FICTION-ONLINE An Internet Literary Magazine Volume 5, Number 3 May-June, 1998 EDITOR'S NOTE: FICTION-ONLINE is a literary magazine publishing electronically through e-mail and the Internet on a bimonthly basis. The contents include short stories, play scripts or excerpts, excerpts of novels or serialized novels, and poems. Some contributors to the magazine are members of the Northwest Fiction Group of Washington, DC, a group affiliated with Washington Independent Writers. However, the magazine is an independent entity and solicits and publishes material from the public. To subscribe or unsubscribe or for more information, please e- mail a brief request to ngwazi@clark.net To submit manuscripts for consideration, please e-mail to the same address, with the ms in ASCII format, if possible included as part of the message itself, rather than as an attachment. 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William Ramsay, Editor ================================================= CONTENTS Editor's Note Contributors "Three Poems" Tan-jen "Portraits," short-shorts Marie Kazalia "Arnoldo," an excerpt (chapter 8) from the novel "Ay, Chucho!" William Ramsay "Gabriele," part 6 of the play, "Duet" Otho Eskin ================================================= CONTRIBUTORS MARIE KAZALIA lives in San Francisco and has a BFA degree from California College of Arts and Crafts. She spent four expatriate years in Asia, living in Japan, India, and Hong Kong and has published both poetry and prose in numerous journals OTHO ESKIN, former diplomat and consultant on international affairs, has published short stories and has had numerous plays read and produced in Washington, notably "Act of God." His play "Duet" has been produced at the Elizabethan Theater at the Folder Library in Washington, and is being performed with some regularity in theaters in the United States, Europe, and Australia. WILLIAM RAMSAY is a physicist and consultant on Third World energy problems. He is also a writer and the coordinator of the Northwest Fiction Group. His play, "Strength," recently received a reading at the Writers Center in Bethesda, Maryland. TAN-JEN is an avid Georgetown (Washington, D.C.) gardener and student of Chinese literature. Her verses seek to capture in English the spirit and prosody of the classical Chinese lyric poems -- the ancestors of the Japanese haiku. ======================================================================= THREE POEMS by Tan-jen The Bag Lady Months and months I've gathered scraps Stray thoughts and bits of dreams Waiting deep in memory's hold To leap into the pattern of a poem. Shells Though cast ashore on sands of time The inner ear still hears the ocean pulse And the lonely soul now longs to curl Inside that salt sweet mother sea. Prana Showers of stars drench the sky Spill through the glow over the hills Bounce into a million crystals on the lake And fly back to dance in our eyes. =========================================== PORTRAITS by Marie A. Kazalia One Night Stand Humorous short guy. Black man. Computer operator at a bank. Forget his name. Something with a Y on the end. Keep thinking Pilly but that's not it. He took me home with him, in my car, to a once elegant building with etched glass entrance doors, faded floral carpeting in the lobby, up sagging stairs. Raised us up into a dense musty odor hanging in a warm cloud at just the step corresponding to ceiling level. Cooler up above up into a darker region. A few more stairs, a narrow hall, he opened his apartment door. Head down a reluctance in his step, leading the way into a tiny room overwhelmed with enormous furniture left-over from a past marriage. His wife got the kids, but he got the orange crushed velvet sofa and two matching chairs. A rumpled sheet and blanket on a tiny cot shoved against one wall. I GOT MORE STUFF, he says, BUT IT'S IN STORAGE. WON'T FIT IN HERE. I had a stunned look on my face, for next he asked, WELL WHAT DID YOU EXPECT? I just shrugged. What did I care what kind of furniture he had? Entered further into the room. Sat down on the long stiff couch. Now I could see that the entire wall of rectangular mirror panels folded open and closed over closet space. I checked my lipstick. He listened at the door. Nervous. Asking, DID YOU EVER HAVE SEX WITH SOMEONE WHO LIVED IN THE SAME BUILDING YOU DID? THAT'S A MISTAKE. Describes a one night stand with a woman in an apartment below. How everyday afterward, she listened for his arrival, and the second he got home from work she would come up and knock on his door. When he tried to get rid of her, she cried and told everyone in the building he'd made her pregnant. Sometimes he'd catch