Mina Loy - Stories and Essays of Mina Loy

DON JUAN. Try the Veronal on the canary.

TEA TABLE MAN. Realising that no offering is noble enough to lay at the shrine of this unimpeachable femininity, I am easily adapting myself to civilization — this accommodating contrivance that relieves us of all the onus of individual action. Am I not in duty bound to be grateful for being born in an age when it is unnecessary for me to live — all I have to do is to listen — there are still a handful of irrepressible creative outsiders to sin my sins for me, to pray my prayers for me. Some eccentric ass with a tune in his head can fill a town with what should have been my mating song — all I have to do is pay for a box and confess with a clap!

( With a loud report FUTURISM arrives on the scene. )

FUTURISM. Coward — pouah! Milksop! Poo-uuu- aaah! Tango Tout!

(TEA TABLE MAN hits him in the eye with a violent potato. )

FUTURISM. ( furiously ) Blackguard! You nearly had my eye out! What man, I ask you, could look successfully at a woman with an only eye? ( pathetically to PROCURESS) Why nobody would ever love me again. ( martially mopping his eye with a wet handkerchief ) I stand alone on the pinnacle of the passing moment, turning up my nose at the solar-system, hurling invective at the moon— chairs at the audience! ( calming down a little ) Has any-body got an intellect or a dog handy? ( no response ) I could have shown you a trick that proves the infallible superiority of animal instinct over human reason— There is nothing in life that is not best apprehended by the presentment of the nose! ( sniffs— like a GOD )

A MAN. Who the devil are you — to sniff like that?

FUTURISM. ( staggered ) You haven’t seen my name in the newspapers?

A MAN. I don’t read the newspapers — I read Greek.

FUTURISM. ( boxing his ears ) Pastist! Feel a little of what it means to be alive! ( to the others ) Take that prurient cemetery and stand him in a draught. And now . ( pulling up his cuffs and turning his hands round about for the audience to inspect ) You are sure there is nothing there? ( catches at the air with a superb gesture and holds it invisible between an eloquent thumb and finger ) Gentlemen —The FUTURE.

( The men stare very attentively. )

ANOTHER MAN. In all its sublime invisibility!

A MAN. It looks exactly as it always did, so it must be what it always was.

ANOTHER MAN. Impossible! You mean, what it always will be.

SOME OTHER MAN. No — what it always is going to be.

FUTURISM. I offer you a magnificent Future — entirely constructed on speculation. To prove that it comes up to my expectations, I have only to shove it into the Past — any bids?

YOUTH. Coming — coming — coming— when is it going to come?

FUTURISM. ( with an inimitable snap of the fingers back into the air ) Going — going— gone.

MEN. A prophet has come among us!

A MAN. And I mistook him for a conjuring commercial traveller.

PROCURESS. My word — the women ought to see this.

( The women are sent for and as usual flock round , FUTURISM “ lascivating” them with his eyes .)

WOMEN. Only let us write our names with our life-blood in your autograph album!

(FUTURISM hands them a tome labelled “Women I have had”. )

WOMEN. But—?

FUTURISM. It’s all the same — I should have if I hadn’t been talking so much— But perhaps I had better read you the proto-poem

Tatatata ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta

plum plam plam pluff pluff frrrrrr

urrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaa

pluff plaff plaff gottgott gluglu

craaa craaa

cloc-cloc gluglu gluglu cloc-cloc gluglu

scscscsc —

Do you feel that you could get into a more intimate relationship with me than you are now ?

WOMEN. ( inspired ) No. ( they sigh )

(FUTURISM whose every gesture propounds vulgarity intensified to Divinity, slaps his bowler hat onto his head, crooked, and struts magnificently. )

DOLORES.You seem to have successfully plumbed the feminine shallows. Could you tell us anything about this bare acquaintance of ours of hermaphroditic aspect — it calls itself LOVE.

(PROCURESS herds all the women off the stage in order to spare them disturbing recollections. )

( Dolores draws LOVE forward. )

MEN. Just looking at it makes no deep impression — but it’s hardly seductive.

FUTURISM. Love is a feminine conception spelt “Greed” with a capital “G”—this is female, all right! ( drags off Love’s roseate hood, dislodging a shower of golden curls )

(FUTURISM here declaims Futurist attack on love — most drastic .)

( When LOVE has had enough she runs away, FUTURISM after her, saying, “My God, she has run away — I must just ‘finish her off.’ ”)

(FUTURISM returns dragging LOVE. across the floor by the hair. )

FUTURISM. ( demonstrating to men ) I just take them like this — tac-tac.

MEN. That’s all very well, but it’s no consolation watching the other man doing it— good night! ( they go off )

FUTURISM. ( looking carefully around to see if they have all gone — lets go of LOVE ’s hair ) Excuse me, I hope I didn’t hurt you. I have to do that for the sake of my reputation. (LOVE looks shaken but intensely interested. FUTURISM places her with gentlest care on the divan and kisses the nape of her neck. ) Never believe anything a man says about women, when there is another man present! ( looking unutterably sentimental ) I suppose you think I am a man made of iron, of absolute self sufficiency— so hard—

LOVE. I don’t think anything of the kind.

FUTURISM. Too hard to want to be loved — while in reality, I have an infinite need of tenderness. Will you be very tender to me?

LOVE. ( smiling whimsically and folding her hands in resignation ) Yes, dear.

FUTURISM. ( quickly — afraid of being bored ) But love is not an emotion of vague sentimentality! Love must be atrociously carnal— will you be atrociously carnal—?

LOVE. ( calmly ) Yes, dear.

( Something in her tone makes FUTURISM look critically at her and then he starts again. )

FUTURISM. You are accustomed to the pastist man who talks to you about your soul — I shall not talk to you like that, but I shall reach your soul through the medium of your body.

LOVE. Yes, dear?

FUTURISM. Whereas the pastist man would have shaken hands and gone home, leaving you inconsummate — for women are only animals, they have no souls.

LOVE. Yes, dear?

FUTURISM. But you have just the sort of body I like — suave.

LOVE. ( smoothing down her formless roseate garment ) How do you know?

FUTURISM. The Futurist has x-ray eyes, and ears of steel— He can see everything without looking at it, and stand any amount of noise — the evening breeze no longer reaches me, but the gentle vibrations of the mitrailleuses are still audible. ( loudly ) DARLING! ( gives her a thumping whack on the thigh— LOVE . jumps ) A-a-a-a-a- a-h! You are just my type, for I have never seen anything like you before! ( very rapidly ) Will-you-love-me-will-you-love-me-will-you-love-me-love-me-love-me-love-me-me-ME—??? I must have you— You see I have never had you before.

LOVE. ( laughing ) But I don’t want this sort of love — it’s too quick. I only want love that lasts for ever and ever.