John Wray - Canaan's Tongue

VIRGIL —What the Hell have you been interviewing us for?

COLONEL (INAUDIBLE)

VIRGIL —What was that, you old tippler? What was that?

COLONEL —I–I. Yes. (PAUSE) — He told me to.

VIRGIL —Parson?

COLONEL (QUIETLY) — Please to leave now, Virgil. Please to let me be.

VIRGIL —You’ll damn well look at this sketch I’ve drawn. (PAUSE) — And I’ve got something else to show you. (PULLS BOTTLE OUT OF COAT POCKET)

COLONEL —What’s that now, Virgil? (SMILES) — A bottle of perfume?

VIRGIL —Your name is on it, Colonel. There. Just below the stopper.

COLONEL (PAUSE) — What is it, then? Something pickled—?

VIRGIL —Have you been letting them take the knife to you, you old imbecile?

COLONEL (INAUDIBLE) — Ah— aah—

VIRGIL —Here! Take a closer look. (SHAKES BOTTLE)

COLONEL —What is it? Can you tell me? For mercy’s sake—

VIRGIL —I wouldn’t venture more than a guess. It looks to me like the bottom of an ear.

COLONEL —Parson never touched me, Virgil! Never!

VIRGIL —Lean forward, grand-dad. Lift your hair a bit.

COLONEL —Virgil — I’m telling you—

VIRGIL —Jesus!

COLONEL —Yes. All right. (PAUSE) — Yes.

(SILENCE)

COLONEL —What has he got up there, Virgil? Have you seen it?

VIRGIL —Enough bottles to open an apothecary. Three or more from each of us. Mine were empty. Yours, on the other hand, were full.

COLONEL —It was Asa I let cut me. The bottles were his. (PAUSE) — He’s my god-son, after all. I told old Sam Trist that I’d mind him. That I’d see — that I’d see to his education—

VIRGIL —I’d say he’s taken his degree.

COLONEL —You have no idea what that child has su fered, Virgil! None! Even I don’t know the half of it. I mean, little Asa — his father, Virgil— you have no idea—

VIRGIL —Not yet, Colonel. But I’m learning quick.

COLONEL —What do you mean?

VIRGIL —There’s but one window in that attic. About eye-level to a boy of six.

COLONEL (PAUSE) — Yes. The window. Asa told me once. (PAUSE) — He used to go up there to hide.

VIRGIL —Have you ever looked out of it?

COLONEL —Why the devil should I? I’d barely make the steps in my condition.I shouldn’t wonder if I had a pleurism—

VIRGIL —Morelle’s put us on a grid, Colonel. He’s made a trellis out of us for his clambering spirit. Look at this drawing!

COLONEL —Give it here. (PAUSE) — Well, Virgil. I see you’ve sketched the grounds.

VIRGIL —It’s the Ladder, Colonel. Look at it carefully.

COLONEL (PAUSE) — The which?

VIRGIL —I’ve made marks where Morelle is buried, and where Harvey is. And here, where another hole’s been dug—: you see? Look at the play of paths between the buildings. Morelle is Malkuth, the top of the ladder. Harvey is Yesod, just below. The hole behind the tobacco-house is Hod. Do you see it yet? Each circle, each building is placed exactly at a sephira, a stop on the path to earth from heaven. Think of it! (PAUSE) — The next hole will be behind the smoke-house.

COLONEL (PAUSE) — Perhaps you’d best sit down a moment, Virgil. Take a spot of rest—

VIRGIL —What! You mean you actually don’t see it?

COLONEL —You — you’re not making any sense, Virgil. What you’ve drawn is a map of the grounds.

VIRGIL (MUMBLING) — The signs were all around me, of course, but I lacked the eyes to see them. It took poor cracked Asa to enlighten me. The grounds are a playing field, a grid, a game of Chinese marbles—; and our cadavers are the pieces. (PAUSE) — The Redeemer’s not dead, Colonel. Not in any sense that matters. He’ll be back with us directly.