her listening at his door early in the morning or late at night. When his mother came to visit, the woman from down below came up and talked to her. Told his mother she was pregnant with his child, though they'd only had sex once and he'd used a condom. Shame She walks on the dusty streets of Taipei losing weight, starving--on her way to a job interview to teach English as a second language--A job she didn't want--The strap on her Joan & Davids broke--the flat heel of the shoe slapping-up at a long odd rhythm falling back down too heavily--no longer matching its mate on the right foot--she limped along like this for several blocks until she came to a covered walk-way and an old man with a shoe repair service, out of a wooden box on the sidewalk. She sat on a stool and removed the bad shoe--speaking a few words of Mandarin with the old man and one of his old cronies as he glued and nailed her shoe. When it came time to pay the old man didn't know how to say 15NT (New Taiwan dollars) in English so held up his full hand to mean 5, pushed it forward 3 times--"FIFTY?" she asks in Mandarin. He nods yes. Dropping his eyes in shame, takes the money--Later he buys a sweet rice cake and takes it to the temple as an offering to the gods--incense burning-- placing it on the offering table beside two large Domino's Pizzas in delivery boxes-- Time I enjoy going and seeing the Director--having a scotch or a beer, whatever he offers---some good "home cooked" food; dinner his cooks make --- after a little conversation and shared food & drinks, smoking a cigarette ---then I feel better---I'm not as frantic or urgent ---I don't want to grab the night and choke the living shit out of it; kick it and bash it around just to try and get as much out of it as I can, as the clock ticks---Instead I look back I sit back, and then, I comeback to my room and write--I look around I sit down I relax I see the possibilities and I go for them--slowly--carefully--systematically -- after that, after I start and I begin and I move forward-- that urge to strangle and choke myself get tangled up in it all, isn't there... and I just ease right past all that kind of nonsense then have something when I'm finished. Isn't there more? =============================================================================================== ARNOLDO by William Ramsay (Note: This is an excerpt, Chapter 8, from the novel "­Ay, Chucho!") So there I was, running around Havana under an alias, trying to get two prisoners -- my eccentric old man and the unknown Mr. Pillo out of a pretty damned formidable hoosegow, all by myself. Oh, the Salvadorans read the C.I.A. had provided me with a contact address in the Cayo Hueso _barrio_, and they said they might be able to help me get a boat or a light plane out of the country once I had succeeded in getting their friend Pillo out. But that was about it. First success, then help and forgiveness. The next day, my friend Pierre -- Waldemar visited me in my hotel room. "Au revoir, Felipe. Off on business," he had told me, stroking Kropotkin and smiling as he whispered his conspiratorial good-byes. "Lots of business in the Socialist Paradise. VCR's, very big now. Also Roseanne and Madonna tapes. Also Barbara Bush photos. And her dog." I bid him good-bye, wishing him success wheeling and dealing -- and hoping that if the police caught him that he wouldn't feel obliged to mention his colleague "Felipe Elizalde." That left me with one less person around who knew who I really was. But it also left me all alone and in over my head. I can only suppose that's why, that first week in Havana, my prick started to take over from my brains. It all started with Valeska the night I gave a little party for her and Arnoldo. We were in the Tropicana -- it was a dollar place, and I was treating Valeska and Arnoldo with the Association's -- or the C.I.A.'s expense money. In the outer lobby, there were placards with anti-imperialist cartoons, a pot- bellied Uncle Sam pulling a steel net labeled "embargo" around a poor Cuban woman, while a Cuban soldier in camouflage pointed an automatic weapon at him: "We know how to defend ourselves," it said. Inside the club itself, it was a welcome return to bourgeois degeneracy. Aerialists swung from ropes and teetered on high wires above the giant stage of the nightclub. Chorines that looked as if they had stepped out of a Las Vegas revue of the Fifties extended long sequin-stockinged legs in every which direction. Arnoldo was in a surly mood -- as usual. He wanted to bitch about how INDER, the ministry in charge of sports, gave all its support to track and field, _futbol_, and boxing. "_Jai-alai_ isn't an Olympic