Sam Shepard: The god of hell: a play

: Long as he needs to.

EMMA

: I’ll start the bacon.

FRANK

: Good.

EMMA

: Should I wake him up?

FRANK

: I wouldn’t.

EMMA

: Maybe he’d like some bacon.

FRANK

: You never know. (

short pause

) You’re going to drown those plants.

(FRANK exits . EMMA alone—stares out window as FRANK crosses, outside. He waves to her. She blows him a kiss. She crosses to the kitchen, dumps the empty pitcher into the sink. It rattles around. She goes to the stove, turns on a burner, sets frying pan on it. She goes to the fridge, takes out bacon, peels off slices. She crosses to top of basement staircase landing, stops, and yells down to their unseen guest, the bacon strips hanging from her hand .)

EMMA

: Mr. Haynes? Are you up yet, Mr. Haynes?

( No answer. She goes to the stove and slaps bacon into the frying pan. She turns fire down slightly. Suddenly, the doorbell rings: a very loud, old-fashioned, crank-style doorbell with a rasping, brittle sound . EMMA turns abruptly toward door, very surprised. She pauses a moment, as though wondering if she imagined it; then the doorbell rings again—longer and more persistent this time. She picks up a dishtowel and wipes her hands as she crosses to door. She opens door, which swings downstage, blocking the audience’s view of who is standing there. A man’s arm pops into view, dangling a large cookie in the shape of an American flag, with red, white, and blue frosting . EMMA jumps back. A male voice is heard from behind door .)

MALE VOICE

: Cookie? American made. Oat and raisin. Totally organic—even the frosting.

(EMMA. just stares bewilderedly at the cookie dangling from the hand .)

EMMA

: No—uh—what is it? What—we don’t—need anything.

(WELCH steps into the room, quickly closing the door behind him . EMMA backs up a little, holding the dishrag to her chest . WELCH —dark suit with American flag pin in his lapel, short cropped hair, crisp white shirt, red tie, attaché case in one hand and the cookie in the other. Big grin .)

WELCH

: (

offering cookie

) American-made cookie? One of the best you ever tasted. Guaranteed. Take a bite.

EMMA

: No—thank you.

WELCH

: Hold it then. Just take ahold of it and feel its wonderful weight and texture.

EMMA

: No—I’m sorry, but—we’re not interested.

WELCH

: Not interested—not at all interested.

EMMA

: In cookies—

WELCH

: Aah—

(WELCH bites into the cookie himself and savors it, smiling broadly at EMMA. EMMA stares back as WELCH crunches .)

EMMA

: Did you, uh—come to see my husband or something? Who exactly are you?

WELCH

: Your husband. That’s him, down below in the barn, I take it. Mumbling to the cows. Riding around on the tractor like a little boy. A child of the plains.

EMMA

: Yes. That’s him. And he’s not a little boy. He’s a big man.

WELCH

: He looks pretty American, doesn’t he?

EMMA

: I beg your pardon?

WELCH

: I mean—descent—hereditary-wise. Authentic! He looks authentic, is what I’m driving at. He could fool somebody.

EMMA

: Fool?

WELCH

: Hard to tell from a distance, of course. Easy to make snap judgments. He could be one of those middle Europeans or something. Latvian maybe. Belarusian.

EMMA

: I think you must have the wrong house or something. I don’t know what in the world—

(WELCH suddenly moves very quickly across to the kitchen cupboards . EMMA just stands there, watching .)

WELCH

: Would you mind if I borrow a saucer? I don’t want to get crumbs all over your floor. I can see you run a very tight ship here.

(WELCH sets his case down on kitchen counter, opens cupboard, and takes out a white saucer. He places the cookie on it and notices the bacon on stove .)

Bacon’s burning.

EMMA

: Oh—

WELCH

: I’ve got it.

( He turns off burner under skillet .)

EMMA

: Thank you.

(EMMA stands still, in semishock . WELCH turns to her, still munching cookie. He surveys kitchen .)

WELCH

: This is Wisconsin, isn’t it? I’m not mistaken about that. I must have crossed the border by now. I’m sure of it.

EMMA

: Border?

WELCH

: Wisconsin. The Wisconsin-Minnesota border.

EMMA

: Oh—I thought you meant—

WELCH

: I’m traveling from west to east.

EMMA

: Oh—I see. Yes. This is.

WELCH

: What?

EMMA

: Wisconsin.

WELCH

: Yes. I was pretty sure of that. I was traveling from east to west before, but now I’m reversing. Like Lewis and Clark. You remember them?

EMMA

: Who?

WELCH

: The Department keeps me on my toes.

EMMA

: Department?

WELCH

: Yes. The Mighty Mississippi! You can tell as soon as you cross it that you’re in a different domain, a new realm. The Heartland—isn’t that what you call it up here? The “Heartland”?

EMMA

: Dairyland, actually. “America’s Dairyland.” It’s on the license plates.

WELCH

: I noticed that.

EMMA

: But it’s all moved away.

WELCH

: What has?

EMMA

: The milk. The cows.

WELCH

: But you’ve got cows down there.

EMMA

: There’s just a few of us left.

WELCH

: Who?

EMMA

: Dairy—dairy people.

WELCH

: Well, where’d they go? Where’d they move away to?

EMMA

: Out west. Agribusiness. Big corporations.

WELCH

: Fascinating.

EMMA

: Look, if you’d like me to call my husband, I can just ring the bell and he’ll come up.

( She moves toward door .)

WELCH

: No! No need for that. I wouldn’t want to take him away from his chores. Good to see a man carrying out simple, traditional farm chores these days, without complaint. Almost as a sense of duty. It would certainly cut down on our dependency for foreigners, wouldn’t it?

EMMA

: What?

WELCH

: More men like your husband. Willing and able.

EMMA

: What exactly do you want? What are you doing here?

WELCH

: We’re on a kind of a survey of sorts.

EMMA

: We?

WELCH

: Yes—a survey and a—search, let’s say.

EMMA

: Who’s “we”?

WELCH

: Well, I’m not really allowed to reveal my affiliations exactly. Let’s just say we’re on a kind of a talent search for solid citizens who own their own land outright. Are you sure you’re not interested in a cookie?

EMMA

: I’m positive.

WELCH

: Plenty more in my attaché case.

EMMA

: No.

WELCH

: Suit yourself. We’ve targeted certain outlying areas we feel might have potential—

EMMA

: Targeted?

WELCH

: Yes, that’s right. This house, for instance—

EMMA

: What?

WELCH

: Your house—the farm—

EMMA

: It’s not mine alone. It belongs to me and my husband. We’re partners.

WELCH

: Of course you are. That’s well understood. How many rooms?

EMMA

: What?

WELCH

: In the house.

EMMA

: Oh—five—with the den. I think.

WELCH

: Five?

EMMA

: Yes. Why?

WELCH

: No basement?

EMMA

: Well—yes.

WELCH

: Then six. With the basement.

EMMA

: Well, if you want to call the basement a room.

WELCH

: What else would you call it?

EMMA

: A basement.