COLONEL (LOUDLY) — KENNEDY!

VIRGIL —Don’t call Kennedy in here, damn you! Just have a look again— here, at the bottom corner—

COLONEL —I’ve looked at it already, Virgil. I see nothing but the grounds. (CLEARS THROAT) — I’ll have Parson look it over, if you like.

VIRGIL (QUIETLY) — You’ll have — you’ll have Parson— (ENTER KENNEDY)

COLONEL —There you are, Mr. Kennedy! Please accompany Virgil to his room.

VIRGIL (REACHING INTO COAT) — Just you try it, Stuts.

COLONEL —There’s no call for that, Virgil. Put the pistol by!

VIRGIL —Back away from me! (SOFTLY) — You’ve made an error, Colonel. A right grievous one.

(EXIT VIRGIL)

COLONEL (PAUSE) — Well, Mr. Kennedy. (SIGHS) — I’m glad I had you by.

KENNEDY —It do seem propitious.

COLONEL —What do you make of this whole circus — Virgil and the rest?

KENNEDY —Wouldn’t cuh! — cuh! — care to hazard, Colonel. (PAUSE) — I could of warned him off that attic, though.

COLONEL —You — you’ve been there? To the attic?

KENNEDY —Aye.

COLONEL (QUIETLY) — When?

KENNEDY (SHRUGS SHOULDERS) — Some while back.

COLONEL —You saw— all of it, did you? You saw the bottles?

KENNEDY —That’s why I gone up, grand-dad. To liberate my own. (SMILES) — To Abolitionize ’em.

COLONEL —You believe in Parson’s pocus, then.

KENNEDY (COUGHS) — Superstitious, aren’t I.

(SILENCE)

KENNEDY —Colonel? Hey?

COLONEL (PAUSE) — It’s so hard to follow, Kennedy — it’s so hard to determinewho’s — dependable—

KENNEDY —You can always depend on old Stuts Kennedy, guh! — guh! — grand-paps. You know that much.

COLONEL —Thank you, Kennedy. (PAUSE) — I feel worn through, just at present. (PAUSE) — Would you like to sit beside me for a spell?

KENNEDY —Be pleased to, Colonel. (SITS)

COLONEL (FAINTLY) — Asa. I’d — I’d like Asa to come and sit with me. I don’t feel well at all. (PAUSE) — Could you fetch him?

KENNEDY —Not bloody likely.

COLONEL —Mr. Kennedy! I beg of you—

KENNEDY —I’d do it straight-away, Colonel, and warmest regards. But it’s puh! — puh! — placed beyond my powers, I’m afraid.

COLONEL (PAUSE) — How do you mean—?

KENNEDY —Young Asa’s dead as a Christmas goose. I saw him swinging in the orchard not ten minutes gone.

COLONEL (RISING) — Asa! Asa!

KENNEDY —Sit down, grandfather. You’ll break your arse.

I AM SINGING IN A CHORUS, Asa says.

Golden and rosy is the castrato’s chain that hangs from the masters of this world. If I had never dared to climb onto the stage I would not be singing in this choir of white-gold niggers to either side, this stage-set made of sun, this fire, this glow of flames, this house, this baking-oven. What I have not yet told—: the nigger’s skin is brown because he came too close to G*d.

Bristly, bistly, silver-and-mossy hairs, glistening and wet, wet eyes, blinking eyes, sack-cloth dresses down about the ankles. Barefoot I stand and without shoes. G*d is passing out the water. It is hot in the oven. All of us waiting in a stinking line making religion. Their religion, religion of cabins and swamp-water and gibbering whispers. Worship of babies and the ovenly future, crossing the Jordan to the heavenly cities, babies sh*tting and weeping and fattening themselves on babies in the cities and my own Dolly who went down too soon under the great nigger-colored river. The brown tumbling-over river, the feeding river, the keel-boats, the working, the Trading, the gray and blue gun-boats tumbling up the river. The War.