SPELLS for GOING FORTH by DAYLIGHT by Leigh M. Marshall
DRAMATIS PERSONAE. Only Human CLEO, the former Pharaoh of Egypt. MARC, a former General of the Imperial Army. (SNAKE THREE, DOLABELLA) ARSINOE, sister of CLEO. A rebel leader. (CLODIA) SELENE, daughter of CLEO. Campaign manager for POMPEY. (RAVEN) CAESAR, ruler of the Empire. (SNAKE ONE) OCTAVIAN/AUGUSTUS, son of CAESAR. (CROCODILE) DOLABELLA, son of CAESAR, former best friend of MARC. CLODIA, third wife of CAESAR, younger half-sister of MARC’s first wife. OCTAVIA, wife of MARC, daughter of CAESAR. An intelligence operative. (SNAKE TWO) POMPEY, political opposition to CAESAR. Youngest person ever to be made a General, awarded the Purple Heart. (OSIRIS) THE SOLDIER. THE MESSENGER. (ANUBIS.) THE SOOTHSAYER. (THOTH.) TOURIST. (CLEO.) VISITOR. (MARC.) Only Animal THE THREE SNAKES. THE CROCODILE. THE RAVEN. Only Deity ANUBIS. OSIRIS. THOTH. NOTE ON CHARACTER BREAKDOWN: This play has a cast size of 11 (with doubling), 5W, 6M (THE SOLDIER, THE SOOTHSAYER, and THE MESSENGER can be W/M/GNC). This play requires a majority cast of color; Egyptian roles are specified for mixed race/African diaspora/West Asian actors; the only specified white actors are MARC, CAESAR, OCTAVIAN, and OCTAVIA. NOTE ON THE WORLD: The intention of the stage directions is to depict the truth of the world, not the literal reality of the production. The animals are truly animals, not actors pretending to be animals. For Lyric McHenry & Julie Barboni Moore
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SPELL FOR DRIVING OFF A SNAKE. The Realm of the Dead (Duat). A dental clinic not unlike a mausoleum. SNAKE ONE in a dentist’s chair, mouth open: blood-stained fangs and teeth. SNAKE TWO scrapes at SNAKE ONE’s fangs with a series of vicious hooks. SNAKE THREE stares off intently, watching the news on a television we can’t see. A book open in their lap. Off to the side, CLEO dead on the floor. SNAKE TWO. Open. SNAKE ONE. (unintelligible.) It is open. SNAKE TWO. Excuse me? SNAKE TWO withdraws their tools. SNAKE ONE. If I open any wider, you’ll see straight down to the heart. SNAKE TWO. Oh, is that what you ate for dinner? SNAKE ONE. Alas, if only. SNAKE TWO. Wider, please. SNAKE ONE hyperextends their jaw. SNAKE TWO scrapes. SNAKE TWO (cont’d). Do they hurt? 3
SNAKE ONE. Hurt? No. (a scrape.) Ow! SNAKE TWO. No? SNAKE ONE. It’s not pain. SNAKE TWO. What, then? SNAKE ONE. Sensitivity, I’d say. SNAKE TWO. Tenderness? SNAKE ONE. Yes. That. SNAKE TWO. Shall I scrape more tenderly, then? (a scrape.) SNAKE ONE. Ow! Ow! SNAKE TWO. That’s as tender as I get. SNAKE ONE. Same here. (beat.) To be honest, there isn’t any pain. SNAKE TWO. You—fake. SNAKE ONE. I know, aren’t snakes terrible? SNAKE ONE and SNAKE TWO grin at one another. SNAKE THREE. Can you lovebirds hit the accelerator? SNAKE ONE & SNAKE TWO. The fuck did you call me? SNAKE THREE. We are on a clock, in case you forgot. SNAKE TWO. You know how resilient these stains are. SNAKE ONE. You know I lunch on lovebirds.
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SNAKE TWO. Royal blood stains deeper than coffee. SNAKE ONE. Lovebird tartare, lovebird crudo, lovebird gored gored— SNAKE THREE. You are what you eat. SNAKE ONE. Who says that? SNAKE THREE. Humans. CLEO twitches. Beat. SNAKE THREE. (cont’d) All I’m saying is, history is moving at a rapid clip. SNAKE TWO. And all I’m saying is, we won’t even be cogs in history if we don’t prioritize the cleanliness of our teeth and fangs— SNAKE ONE. (to THREE.) Here we go—had to set the ball rolling, didn’t you? SNAKE THREE. Doctor, all present have heard this spiel before, so— SNAKE ONE. It’s not enough to start an avalanche of gravel. With you, it’s always gotta be a boulder. SNAKE TWO. The mouth, the cleanliness of the mouth, is our first guard against ill health. The viscosity of our venom, texture of our tongues and glottis, all these things are indicators. Indicators of whether or not our bodies are as well as we believe, or if there’s a bad omen hidden somewhere. Another snake once came to me with what they believed was a bloodstain, and it turned out to be an infection caused by a parasite. If I hadn’t caught it in time— CLEO twitches. Beat. SNAKE TWO. (cont’d) That snake would be dead. That said, we should chop-chop. SNAKE THREE. Now you heed me. SNAKE TWO. We’ll leave, after just one more scrape— SNAKE THREE. Too late.