sport, so they're not interested. Socialism!" I was willing to share his feelings about socialism -- but not to listen to him go on and on about it. I was feeling starved for capitalistic degeneracy, and I tuned out his diatribe as I watched the show. The music swelled into a sweep of violins and then a ripple of marimbas. In the background, I was aware of Valeska's voice and a few harsh-sounding syllables from Arnoldo. Finally Arnoldo stood up. "Deodorants!" he said. "What do I ever get from you?" said Valeska. The stomach and groin area of Arnold's tight trousers were bathed in a spotlight. "What the hell do you mean?" said Arnoldo. "Sit down!" yelled someone. Arnoldo frowned but sat down. "You're impossible," said Valeska. "It was nice of Felipe to get me some things from the dollar store." Poor kid, I thought, she had been forced, like so many other Cubans, to use milk of magnesia as a replacement for Right Guard. In the dollar store on La Rampa, I had also found her two Italian bikinis and some Cadbury chocolates -- the kid had a sweet tooth that wouldn't stop. Arnold stood up again, backing into another spotlight, which lit his narrow Moorish face like a covering of white paint. "Sit down!" yelled the same voice. But Arnold didn't move. Valeska turned to me. "I saw a beautiful pearl bracelet with little diamonds and a little gold star in the center in the store window," she said in a clear and incisive voice. "I have my pride," said Arnoldo even more loudly. "Sit down and shut up," came a yell from behind us. Arnoldo's mouth moved into a pout that would end all pouts. He leapt out of the light and into the darkness behind our table. "What the hell?" I heard, and then the sound of chairs falling and bodies thumping. The long streaky cones of flashlights appeared and two big waiters came up. One flashlight showed Arnoldo was down on the floor, tangled up with a waiter. The music from the orchestra was very loud now, with lots of percussion. A glass hit the floor next to me, and droplets of something landed on my shirtfront. I put my arm around Valeska's shoulder and tried to pull her away. She leaned the other way and swung her foot, trying to kick either Arnoldo or the waiter. "Little shit," she said. The waiter was a big guy; I guess she had Arnoldo in mind. Arnoldo managed to stand up. He reached out an arm toward Valeska. "I love you." "Oh, for God's sake," said Valeska. The waiters started to hustle him away. "I love you," he yelled again. A spotlight turned in his direction, illumining his face. The waiters stopped shoving him "I love you." There was scattered applause. "Arnoldo!" said Valeska. The spotlight moved to her. She blinked, then she smiled and waved. More applause. Somebody shouted, "_Viva_ _el_ _amor_!" The waiters had gotten Arnoldo moving again and he was near the door. "I love you," came his shout. More applause. A last flicker of the searchlight lit up his face, and then he was gone. People came over to the table. Valeska signed autographs with the aid of a waiter's flashlight. She posed for photos. After a few minutes, the room settled down. "Let's get out of here," Valeska said. "O.K. Where to?" "I'm beat, I need to lie down." "Lie down," I said. "Oh." We paid the bill, grabbed a Turistaxi out front, and went back to the Presidente. The attendant on my floor tried to stop us in the hallway, thinking that Valeska was one of the quasi-official whores _jinetas_ who frequented the hotel. Knowing Valeska's life-style, I was worried for a moment. But she yanked her identity card out from her bodice and flipped it in the attendant's face. He apologized. I had glanced at the card. "Cigar factory worker?" I said as I opened the door of my room. She sniffed. "I used to sit there rolling cigars at H. Upmann's, 8 to 5, with some jerk reading editorials from _Granma_ out to us. I took it for almost three years, when the baby was small, then I got smart." She yawned. "I'm tired." "Go ahead, lie down," I said. She took off her shoes but left her dress on. "You can lie down too." "O.K." I said. My prick stirred slightly. I lay down beside her. "This life stinks too. Cuba is no good. Turn the light off." I put one hand on the breast nearest me. She grasped my hand firmly, her long fingernails eating into my palm, and pulled it off. "Just lie down, I said," she said sharply. "Oh, sorry." I lay back and tried to think cold-shower thoughts. Later, I awakened, feeling groggy. I gradually woke up completely as I felt a hand pulling down the zipper on my fly. Me: I thought you said... Her: I can't get it down. Me: Let me help. I did help and she found my candlewick erect and ready. Too ready. Me: