Dennis Lehane - Coronado

GINA Bastard.

WILL I want to reach out and hold your hands but I can’t because everyone’s watching. That hurts. Everything else, though? He’s dead. He’s gone. I can live with it.

GINA You’re energized by it. Reborn.

WILL I’m born.

GINA I’m nauseous.

WILL Let’s—

GINA In the existential sense.

WILL I still can’t believe they taught Sartre at community college.

GINA He’s dead.

WILL Yup.

GINA Because of us.

WILL Yup.

GINA What will God say?

WILL “Welcome to the club, don’t park on the lawn.”

GINA Fuck you.

WILL What’s God going to say? “Gee, I was busy killing Indonesians in an earthquake and I hip-checked a few hundred thousand Africans with a sneak famine, but allow me to punish you for Hal.”

GINA You really don’t.

WILL Don’t what?

GINA Feel. Feel anything about this.

WILL Life fucking goes on, Gina.

GINA No. Don’t you understand?

WILL Yes. In your belly right now.

GINA No.

WILL In your womb.

GINA It’s all shit, Will. It’s all stopped. The whole fucking clock. We killed a human being. We murdered. He might have told bad jokes and he might have been a racist and a sexist and a… a—

WILL Douche bag?

GINA But he was human. He had birthmarks and a mother who held him and a favorite smell and—

WILL He liked to take long walks on the beach and his favorite color was blue and he cried whenever he watched Brian’s Song and yet — and yet and yet — he’s passed on. Like your grandparents, like your dog, like a friend who got colon cancer.

GINA But we’re why he’s gone.

WILL And I’m good with that.

GINA I’m not.

WILL You better get good, honey.

GINA I—

WILL You better get good. ’Kay?

GINA You are — you’re energized.

WILL I’m the man who loves you. See that. Okay? I’m the man who loves you and lives for you.

GINA I can’t get it out of my head. The whole thing. I can’t. Save me.

[ She reaches across the table toward him. ]

WILL Not here.

BOBBY and BOBBY’S FATHER.

BOBBY’S FATHER She’s all you thought of in prison, I bet.

BOBBY All I thought of since. All I thought of before.

BOBBY’S FATHER I don’t know where she got to.

BOBBY I know that.

BOBBY’S FATHER Do you?

BOBBY But when you’re seen — when you’re seen — in this life, it’s not natural to just let that go.

BOBBY’S FATHER How you going to find her, though?

BOBBY I just, I just, I think of her, I see her, I, and I say to myself, I say, “She’s out there. Waiting.”

BOBBY’S FATHER She ain’t waiting, son. She ain’t. They don’t wait. It’s not their gift. That’s why we love them. Because if we blink, they could be gone. We look right instead of left, they’re already on a bus. Because they leave.

BOBBY Not her.

BOBBY’S FATHER Not her?

BOBBY Not her.

BOBBY’S FATHER Well, fuck her.

BOBBY Already have.

BOBBY’S FATHER You think anything’s changed since we fucking cave-painted? They suck our dicks so we’ll go to sleep. They share our beds so we’ll keep them warm. They fuck us so we’ll pay the electric. And if they suck our dicks and share our beds and fuck us just right, they know we’ll buy them earrings and cars and fucking gym memberships. Because they can be alone, but they can’t survive. And we can survive, but we can’t stand to be alone. And that’s it.

BOBBY That’s it?

BOBBY’S FATHER We hunt, they eat. We build, they dwell. We produce, they use.

BOBBY That’s my inheritance, the sum of my received knowledge from you?

BOBBY’S FATHER What did you think — you beat the house? You were the one guy in the history of time who found the perfect woman? You fucking infant. The free lunch ain’t free, the check ain’t in the mail, no one ever fought a war over truth or good intentions, and the only way not to lose is not to play.

BOBBY More pearls. Thank you.

BOBBY’S FATHER Where’s my diamond?

BOBBY Where’s Gwen?

BOBBY’S FATHER I told you.

BOBBY Tell me again. Where’s Gwen?

BOBBY’S FATHER I—

BOBBY Not good enough. Where’s Gwen?

A slow song on the jukebox. PATIENT lights a cigarette.

DOCTOR Those things will kill you.

PATIENT You think?

DOCTOR I never meant to—

PATIENT [ Waves it away. ] No one ever means anything.

[ PATIENT stands, dances in front of him. He watches. She holds out her hand. ]

PATIENT Come on. Dance with me.

DOCTOR Don’t be ridiculous.

PATIENT I’m not being ridiculous. I’m being rhythmic. Come on. I’ll even attempt to give a straight answer to a straight question.

DOCTOR You will, huh?

PATIENT Come on. I love this song.

[ DOCTOR stands and she pulls him out onto the floor. They dance, she much better at it than he. ]

DOCTOR What’s worse than murder?

PATIENT What?

DOCTOR You said you’d bet there are people in the world, in this bar, who have done far worse than murder. I’m wondering what that could be.

PATIENT Did I say that? I must have been trying it out — the concept, the line. I do that sometimes. I don’t mean anything by it.

DOCTOR Sure you do.

PATIENT After all your years climbing around in people’s heads like a cranial janitor, do you think people know why they do things? People rationalize, they turn their delusions into something romantic that they can disguise as ethics or principles or ideals. People are selfish, Doctor — odiously, monstrously, but in so small and paltry a monstrousness that we barely notice it.

[ The DOCTOR tries to break away from her, but she grips him hard, grinds against him. ]

PATIENT If we could have everything we wanted in an instant without fear of consequence? No worry of jail or societal reproof of any kind? No having to look our victims in the eyes because the victims have conveniently vanished? If we could have that? Stalin’s crimes would pale in comparison to what we’d do in the name of love. In the name of the heart wanting what the heart wants. So don’t fucking ask me what’s worse than murder.

[ She drops his hand, steps away from him. Long beat. ]

DOCTOR You’re a sociopath. You are. And I’m leaving.

PATIENT I will blow up your life.

DOCTOR What?

PATIENT You heard me. I will tell your wife and I’ll tell the Ethics Board and I’ll tell the police and I’ll make a scene so loud the only place to put it will be the front page. So don’t you think of walking out of here, you fucking theoretician.

BOBBY and BOBBY’S FATHER.

BOBBY’S FATHER This memory of yours…

BOBBY Yeah?

BOBBY’S FATHER Well, it’s a might selective, wouldn’t you say?

BOBBY If I could remember what it’s being selective about, I’d probably agree with you.

BOBBY’S FATHER I’m just trying to think of what you’ve forgetten besides, oh, the location of a three-million-dollar stone. Seems like you remember every other fucking thing.

BOBBY Let’s try your memory. Where was I born?

BOBBY’S FATHER Not this shit again.

BOBBY What’s my mother’s maiden name? Hell, what’s her first name? Do I have a birth certificate?

BOBBY’S FATHER I don’t believe in paperwork.

BOBBY Is Bobby even my real name?

BOBBY’S FATHER It suffices. Look, your mother’s dead.

BOBBY So you say.

BOBBY’S FATHER Why would I lie?

BOBBY You’ve built your whole life on “Why would I tell the truth?” and you’re asking me that? Let’s start with an easy one. Where was I born?