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SNAKE ONE. Says who? SNAKE THREE. Time itself, who else? CLEO awakens. THE SNAKES watch her, on high alert and suddenly hungry. CLEO. Am I dead? SNAKE THREE. Yes. SNAKE TWO. But never fear. SNAKE ONE. You could die again. CLEO. I don’t need a snake to tell me the rules of the Realm of the Dead. SNAKE TWO. But you need to learn them somehow. SNAKE THREE. The rules. SNAKE ONE. No human dies knowing them. SNAKE THREE. Not even you. CLEO. Infamous, am I? SNAKE TWO. Oh don’t you know it. SNAKE ONE. Queen of the Nile. CLEO. Pharaoh. SNAKE TWO. Until your Empire fell to Rome. CLEO. Egypt was never annexed in my lifetime. SNAKE TWO. Cleopatra, the commander. CLEO. I ruled independently from the time I was eighteen. SNAKE THREE. Cleopatra, the administrator. 6
CLEO. Take care not to forget in the future. SNAKE ONE. Cleopatra, our appetizer. SNAKE TWO. All that power in life— SNAKE ONE. —and no clue how to get to paradise.
The SNAKES smile at her. CLEO smiles back. CLEO. Am I as powerless as you think… SNAKE TWO. Oh, she’s not afraid of a snakebite. SNAKE ONE. Been there done that, huh. CLEO. That’s why I have what I have. SNAKE TWO. An object? SNAKE ONE. I wonder what it is? CLEO searches her person, finds: an eyeliner pencil, a tube of lipstick, two coins, a bag of honey-sesame hard candies. Disbelieving, she searches herself again. CLEO. This can’t be all. SNAKE TWO. Oh, why not? CLEO. Have you seen the treasures and soldiers buried with pharaohs? SNAKE ONE. Impressive, sure, but usually flavorless. CLEO. Even if I was nobody, I’d at least be buried with—
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SNAKE THREE taps the book in their lap. SNAKE THREE. Something useful to read? (beat.) This what you’re looking for? CLEO. Is that my Book of Life? SNAKE THREE. Yours? CLEO. Yes. SNAKE THREE. What makes it yours? CLEO. It was written for me, upon my death. SNAKE THREE. Calling this death yours, this book yours—narcissistic, isn’t it. (beat.) CLEO. Give it to me. SNAKE THREE. Why should we? CLEO. That book contains all the instructions and maps and— SNAKE ONE. Spells. SNAKE TWO. Spells to get rid of snakes. SNAKE ONE. And stop us from eating you. CLEO. Among other things. (beat.) That book contains everything I need to navigate my death. (beat.) Please. SNAKE TWO. Generosity really isn’t the way with us. SNAKE ONE. Or anyone. SNAKE THREE. Why should we have to give you what you say is yours? SNAKE TWO. What have you ever given us? 8
CLEO. My blood. My life. THE SNAKES, caught out, look at each other. CLEO pulls out a nail file she kept hidden before. CLEO. (cont’d) I’d call that a fair trade, wouldn’t you. Unless, of course, blood and life can only be repaid in blood and life, in which case, I would be happy to take what you owe me. The SNAKES depart. CLEO seizes the left-behind book, victorious. Looks through it. Looks through it again. CLEO. (cont’d) “Contact your medical professional if excessive bleeding occurs, or if bleeding continues after one week. Use this product only for its intended use as described in this document. Discontinue use and contact your physician/dentist if discomfort/pain is experienced…” Goddamn snakes— this isn’t the Book of Life, it’s a manual for some electric toothbrush—! Somewhere, the SNAKES giggle. CLEO takes SNAKE THREE’s seat. Her attention is drawn to the television. The sound of the TV rises until it becomes the world. THE MESSENGER (as REPORTER). Welcome back to our special broadcast of the funeral ceremony for Marc Antony. We rejoin the eulogy of his wife, Octavia— OCTAVIA. —on the battlefield was inevitable. There is no other place for a man so noble to die, year after year of conquer played out on fields of reeds and wheat, and eventually he was destined to fall upon the sword. Still, it’s hard to believe. I feel as if it was just yesterday I was setting out on a sea voyage to surprise him in Alexandria, and we spent a month cooped up in our boudoir, conquering reality with our own desires. Why did you have to die, my Antonio? Why do great men have to die? Shouldn’t their greatness allow them to live on forever, spared the fate of lesser people? I suppose God will grant you immortality, a greatness that exceeds even what you achieved in life. Immortality and unending glory. Rest in power, my Antonio. Amen.