Don't, be careful! Her: Why? Me: Because...no, no. Her: (easing up with her hand): You know that pearl bracelet? Me: First thing in the morning. Oh. God no! Stop, stop! Yikes. Oh. Oh. It turned out it was a good thing I was only twenty-nine years old. If I had been fifty, my evening fun might have been ended then and there. But those African lips brought me back to life quickly. As it was, when she left about 3:30, my body was trembling as if I had had a an evening of ten daiquiris instead of two, and I could hardly raise my eyelids, much less my prick. I awoke to a sudden silence. The air conditioner had stopped abruptly, along with the light in the bathroom -- a routine socialist power outage. I pushed the light on my Casio -- 5:15. It would be light soon, pale blue streaks were already showing above the still gurgling blob of refrigeration machinery blocking the lower part of the window. What a night. Making it with a sexy woman beats watching reruns on TV -- and since it was Havana, there wouldn't have been any TV after eleven anyway. Besides, it does something for your ego when it's a woman who might have charged you for the evening, and didn't. I know, I know, a small point, maybe. But face it, I, Jesus Revueltos, was important, interesting, charming enough to pull a freebie from a high class "girl" like Valeska. Well, there was the pearl bracelet -- but a present between friends is not the same thing at all as paying for it -- nobody can tell me different about that. Besides, the prices at the dollar stores were pretty reasonable, considering. I began to see more of Valeska. She usually managed to find a night or two a week free for me -- and fortunately the dollar stores never ran out of jewelry, chocolates -- or Chinese condoms. And two days later I ran into Pierre too. I was surprised to discover that I was glad to see him again. He was back, staying at a house on the Malecon near the hotel and busy with "business." A knowing smile when he saw me with Valeska. "Dear Felipe, and dearest Valeska, my favorite people, such good friends." In between I went to lots of movies. There was one place that showed the classics from the thirties that I love -- Garbo as Queen Christina, Ninotchka and Jimmy Cagney, who is quite a culture hero in macho-conscious Cuba. Besides, the TV had two channels, afternoons and evenings, that showed reels and reels of old American films from the thirties and forties. My idea of heaven. Sometimes a speech of Fidel's preempted the flicks. Him and that repulsive brother of his, Raul. Like Napoleon, Fidel believed in family -- wimpy-looking little Raul standing beside and slightly behind his big brother, poor little number two. One day Valeska and I sat down to order coffee and ice cream in The Pigeon's Nest on the Rampa, the chic area for all the socialist gilded youth of Havana. I looked up from the menu and saw Arnoldo. A giant chocolate sundae was in front of him. He was with a group of other young men and three postgraduate nymphet types. He stared at me. Valeska's back was to him. He dug his spoon heavily into the sundae and stuck it, filled with ice cream, into his mouth. He ate, then he puffed out his cheeks. He began stabbing the sundae with the spoon, aimlessly. "There's Arnoldo," I said, pointing. Valeska turned around, smiled very briefly at Arnold, then turned back toward me. Arnoldo jabbed the spoon hard into the sundae. It slipped, and a big gob of ice cream landed on his forehead. Chocolate sauce dripped down over one eye. He looked like he was going to explode. One of the nymphets took a napkin and began to clean off his face. With a swipe of his hand, he knocked several dishes of ice cream off the table. A waiter hurried over, the a manager type. Arnoldo's friends urged his to his feet and they put their arms around him and shepherded him toward the door. "No one knows what love is," he yelled. The cafe grew silent. "Love is hell," he said and he and his friends left. Applause. "You can say that again," said someone. Laughter. "I hate vulgarity," said Valeska, digging into her banana split. On the far wall, the bearded likeness of Fidel Castro grinned down paternally on the scene. Fidel. I was still nowhere getting my promised interview with the maximum leader. In principle, Fidel was accessible to everyone -- but that apparently meant accessible only if and when he felt like it. I had no luck with Pepita's contact on his staff, and I went back to MININT to try there. Comrade Menendez, pulling on the jowls below his fat cheeks, squirmed in his swivel chair. "The Comandante," he said, making a tent with his hands, "is extremely conscious of the obligations of the