Leslie D. Soule Waiting For Samuel Beckett

Leslie D. Soule

Waiting For Samuel Beckett

Additional dialogue by Jules Genelle Celeste, Vivienne Chaconas, Amethyst Cucumber Rose, Raven Bloodknight, & Flint Vasquez

Characters Abraham: A man. Philomon: Another man. Trash Can Man: A man who lives in a trash can. Abraham and Philomon are in a pub, waiting for Samuel Beckett to arrive at the small bookshop across the way, that they can see through the window. Abraham: So what do you think about the reading? Philomon: We’ve come. We’ll wreck it. Takes a drink, then holds the beer bottle up in the air. Abraham: We are waiting for Samuel Beckett. Raises his own beer glass. Philomon: Where are all the dead people from? Abraham: Where? Which? Philomon: In the pub. I saw them. Maybe they were in our glasses. We drank them. Looks into his empty glass, holding it up like a telescope. Abraham: Aye! That’s why they call ’em spirits. Drinks from a bottle of beer. Philomon: Drank me a ghost today. Abraham: Depends on the proof. Philomon: I thought the proof was in the pudding. Never seen no ghosts there though. Abraham: You’re not looking hard enough. Philomon: Looking hard enough at what? Abraham: The pudding. Are you looking out your eye? Philomon: Let’s look out there. Abraham: and Philomon go to the alleyway near the pub. A Trash Can Man is poking his head out of a small aluminum trash can. Trash Can Man: I know Samuel Beckett. Drunkenly. When I saw him, he walked down Bourbon Street dressed like the Queen. Philomon: How does he take his tea? Abraham: Her tea? Philomon: It’s tea. Abraham: Their tea. Philomon: How many teacups and what was in them? Abraham: Bourbon on Bourbon Street. Philomon: The universe, galaxies, I hear they’re delicious. Let’s hear what the old man has to say. Abraham: What old man? Philomon: The man in the trash can. Trash Can Man: Me.

Philomon: Yeah, whatever you are Abraham: We want to know what you think. Trash Can Man: Galileo was an ass. Abraham: Your mother. Trash Can Man: My mother what? Abraham: Your mother gave birth to you and created something from nothing. Trash Can Man: Do you have something you want me to tell Mr. Beckett? Abraham: Tell him you never saw us. And if you see my father, tell him the same. Philomon: How big is that trash can? Trash Can Man: Big enough to fit on the head of a pin. Closes trash can lid, exiting conversation. Abraham: Something’s not right. Takes off hat.

Another hat is underneath it. Takes off necklaces, shakes them out, adds to pile. Takes off jacket, turns it inside-out, looks through sleeves, checks pockets.

Takes off vest, reverses it, puts it back on. Takes it off again. Unbuttons button-up shirt, looks through pockets, takes off t-shirt, undoes straps of brassiere, puts hands in air, questioningly. Starts to unzip fly. Philomon: Stop! Abraham: You’re in no position to tell me when to stop or to go. Or to Gogo. A line of Gogo dancers dance across the stage, passing by

Abraham: like he doesn’t exist. Abraham: I think I will stop-stop then. It could be perpetual where you don’t ever … Pause.

Nods twice … Or stop-stop either. Philomon: Not until we’re dead. Abraham: I can’t wait that long. Philomon: Speaking of which, where is the author? Abraham: Points to sky. There’s the author. Philomon: Still on the plane. Abraham: In the error of existence. Philomon: Maybe if we’re good, he’ll come. Abraham: Then we’re off to a miserable start.

Keeps undressing, taking off jeans, animal print leggings, naughty stockings with garters. Philomon: You know it’s almost Easter, right? Abraham: Naw, I passed right over it. Philomon: I’m gonna buy a chocolate cross, and bite right into it. Abraham: Well I don’t need to know about your personal life. Philomon: He died on the cross. Abraham: Who did? Philomon: The guy that gave us bunnies and chicks and chocolate and…Pauses…books. Abraham: Now down to his underwear – a thong that looks like an elephant, with googly eyes. What kind of books? Philomon: All the books. Even the Good Book. Abraham: Oh, you’re a critic now? Philomon: Peter Rabbit died for your sins. Abraham: Well, that was rather indecent of me. Philomon: Sometimes you come, and sometimes you Gogo. The Gogo dancers appear again, dancing across the stage.

