The City of Dreams -- Part 34 (Most of Act II)

[I wanted to finish the book today. It might still manage it, but I figured I'd post this just in case.]

ACT II

Scene 1

Lights come up on a stately man in a suit and a priest's collar, hurrying on stage to sit on a stool. He is surrounded by pots filled with flowers. They sway contentedly, as if recently fed.

Camel Suit walks into the light from stage left, sets down his stool, opens his script, and sits. Above them is a sign: Fortunate Misunderstandings

CAMEL SUIT

Hello.

PRIEST

Hello!

CAMEL SUIT

I'm looking for my son--

PRIEST

Your son! Does that mean that YOU are my father? I've looked for you so long! Since the time I was eight I hoped to discover where you had gone. I always thought that the story my mother told about your expedition to the Congo was too good to be true.

CAMEL SUIT

No! That's not it. I'm looking for my son's--

PRIEST

Sons! I have a brother? I'm so glad. It's hard to be alone in this world, and I always knew that having a brother would make my life complete. Along with having a father, of course. I'm so glad you found me.

CAMEL SUIT

I only have one child! I don't have 'sons.'

PRIEST

Then...which of us is your son? Me, or my brother?

CAMEL SUIT

Neither. And another thing, you must be thirty years older than I am.

PRIEST

It IS my birthday! How did you know? I'd decided not to tell anyone, but since the secret's out, we might as well have a party. End table!

The exuberant end table scampers onto the stage from stage right. The priest barely manages to catch the cake that threatens to slide off, re-centering it on the end table. The end table stands as still as it can, quivering.

PRIEST

Do you like cake with strawberry filling? I am a fan of strawberries, and these aren't fresh, true, but they're still wonderful in so many ways. I asked for 'straws, very quickly,' and they brought me the only strawberries they had. It means we'll have to drink soda straight from the can, but I think the cake will make up for that, don't you?

CAMEL SUIT

I think there's a misunderstanding. I didn't know it's your birthday, and I'm not your father, and you don't have a brother. Unless you do, but there's no way I would know, because my only son is someone else entirely.

PRIEST

In that case, does he want cake also?

CAMEL SUIT

We're just trying to find our son's friend, Punctual Fitzgibbons. Have you seen Punctual Fitzgibbons?

PRIEST

Not lately.

CAMEL SUIT

Hang on. Was that one a joke, too?

Priest looks up from his own script, hesitates, then nods.

CAMEL SUIT

Man, I'm totally getting this play now. If he's not here, then I suppose I should go. Though...not before a bit of that cake.

PRIEST

I'm so glad. How fortunate things worked out this way.

Fade to black as Priest goes to cut the cake. Sounds of hurried steps followed by a thud. Sharp intake of breath from the priest, followed by slower, limping steps.

Ominous organ music.

Scene 2

Beneath the sign that reads 'Intentional Misunderstandings' sits a round, black man who looks surprisingly like the Narrator, but with a hat perched on the back of his head, so he is clearly a different person. He is surrounded by furniture of all sorts--a table, an armoire, an ottoman, two book cases, seven chairs, three sets of drawers, and an end table at his feet that, every so often, hops up and down.

Feathered Woman comes in from stage left, sets down her stool, and sits.

FEATHERED WOMAN

Good day.

ROUND MAN

Is it?

FEATHERED WOMAN

Not particularly, no. I'm looking for a boy.

ROUND MAN

Oh? Is that how you see me? A boy? Too young to handle the responsibility of a place like this? Too callow to support the weight of Intentional Misunderstandings? I'll have you know that I'm a mature and established man of thirty-five, well equipped for any job of this sort.

FEATHERED WOMAN

Thirty-five? Surely you're more than--

ROUND MAN

Now you call me old. I understand. Decrepit, you call me. Feeble. Frail. Past his prime and ready to be put out in whatever kind of pasture they keep for useless, round, old men. Well, if that is what you think of me, then let me inform you, madam, that you are no spring chicken.

The furniture, at first clearly surrounding the Round Man, has begun to move across the stage toward the Feathered Woman.

FEATHERED WOMAN

I beg your pardon!

ROUND MAN

Hardly even a summer chicken. You, madam, are an early-to-mid-fall chicken, if I have ever seen one, and after the way you've treated me, I hardly feel a twinge of regret informing you of this.

The furniture is now beginning to envelop the Feathered Woman, and she looks around nervously, checking that the stage behind her is still open.

FEATHERED WOMAN

Of all the rude--

ROUND MAN

I'm rude now, am I? You come into my establishment, insult me in every possible way, and now I'M the one who is RUDE? I can hardly believe it. Let me tell you something, madam. Of all the individuals that I have had the dubious honor to misunderstand, you are among the worst.

The furniture is truly starting to close in on the Feathered Woman, and she tugs at her dress anxiously, pulling off feathers. The armoire leans in over her and appears to sniff.

FEATHERED WOMAN

I don't see how--

ROUND MAN

Not THE worst, perhaps. There was that fellow who tried to be NICE to me, but I put him straight in short order. And there was the woman who dressed in her shrill voice and tried to clarify EVERYTHING. No, you are not the worst, but YOU, madam, are a solid FIFTH!

The furniture presses in on the Feathered Woman. She screams, throws her script into the air, and runs off stage. The end table scampers after her then comes back and settles at the Round Man's feet.

ROUND MAN

No goodbye, no fare-you-well, not even a hint of courtesy. Typical, madam! Oh so typical.

                                    (Looking down at the end table.)

It's because of my weight, you know. Some people simply can't abide the company of a slender fellow like myself.

Fade to black.

Cheerful organ music that gradually mellows.