Cuban Revolution to the struggling democratic forces in other nations. Especially Czechoslovakia." "El Salvador," I said. "El Salvador? I thought it was Czechoslovakia. Or was it Albania?" "El Salvador." "But El Salvador is under the heel of the imperialists." "I'm with the FMLN." He looked puzzled. "The socialists, the other side." "Of course you are." His wide mouth split his face in a pumpkin-like smile. "Of course." "We will notify you as soon as we get an opening." Big smile. "I hope you are enjoying your stay in Cuba. Have you been fishing out of Mariel?" he said. I told him I hadn't. And not having much else to do after the runaround I'd gotten from him, the next day I did join a day charter. At anchor, the boat had a rotting oily fish aroma that mixed in nicely with the iodine-salt smell of the breeze off Punta Rubalcava. Underway, the ancient engine contributed hydrocarbon smells that overwhelmed all other odors. Sitting as far forward out of the fumes as I could, I managed to survive the cruise, catching one medium albacore, a two-foot shark, and a quite usable twenty-one-inch bicycle tire. The only thing that made me the day tolerable was watching one of the big Soviet-built fishing factory ships going by and being glad I wasn't one of the poor slobs that had to spend three or four months at sea on a socialist vessel. On the way back, I tried to scrunch down in the plastic chair, pull my hat over my eyes, and take a nap. I thought about Valeska. How did you get a name like that? I had finally asked her. It was my mother's idea, she told me. Later Pierre told me that Maria Walewska was Napoleon's mistress. "Give you any ideas, Felipe, darling?" he said. I opened my eyes as the boat came in. We were passing a small blue and white fishing boat. A man in the cockpit looked familiar. He ducked his head. His blue coat fit him like a sack. He looked familiar. He raised his head again. It was Mr. Marcus. Instead of the floppy sports shirts and _guayaberas_ he favored in El Salvador, he was wearing under the blue coat a striped shirt, trying to look like Spencer Tracy in "Captains Courageous," I suppose. He saluted me and grinned. Then he disappeared into the cabin of the boat. Mr. Marcus in Cuba! I supposed he was making sure that I didn't try to leave the country by boat until "the mission" had been accomplished. His presence didn't make me feel any better at all. That night Valeska's mother had gone on a visit to relatives in what used to be Oriente province, and we were lolling on the murphy bed in Valeska's cramped little apartment in Casablanca, across the harbor from downtown. Strictly speaking, I was the one who was lolling, trying to forget about Cuban bureaucrats, the Cuban police, the Association -- and Mr. Marcus. I had just come in from fetching a pail of water from the hydrant -- Valeska's block only had running water from 11-12 and 2-4. Valeska was sitting with her son in the other "room," where her mother and seven-year-old Pedro slept: the "room" lay behind a sheet that had been thrown up on a clothesline running through the middle of the apartment. She was trying to keep him amused -- he had built a tent out of his bedclothes, but had then taken a pair of scissors to the sheets to improve the design. She came back to the main "room" and kitchen to put on the fish croquettes and check the rice and the potatoes. In Cuba, complex carbohydrates were all the rage -- lots of them, every meal. "What the hell are you really up to here in Cuba, Felipe?" she said. "Something crooked, I suppose." I asked her why she said that. "Friends of Pierre are always into crazy things, usually crooked. He's crazy," she said. Pedro yelled "Mama!" "Shut up!" she replied, calmly and hardly raising her voice. "I want some pineapple!" 'No." "Yes! _Pinita_!" She slammed the wall with her fist. There was absolute silence from the other side of the sheet. "He'll be quiet now." "I'm working for the Party back in El Salvador." "'Party.' That's what Pierre always says. And the only 'Party' he's concerned with is himself." She smiled, evidently thinking of past pleasures. "He knows how to take care of himself. But he's a good pal." "Yeah?" "He doesn't bother women. That's good." A low humming could be heard from the other side. "Quiet!" she yelled. A modest but clear "no" made itself heard. Then the humming resumed. "I've still got a few bureaucrats to see here," I said. The humming grew louder. "That drives me crazy, he gets it from next door." "Next door?" "That Indian creep Gupta, always sitting around humming. It's like _santeria_, I don't like it." "Sounds like meditation," I said. "Maybe transcendental." "Don't