnify the kingdom of God
 
ISABELLA:
I gave you next-best
The Spanish Inquisition
Didn’t you know my true face?
Didn’t you see that your arrogant faith
Your blasted assurance
Was the child not of God
But of pride
The angel of vanity
Called by men, “Lucifer”?
And so, in His name,
You slaughtered the New World
And packed them away as slaves
In the hulls of your ships
Girls hung themselves
Bending their knees
As there was no room to stand
So, Cristóbal, come
Embrace me!
With this, your final breath
Come to my bed
Unzip me, defile me
Judge yourself, and enter my world
 
COLUMBUS:
Is it foolish to seek the mind of God
If there may be no God?
Is it futile to reach for order
In a universe built upon chaos?
Is it vanity to hope one day
To know the design of all things?
Even the sad expanses of regretful human souls?
 
 
From the first amoeba
Who fought to break free of itself
To Ulysses, to Ibn Battuta, to Marco Polo
To Einstein, and beyond
All that we seek to know
Is to know ourselves
To reduce the darkness
By some small degree
To light a candle, jump a stream
That the sum of human ignorance
Might dwindle just a bit
And the deeds done in darkness
May wither one day perhaps even
Expire
 
And if our human voyages
Are riddled sometimes with horrors
With pride, with vanity
With the mother’s milk of cruelty
Yet finally human evil
Does not deny the good
Of knowledge
Of light
Of revelation
Of the hope that lo one day
Exploration will make obsolete
Even the sins of the explorer
ISABELLA:
Good-bye
Don Cristóbal
I see you resist my song
 
COLUMBUS:
I’m sorry I am unable to tarry here longer
But the journey that awaits
Is far more seductive than
All your last temptations
Finally
We take the voyage
When the voyage
Takes us
 
ISABELLA:
Good-bye
Don Cristóbal
Good-bye
 
COLUMBUS:
Finally
We take the voyage
When the voyage
Takes us
 
 
(Columbus’s bed is transported to the stars.)
 
 
END OF OPERA
BONDAGE
 
(1992)
 
Production History
 
Bondage
received its premiere at the Actors Theatre of Louisville (Jon Jory, Producing Director), as part of the 16th Annual Humana Festival of New American Plays, in Louisville, Kentucky, on March 1, 1992. It was directed by Oskar Eustis; the set design was by Paul Owen; the costume design was by Laura A. Patterson; the lighting design was by Mary Louise Geiger; the dramaturg was Deborah Frockt; and the stage manager was Debra Acquavella. The cast was as follows:
 
MARK
B. D. Wong
TERRI
Kathryn Layng
 
 
Characters
 
MARK
TERRI
 
 
Place
 
1990s.
 
An S&M parlor in the San Fernando Valley, California.
A room in a bondage parlor. Terri, a dominatrix, paces with her whip in hand in front of Mark, who is chained to the wall. They both wear full face masks and hoods to disguise their identities.
 
MARK: What am I today?
TERRI: Today—you’re a man. A Chinese man. But don’t bother with that accent crap. I find it demeaning.
MARK: A Chinese man. All right. And who are you? T
ERRI: Me? I’m—I’m a blond woman. Can you remember that?
MARK: I feel . . . very vulnerable.
TERRI: You should. I pick these roles for a reason, you know.
(She unchains him)
We’ll call you Wong. Mark Wong. And me—I’m Tiffany Walker.
(Pause)
I’ve seen you looking at me. From behind the windows of your—engineering laboratory. Behind your—horn-rimmed glasses. Why don’t you come right out and try to pick me up? Whisper something offensive into my ear. Or aren’t you man enough?
MARK: I’ve been trying to approach you. In my own fashion.
TERRI: How do you expect to get anywhere at that rate? Don’t you see the jocks, the football stars, the cowboys who come ’round every day with their tongues hanging out? This is America, you know. If you don’t assert yourself, you’ll end up at sixty-five worshipping a Polaroid you happened to snap of me at a high school picnic.
MARK: But—you’re a blonde. I’m—Chinese. It’s not so easy to know whether it’s OK for me to love you.
TERRI: C’mon, this is the 1990s! I’m no figment of the past. For a Chinese man to love a white woman—what could be wrong about that?
MARK: That’s . . . great! You really feel that way? Then, let me just declare it to your face. I—
TERRI: Of course—
MARK:—love—
TERRI: It’s not real likely I’m gonna love you.
(Pause.)
 
