Maleficent Molecules
OR
THE FRUITS REAPED OF LIBERTINAGE
PROSE DRAMA IN TWO ACTS
by TIM SACKS
An examination of the benefits, advantages and profits gained, either spiritually or tangibly, by
adherence to the laws of lust and libertinage, a combination most deadly if not handled properly
and with sufficient ill intent.
Remember that there is no crime…
Juliette, Part Four
COPYRIGHT © 2010
This script may not be used or reproduced without the express written permission of the author.
Dedicated to
D.A.F. de Sade
Act One
The setting for the first act is the upscale apartment of Chevalier Saint-Ange and
Asmodeus Mauvais, two roommates. The apartment is very modern and chic but with oddly
Gothic and Victorian overtones. The roommates themselves also fit this description. Both are
younger men (twenties or thirties) and extremely sophisticated and intellectual. Chevalier speaks
with an American accent (without any drawl or regional dialect) while Asmodeus speaks with an
upper class British accent.
SCENE I
CHEVALIER, HARLOT, COURTESAN, ASMODEUS, HAMARTIA
The piece, “The Street Awakens” from Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet” plays in its
entirety as the curtain rises on the final notes to reveal two women, both prostitutes, Harlot and
Courtesan. Harlot sits on a couch, center stage, reading a script. Courtesan lounges on a couch
or easy chair upstage. She dozily languishes, not paying much attention to the proceedings.
Chevalier enters stage right just as Harlot flips to the final page.
CHEVALIER, to Harlot.
Ah! You’re just finishing, I see. I’ll proceed silently and allow you to process my final
musings without distraction. (She nods and he clasps his hands in anticipation.) Observing you
is like viewing a combination of “The Thinker” and “The Birth of Venus”. Just a
thought…meant to be a compliment of course. (He waits anxiously smiling for a beat and then
rushes over to her with a fistful of bills.) I’ll just leave this with you now. (He hands her the
money and she takes it. He then runs back to his original spot and assumes his previous position
for a while.) Is that…is that five hundred I gave you there?
HARLOT, quickly flipping through the bills.
Yes. (She goes back to reading the script.)
CHEVALIER.
…Are you sure? I believe there may have been, clinging to the fifties, a bill twice their
monetary worth…Hence, I may have given you six hundred.
HARLOT, annoyed.
I don’t think so.
CHEVALIER.
Not to besmirch your credibility or virtue too much, but I would like to have a glance
myself. (He prances over to her once more and examines the money.) My dear madam, (He takes
her hand and kisses it.) it seems that I am indeed incorrect. I hope you will pardon this most
inexcusable of transgressions for I have nothing but praise for the magnificent figure I see sitting
before me, stimulating both my wits and my senses. (As she reads, he begins to rifle through her
handbag and searches the vicinity of her person for the bill.) For, how can I have been so utterly
boorish as to have entertained for an instant that you, nature’s most perfect of creatures, could
have erred and made a miscalculation, to say nothing of deception (oh, god forbid!) or
unchecked avarice. I’ve wronged you! I know! I’ve wronged you viciously and with the
appearance of malevolence, but let me assure you that it is only illusory. I do hope you forgive
me, my dearest, for you are so…very beautiful. (He begins to kiss up her arm and her neck, all
the while furtively checking her entire figure for the lost money.) Ah! The complete baseness and
foolishness of my folly have been revealed! How could such white, sloping, gentle arms commit
such a heinous act and how could this tender, exquisitely sculpted throat ever swallow such a
revolting notion? (He pauses, unsure of where to look next. He then looks down at her crotch
and continues.) And what kind of a human being would I be if I ever suspected this cavern of
joy, this forest of delicate ecstasyHARLOT, blocking Chevalier’s downward advances.
I don’t have it, okay?! All you gave me were fifties…five hundred dollars’ worth. Now,
do want me to finish this script or not?
CHEVALIER, backing up to his original spot again.
Oh, by all means! By all means! (He stands smiling with his hands clasped again. After a
few beats, he finally cracks.) Where the hell is that hundred?! (Harlot sighs and Chevalier rushes
over to Courtesan.) You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?
COURTESAN, lazily rolling her eyes and looking down her blouse.
Sorry, all I have are singles.
CHEVALIER.
…Of course. So allow me to expound upon the situation for a moment. We are all
maintaining that this very corporeal bit of currency has just vanished into the ether? Would this
be a correct statement?
HARLOT.
Why don’t you search your own damn apartment before you start accusing us of
anything? Check your wallet again.
CHEVALIER.
My wallet? My wallet?! That is an item located on my person! I am well aware of the
contents strewn about my person! I am very careful with my money!