hum!" she yelled. "Seeing bureaucrats, huh?" she said to me. "Yeah." She said she hadn't noticed my seeing anybody but her and a bunch of fishermen and some films with movie stars from the stone ages. "Well. I'm waiting to see Fidel." The humming grew louder, into almost a screech. "Shut the hell up!" she yelled. Sobbing. "Please, darling," she said to the hanging sheet. Then she frowned at me and asked why seeing Fidel was such a big problem. I explained my frustrations with the bureaucracy. "What bullshit," she said. "Why didn't you say something? My friend Doris has this special friend of hers that works on the staff of the Council of Ministers. Very generous with presents from the dollar stores. A new color TV, a camera that does everything, rolls the film by itself, flashes like a regular lightning storm." "Can he help me?" "Lie back," she said. "I'm getting kind of hungry." I looked toward the pots on the propane burner. "Is it ready yet?" "Not that kind of hungry." "I'm hungry too," came Pedro's small voice. "But can your friend help?" I said, trying to raise myself up. "Lie back!" She drew her lips together and frowned. I lay back on the sofa and opened my fly. "Don't forget the amethyst ring I told you about, will you, Flip?" I shook my head. Her lips prodded into my groin. A broken spring reached up out of the sofa and jabbed me in the ass. Then a voice said, "What are you doing, _mamaita_?" I tried to zip my fly and caught it in my penis. Ouch. "Go away and play, Pedrito," she said. "Don't pay any attention to him," she said to me. A small face poked around the edge of the sheet. I turned away to hide myself. "Mama!" "_Queridito_, come see, there's nothing here." She motioned to me and then got up and took him by the hand to bring him over. I hurriedly undid my zipper and got my prick back in. "You see, it's nothing." Pedro stared at my crotch. He looked disappointed. "See, nothing." "What have you got there?" he said to me, pointing at my fly. She reached into the table drawer, scooped out a piece of hard candy, and handed it to him. "Go!" He popped the candy in his mouth. His eyes popped out too. She shoved him and he trotted back to his "room." We got back to business. As she eased herself onto me again, I heard a voice from the other side of the sheet, singing: "He's got a little weewee, a little weewee, he's got a little weewee, weewee, wee...." My "weewee" felt smaller and smaller with each chorus. She raised her head. "Don't pay any attention." She smiled. You should see that ring, it's lovely." "...little weewee..." "Shit," I said loudly. "_Senor_," said a small voice. Her lips had hardened. Another "Shut up" was coming. "Yes," I said, gasping. "For one of those chocolate bars like you got _mamaita_, I could stop singing." "Go outside and play and I'll give you two," I said. Inside of twenty seconds the door slammed. Inside sixty seconds, I came. And the next morning I was the first in line at the dollar store, buying an amethyst ring and a three month's supply of chocolate bars. By dinner time Doris' friend had gotten me an appointment with Fidel Castro. ================================================ GABRIELE By Otho Eskin (Note: this is part 6 of the play "Duet") CHARACTERS (In order of appearance) ELEONORA DUSE SARAH BERNHARDT MAN SETTING Backstage of the Syria Theatre, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. TIME April 5, 1924 Evening. SCENE ELEONORA Sarah Bernhardt has said I should come to Paris? SARAH Of course, my dear. You are welcome. As a sign of my good will, I will allow you to use my own theater. MAN How generous! ELEONORA I'm not so sure. MAN What a noble soul the Great Sarah has to make such an offer. You can't refuse. ELEONORA I couldn't refuse. SARAH It's settled! That Italian woman will perform in Paris. MAN Paris talks of nothing else. The press is ecstatic over the Divine Sarah's generous offer to stand as the champion of La Duse her only rival. SARAH Everyone described it as an act of unprecedented generosity. MAN Not every one. SARAH Some questioned my motives. MAN Some suggest it was done for publicity. Some suggest that Sarah is luring this young woman to Paris so that Sarah might devour her. SARAH How absurd! I would never dream of such a thing. ELEONORA I need something new something fresh to perform in Paris. I will perform your new play, Gabriele The Dead City. I will make it the greatest theatrical work of our time. MAN I cannot allow you perform The Dead City. ELEONORA But, my love, you wrote it for me. MAN You may not perform it now. Not in Paris. Not yet. ELEONORA I was devastated. I wanted more than anything else in life to perform that play. I