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ALL. Amen. THE SOOTHSAYER (as PRIEST). Dear God, in Antony, you gifted the world a hero who could do justice to your own power, and expanded your kingdom to lands we could only imagine in the dreams you send us. Lord, in the Kingdom of Heaven may Antony be richly rewarded for these acts of nobility, and may you find that he extends the reach of Heaven itself in your holy name, Amen. ALL. Amen. THE MESSENGER (as REPORTER). Now, the moment we have all been waiting for—the interment of Antony’s body and the eulogy of great Caesar himself. PALLBEARERS hoist the flagdraped coffin onto their shoulders and stand, stoic, as CAESAR rises to tremendous applause. CAESAR waves through a long standing ovation. When he grins, there’s something in his teeth. Then, quiets the crowd. CAESAR. Thank you, thank you. Today is a sad day. Today, we bury the greatest hero the world has ever known. Not since his holy ancestor, Heracles, and my own time in the army, has any one man achieved so much glory for our great Empire. Thanks to Antony’s gains of territory, I was able to build a summer resort on the shores of the Euphrates, and another on the shores of Africa. I’m going to miss playing recreational sports with that man—there’s no greater pleasure than a good game of discus with an Olympian and some local-brewed liquor when you’re away from the Capitol. He’d turn this funeral into a banquet with dancing until the wee hours of the night, and then he’d leave at the crack of dawn, on some campaign to plant my flag in a new city. That’s the kind of hero he was. I’ll miss you, buddy, but I know you’re right where you want to be, in the marble bed of the sexiest woman in the world for eternity. And in God’s Kingdom. Naturally. Tonight, I declare every toast in the Empire to be in your honor. The PALLBEARERS carry the coffin into the mausoleum. Shut and lock the door. THE SOOTHSAYER (as PRIEST). O God, as we put to rest the hero of your heart, let us not forget that we were made from dust and will return to dust—but, please, assuage the pain of our ephemeral lives. Hear our cries with pity, O Lord, and let our cries be turned to dancing as you strengthen our greatness in the wake of our hero. May we all live to see another Antony. Amen. ALL. Amen. THE SOOTHSAYER (as PRIEST). Now, march forth in the name of our Lord. 10
ALL. May the Savior grant us power. THE MESSENGER (as REPORTER). And with that, the processional has begun. Ten thousand citizens will process from here to the Monument, where the military demonstration in honor of Marc Antony will begin. Tune in at 8:00pm Standard Roman Time/9:00pm Eastern Roman Time for coverage of the Celebration of Might and the fireworks to follow. This broadcast of the funeral of Marc Antony was sponsored by F.E.W, the Federation of Empire Weaponry, providing arms wholesale and to our brave soldiers since 300BCE, and by DeepCut Electric Toothbrush—remember, when your gums bleed, the germs leave. THE MESSENGER nods almost imperceptibly to camera, and they go off air. THE MESSENGER (as REPORTER). (cont’d) We got it? Good—okay, let’s pack up, people, we gotta grab some B-reel of the processional and the protests. THE MESSENGER exits. Everyone is gone except for OCTAVIA, sitting on the steps of the mausoleum, and THE RAVEN, unnoticed. CAESAR. (offstage.) Are the camera crews gone? OCTAVIA. When do you ever want to be off-camera? CAESAR. You can’t trust the news, honey. It’s a spin cycle. OCTAVIA. They’ve gone. CAESAR. That’s your cue, boys. CAESAR enters with the PALLBEARERS, now RAIDERS. They unlock the mausoleum, and proceed to extract Egyptian artifacts. CAESAR. (cont’d) What’s wrong with you, honey? OCTAVIA. My husband just died. CAESAR. Not without a little help from you. 11
OCTAVIA. Dad, not so loud. CAESAR. What, the dead can’t eavesdrop. (beat.) But truly, good job with him. OCTAVIA. Thanks. CAESAR. I mean, a poison needle in the tip of an umbrella? OCTAVIA. We were lucky it rained that day he left for battle. CAESAR. A stranger bumps into him on the dock, unnoticeable prick on the ankle, he goes off to war none the wiser—where the hell did you come up with that? OCTAVIA. Not my idea, it’s old-hat spy shit. That’s all. CAESAR. Don’t tell me you regret it. OCTAVIA. I was just doing my job. CAESAR. And you’re very good at it, honey. Do you know that? OCTAVIA. Yeah. CAESAR. You better. Bonus: there’s no one else in the world that looks this killer in a pencil skirt. OCTAVIA. It’s a bodycon dress, Dad. Pencils are for bureaucrats. CAESAR. Oh, she’s out for blood. (beat.) So will you tell Daddy what’s wrong, or what. (beat.) During this century, preferably. OCTAVIA. Was there any information you considered passing along to me? Before I arrived today and learned it on live TV? (beat.) CAESAR. Not really. No. OCTAVIA. No? You don’t think it’s relevant that Antony is sharing a tomb with a certain conquered ruler? CAESAR. Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re jealous of her—
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