MARK: But . . . you said—
TERRI: I said I’m not a figment of the past. But I’m also not some crusading figure from the future. It’s only 199—, you know. I’m a normal girl. With regular ideas. Regular for a blond, of course.
MARK: What’s that supposed to mean?
TERRI: It means I’m not prejudiced—in principle. Of course I don’t notice the color of a man’s skin. Except—I can’t help but notice. I’ve got eyes, don’t I?
(Pause.)
 
 
I’m sure you’re a very nice person . . . Mark. And I really appreciate your helping me study for the . . . physics midterm. But I’m just not—what can I say? I’m just not attracted to you.
MARK: Because I’m Chinese.
TERRI: Oh no, oh heavens, no. I would never be prejudiced against an Oriental. They have such . . . strong family structures . . . hardworking . . . they hit the books with real gusto . . . makes my mother green with envy. But, I guess . . . how excited can I get about a boy who fulfills my mother’s fantasies? The reason most mothers admire boys like you is ’cause they didn’t bother to marry someone like that themselves. No, I’m looking for a man more like my father—someone I can regret in later life.
MARK: So you’re not attracted to me because I’m Chinese. Like I said before.
TERRI: Why are you Orientals so relentlessly logical?
(She backs Mark up around the room.)
 
MARK: Well, for your information . . . it doesn’t—it doesn’t hurt that you’re not in love with me.
TERRI: Why not?
MARK: Because I never said that I loved you, either!
(They stop in their tracks.)
 
TERRI: You didn’t?
MARK: Nope, nope, nope.
TERRI: That’s bullshit. I was here, you know. I heard you open yourself up to ridicule and humiliation. I have a very good ear for that kind of thing.
(Cracks her whip)
So goddamn it—admit it—you said you love me!
MARK: I did not! If I don’t tell the truth, you’ll be angry with me.
TERRI: I’m already angry with you now for lying! Is this some nasty scheme to maneuver yourself into a no-win situation? God, you masochists make life confusing.
MARK: I came close. I said, “I love—” but then you cut me off.
TERRI: That’s my prerogative. I’m the dominatrix.
MARK: I never finished the sentence. Maybe I was going to say, “I love . . . the smell of fresh-baked apple pie in the afternoon.”
TERRI: That’s a goddamn lie!
MARK: Can you prove it? You cut me off. In midsentence.
TERRI: It does . . . sound like something I would do. Damn. I’m always too eager to assert my superiority. It’s one of the occupational hazards of my profession.
(Pause)
So I fucked up. I turned total victory into personal embarrassment. God, I’m having a rotten day.
MARK: Terri—
TERRI: Mistress Terri!
MARK: Mistress Terri, I—I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s OK. I wasn’t really going to say I loved apple pie. Now—you can whip me for lying to you. How’s that?
TERRI: I’m not about to start taking charity from my submissives, thank you. That’s one good way to get laughed out of the profession.
(Pause)
Sorry, I just—need a moment. Wouldn’t it be nice if they’d put coffeemakers in here?
MARK: Look—do what you want. I’m a Mexican man, and you’re an Indonesian—whatever.
TERRI: What went wrong—was I just going through the motions?
(Mark places his hands gently on her shoulders.)
 
MARK: You feeling OK today?
TERRI: Of course I am! It just . . . hurts a girl’s confidence to stumble like that when I was in my strongest position, with you at your weakest.
MARK: Why were you in such a strong position?
TERRI: Well, I was—a blond!
MARK: And why was I in such a weak one?
TERRI: Oh, c’mon—you were . . . an Oriental man. Easy target. It’s the kind of role I choose when I feel like phoning in the performance. Shit! Now, look—I’m giving away trade secrets.
MARK: Asian. An Asian man.
TERRI: Sorry. I didn’t know political correctness had suddenly arrived at S & M parlors.
MARK: It never hurts to practice good manners. You’re saying I wasn’t sexy?
TERRI: Well . . . I mean . . . a girl likes a little excitement sometimes.
MARK: OK, OK . . . look, let’s just pretend . . . pretend that I did say, “I love you.” You know, to get us over this hump.
TERRI: Now we’re pretending something happened in a fantasy when it actually didn’t? I think this is getting a little esoteric.
MARK: Terri, look at us! Everything we do is pretend! That’s exactly the point! We play out these roles until one of us gets the upper hand!
TERRI: You mean, until
I
get the upper hand.
BOOK: Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang
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