knew it would be an event of transcendent beauty. I could not understand. MAN It is not for you to understand. Appear in La Dame aux camelias instead. ELEONORA Impossible! That is Sarah's play. MAN Face the tigress in her lair. Perform in the role she is most known for. ELEONORA And so I went to Paris. And so I finally met the Divine Sarah face to face. (SARAH and ELEONORA rush toward one another, arms outstretched, and fling themselves into one another's arms in an extravagant, and unconvincing, gesture of warmth and friendship.) MAN The two greatest actresses of their time together at last. This was not a meeting it was a collision. SARAH My dear, welcome to Paris! Welcome to my modest home. ELEONORA Madame, I am honored. SARAH You are too kind. ELEONORA This is the culmination of years of hope to meet at last the incomparable Sarah herself. SARAH I have heard many fine things about you... ELEONORA You have been my inspiration since I was a child. SARAH (Coolly) I have not had the pleasure of meeting your companion. ELEONORA Madame, my I present Gabriele D'Annunzio. MAN Enchant‚. SARAH (Full of charm, flirtatious) My delight is to be doubled I see. MAN Madame, your beauty exceeds all rumor. I am at your feet. SARAH I am an admirer of your poetry, Signor. ELEONORA Gabriele is also a distinguished playwright. SARAH How wonderful! I hope one day I will have the honor of appearing in one of your works. MAN The honor would be mine. SARAH (To ELEONORA) Now, my dear, tell me what will you perform for your debut in Paris? ELEONORA I have decided to play the role of Marguerite in La Dame aux camelias. SARAH You cannot be serious! ELEONORA Cher, Madame... SARAH The effrontery! ELEONORA I mean this as a tribute to your genius. SARAH You mean to challenge me. You mean to lay claim to the title of greatest actress of Europe. What treachery! What deceit! ELEONORA I don't need to appear in one of your old war horses to prove myself. SARAH I have welcomed you to Paris. I have offered you the hospitality of my home. And how do you repay me? You have stabbed me through the heart! I lie upon the floor, bleeding, the last breath of my life escaping in a sigh. I will not allow you. ELEONORA Madame, I will do as I please. SARAH You dare contradict me! ELEONORA I will not be told what I can or cannot perform. If that causes you grief, that can't be helped. SARAH It causes me more than grief. I have lived with grief all my life. It is no stranger to me. What you have done causes me something much graver it causes me disappointment. I had thought you had more honor than to betray your benefactor. ELEONORA You are not my benefactor. SARAH I have given you my own theater for you to use. ELEONORA And you refused me the courtesy of your dressing room although you used mine when you performed in Turin years ago. If you wish to withdraw the offer of your theater you may. I will have no difficulty in finding another. SARAH Without my endorsement, nobody will come. ELEONORA Everybody will come. MAN Please, dear ladies, do not spoil this happy this historic occasion by quarreling... ELEONORA Quiet! SARAH This is between us. ELEONORA Why are you angry, Madame? Are you afraid the people of Paris will see that this role can be interpreted by someone beside you? Will they see how old and stale your vaunted technique is? Will they feel fresh air once more in the theater? (Long pause) SARAH You are, of course, quite right, my dear. You may select any play you wish. Including La Dame aux camelias. I am sure you will do splendidly. ELEONORA You are most gracious, Madame. SARAH I insist that you call me Sarah. ELEONORA Sarah. SARAH Eleonora. MAN See! Wasn't that easy. Everyone is happy. I am so pleased. SARAH Eleonora, the more that I think about it, the more I am convinced La Dame aux camelias is perfect for you. MAN Didn't I tell you the same thing? ELEONORA I will confess, I have had doubts about that... SARAH Nonsense! You must do it. MAN You must. SARAH I insist. MAN She insists. ELEONORA She insists. SARAH You will be a great triumph. MAN A fabulous success. SARAH You will be magnificent. The event of the season. I will attend your debut myself. MAN The Great Sarah will attend your debut. What an honor! And Sarah did attend. ELEONORA She sat in her loge, her disheveled hair enveloped in a wreath of roses. MAN No one in the audience could take their eyes from the Divine Sarah. ELEONORA I am terrified. Never have I felt so unsure of myself. MAN There is no need to be anxious, my saint. ELEONORA This play is a mistake. I should never have agreed to do La Dame aux camelias. Everyone will compare me to Sarah. MAN You will be brilliant. ELEONORA