This time, they see the old man’s trash can, pick it up, and Gogo off the stage with it. Abraham: Come back for me! Philomon: What now? Abraham: I forgot you were there. Philomon: Why? Abraham: You’re very quiet. Philomon: I’m dancing silently. Abraham: No, I’m just hard-of-hearing. Philomon: Oh Abraham: What? Philomon: What? Abraham: Well that’s very rude. Philomon: Walks over, examines Abraham:’s pile of clothing. Starts trying things on. Abraham: You’ll see, any minute! Philomon: Sighs in relief. That’s better. Abraham: What’s better for you is worse for me. Then better for me is worse for you. It all comes out in the wash. Philomon: You mean the stains. Abraham: I already told you, I don’t want to hear about your personal life. Philomon: Why? Abraham: I liked you when you were quieter. Philomon: I liked me when I was quieter too. Abraham: Well what’s better for you is better for me, then.

Philomon: Tries on watch. Taps it. Holds to ear.

Makes stink-face. Throws it back into pile. Abraham: That was a very special piece. Philomon: They all are. Abraham: You’re just jealous ’cuz you haven’t got one of your own. Philomon: One what Abraham: Never mind. Have it. Philomon: Nope. Sound’s busted. The sun is rising. Abraham: And that’s never busted. Philomon: So far as we know. Abraham: Does your head ever explode, with all the questions? Philomon: Never known it to. Abraham: Could have fooled me. Philomon: What day do you suppose it is? Abraham: Today. Philomon: It’s today until forever. Abraham: Then I’m always right. Philomon: Darkly Tomorrow never comes. Abraham: But today does go. Philomon: Whispers. Go. The Gogo dancers come back. This time, they take

Abraham: lifting him above their heads. He seems delighted to go. Philomon: Puts watch back on. Well that was interesting. Pause. The sun comes. The dancers go. The author never arrives. And here I am, alone between brick walls, caught in an endless today, and wearing someone else’s watch, that does not make a sound. What is it all for? Abraham: Yells from off-stage What is it all three? Philomon: Lights cigarette. Or four. Chuckles Now

I get it. What is it all for? Flicks the cigarette.

Does it matter? We’re here and then gone, like comets, like birds, like specks of dust in the … pause … dustbin. Will the author ever get here?

And in the meantime, where do we look for salvation? When we come, where do we come from? When we go, where do we … pauses, thinks … go-go? The Gogo dancers come back. This time, they are irritable, not dancing. Abraham is with them, in a pink, puffy robe. They tag some of the walls with spray paint, messages like “Keep Your Dog On

A Leash” and “Spay And Neuter Your Pets.” They hand Phil a leash. Abraham is on the other end. Philomon: What happened? Abraham: You don’t talk about your personal life, and I don’t talk about mine. Philomon: Fair enough. Abraham: Opens robe. I think something’s in this, too. Philomon: Stop! Abraham: Oh, I forgot you were there. Philomon: Where? Abraham: Points at bookstore. In line for the laundromat. Philomon: All hail the mighty author, who cleanseth our clothes. Abraham: I’m not scumming for your clothes. Philomon: You’re not the author. Abraham: Well how do you know? Philomon: Your signature’s not worth anything. Abraham: Well how do you know? Philomon: Try to sell it to somebody. Abraham: Sits down on concrete Observe. Puts hand out into air like he’s begging. Randomly, a quarter falls from the sky. Philomon: It’s raining wealth. Abraham: Enough for the dry! Philomon: Takes hat, holds it out. An apple falls into it. Phil takes it out and holds it up. Abraham: Bad luck, but that was your first try. Philomon: Sets the apple on the sidewalk. Shakes the hat out, tries again. This time, a fish falls into it. Abraham: Well that’s worse, but you’ve got the charm, coming up. Philomon: Takes fish, sets it down onto newspaper, shakes hat out, tries again. A cruddy old watch, like

Abraham’s, falls in. He takes it out, looks at it. Abraham: Is the laundromat closed Sunday? Philomon: I don’t see why they would be.

Laundromat ain’t sacred. Abraham: Well check on the door. Someone might have nailed something up. Philomon: Walks over. Checks the bookstore’s door.

No sign. Looks clear to me, but no author.

Laundromat looks open. Even on Sunday, people gotta clean their holey underwear. Abraham: Well I’m cold. I’m Jimmy-ing the door. Philomon: All right. Go on in then.

Abraham Opens the door easily, as though it was never locked. It stays open and does not shut, as Abraham gathers up the clothes. Philomon: Well, let’s go in. Abraham: I wasn’t inviting you. Philomon: I got an invitation from the author. Abraham: I never sent you a thing. Philomon: You are not He, the great S.B. Abraham: Well that’s awfully rude of you. A man can be three men at once. Philomon: Can he? Abraham: Ignoring question. Give me the clothes. Philomon: Why? What are you going to do with them? Abraham: Wash. You don’t look like you can afford. Philomon: I can pay you in apples and fish. Abraham: That’s good enough. I’ll take them.

Gathers up clothes, apple, fish, and goes inside. Philomon: Attempts to follow. Door closes and locks.

The sign that says Open, goes out. The sound of a badly balanced washing machine can be heard. Lights go out.