We must cancel the performance. MAN Impossible! ELEONORA I'm too nervous to perform. She is out there, watching me. I can't go on. MAN You must. This is your chance to prove yourself Sarah's equal. If you cancel the performance, everyone will say you are frightened of Sarah. ELEONORA I am frightened of her. MAN Tout Paris is here tonight. You will be brilliant. SARAH You will be fantastic. MAN Fabulous. SARAH Glorious. (BEAT) ELEONORA I was a disaster. MAN Catastrophe. SARAH Horrible. ELEONORA I saw her from the stage the only one I saw beautiful, transcendent roses in her hair. She smiled at me from time to time. MAN Everyone in the audience watched for Sarah's reaction. ELEONORA I knew it was not working. I felt her eyes on me at all times. I wanted to die. SARAH At the first intermission my admirers came to my loge. MAN Madame, you have nothing to fear from La Duse. Your crown is secure forever. SARAH They told me her reputation was inflated. She was only considered good because she had never appeared in Paris. The only place that really matters. MAN Not up to Paris standards. SARAH There was general agreement. MAN No make up. Dull costumes. Not as good as our Sarah. ELEONORA It was awful. SARAH I was re-affirmed by the critics and the public as supreme. MAN Another triumph for the Great Sarah. SARAH A time of triumph and I was in despair. The mob saw a woman not using the stylized acting techniques they were used to. I saw something else. I saw a new style of acting more natural, more felt, than anything I'd ever experienced. I saw an artist who was as good as I was. I saw genius. And that night I saw a woman fifteen years younger than I playing my role. I felt mortality. And I never forgave that. ELEONORA I was a failure. MAN You were terrible, Eleonora. SARAH Disappointing. MAN Inadequate. Very. SARAH Not up to Paris standards, my dear. MAN You should never have appeared in La Dame aux camelias. You were a fool even to think of such a thing. A fool. ELEONORA I should never have performed that play. SARAH You should not have performed that play. Not in Paris. ELEONORA Why didn't you let me use your new play, Gabriele? The play which I inspired. MAN You made a fool of yourself, Eleonora. Worse you made a fool of me. SARAH (To MAN) Your lovely mistress was not a great success last night, I'm afraid. MAN I realize now I have been wrong about her. I was bewitched by her beauty. I now know she can never be your equal. Forgive me for thinking so. SARAH I always forgive men who are blinded by love. Have I told you about the coffin I keep in my bedroom, Gabriele? One of my lovers gave it to me. He would have me lie in it, surrounded by burning tapers, and watch me for hours. Then we would make love. In the coffin. Perhaps you would like to see my coffin? MAN I would be enchanted. SARAH I am told you have written a new play. MAN A great poetic tragedy. SARAH Tell me about it, Gabriele. MAN It is called The Dead City and it is set on the hot plain outside of the ancient ruins of Mycenae. It involves adultery and incest.. SARAH Adultery and incest. How wonderful! I am sure I will adore it. I wish to produce and star in it myself. MAN That would be a great honor, Sarah, but... SARAH Is there something wrong? MAN Nothing would give me greater pleasure... SARAH What is it, my dear Gabriele? MAN I wrote that play for Eleonora. SARAH So? What is the problem? MAN I promised The Dead City to her. SARAH Promises are made to be broken. You were young. Your experience was limited. Now, tonight, it can be unlimited. MAN I'm certain that, with you to inspire me, my genius will know no bounds. SARAH We have a great deal in common, you and I. We're both charlatans. I wonder how much more we have in common. ELEONORA (Furious) You did what?! You gave your play to Bernhardt!? To that that woman! How could you? She has nothing to do with our dreams. Nothing to do with our new theater. She's from the past. She is the past. We are the future. How dare you! The Dead City is my play. You wrote it for me. I want my play. MAN I have signed a contract and Sarah will perform it next year. ELEONORA You betrayed me. MAN Infidelity gives love an intoxicating novelty. (ELEONORA moves threateningly toward the MAN who backs away quickly.) ELEONORA You gave away your art for a night of rutting! You've cheapened your art. You've cheapened yourself. You've cheapened me! (SHE snatches up some heavy object.) You worm! You slug. I'll cut out your heart. (The MAN slips into the shadows and ELEONORA slumps into a chair.) ================================================================== ==================================================================