HARLOT, sarcastic.
Really?
CHEVALIER.
But, nevertheless, I shall check again in order to appease you, because, whether I like it
or not, (He kneels before Harlot and takes her hand again.) I am somewhat beholden to organic,
natural beauty when it pierces our plastic, composite, manmade environment.
HARLOT.
Ugh, I wish you could have waxed that poetic in this thing. (She points to the script.)
CHEVALIER.
Oh dear, a criticism already? Your precociousness knows no bounds, (He checks his
wallet and does not find the bill.) my sanguine, apple cheeked, delicious little…thief! You two
always steal from me! (Pointing) Harlot! Courtesan! It is disgusting that it still prevails within
you to do wrong against your own kind! I thought perhaps you’d learn, but you never have! You
vile ladies of the night! You swindlers, hawkers, charlatans!
HARLOT.
This is ridiculous! You’re just trying to empower yourself and degrade me in order to
lessen the validity of my criticisms when they come.
CHEVALIER.
I won’t quibble with you over motives as it is meaningless, but I would like to stress this
next point most vigorously. It would certainly save us all a great deal of consternation, despair
and above all, pain, if you would kindly concede. In other words, I suggest you hand over Mr.
Franklin post haste unless you too wish to experience the wonders of electricity first hand in the
form of a car battery to the nipples!
HARLOT.
Oh, shut up! Shut up! I’m sick of this! You’re in one of your moods again and I’ve half a
mind to start taking this abuse seriously! Now calm down and neuter yourself! (She begins to exit
left but Chevalier stops her.)
CHEVALIER.
…Harlot, wait! Arrogance demands more subtlety and…distortion, but frankness always
provides an invariable shortcut. I am acting rather outlandishly. I suppose it has something to do
with my “moods” as you so bluntly call them (I’d like to think they’ve a little more complexity
than what you’ve ascribed to them. Sort of a Dostoevsky/Stavrogin kind of inspired madness).
But, perhaps I’m romanticizing. Anyway, it can all be attributed to nerves. This meager draft that
I’ve handed you is quite dear to me. It’s the culmination of two months worth of wit and clarity,
two precious resources that rarely last so long, consecutively. Not to mention, the inordinate
amount of focus that perhaps exceeded all of my previous bouts of focus combined, for sheer
worth and volume. So, it certainly wasn’t light-mindedly that I practically pleaded with you to
peruse that packet of scribbling. Your opinion means a great deal to me. You’ve got an intellect
sharpened over the years by carnal intrigues and an acute understanding of things as they are,
honed through countless acts of physical realism. In short, I… (This is very difficult for him.)
I…I apologize.
HARLOT.
Thank you. You know, that means a lot coming from an egotistical, manic-depressive
psychopath such as yourself.
CHEVALIER, playfully.
And let’s not forget that touch of nymphomania.
HARLOT.
Yeah, it’s called the male sex drive.
CHEVALIER, becoming intrigued.
Really, you’re still clinging to that outdated notion? Huh, and I took you for a
progressive!
HARLOT.
What do you mean?
CHEVALIER.
Well, the whole idea that the male is simply some sort of stimulus-response functioning
organism obsessed with today’s weather report: (Imitating a weatherman.) an extremely moist
front coming in from the southeast followed by scattered bouts of copulation and high pressure
systems. Meanwhile, the female is a regular Aphrodite endowed with all the wisdom of Minerva,
making her the epitome of elegance and the most avid exerciser of restraint. Only those still
corrupted by societal prejudices buy into this Bronze Age papal bull.
HARLOT.
Here we go! I have to be so careful what I say in here!
CHEVALIER.
Come, come now! You should be interested; this concerns you! I would say that perhaps
man’s greatest virtue… is his promiscuity, whereas it is woman’s greatest vice. A robust male
who aims to conquer as many victims as possible is lauded by his peers as a skillful predator and
an Adonis. If a woman was to champion her escapades in the boudoir she would be ridiculed by
that great magistrate we have dubbed society and she would be branded as the most despicable of
creatures barley deserving of our scorn.
HARLOT.
So what’s new about double standards?
CHEVALIER.
Oh, you cynic! But, let’s recall, if we can, that this double standard has plagued humanity
not since the outset, but since the advent of the Judeo-Christian tradition, a practice that is worth
much more derision than the common whore. For centuries the proselytes of this horrid
institution have preached from their pulpits that those of the fairer sex must be punished for
simply presenting what nature intended. A woman’s sexuality should not be something to be
reviled, but rather a festival in which to celebrate. Set up the puppet stands! Behold Punch and
Judy behind the curtains! Listen as Pulcinella declares that intercourse and all of its various
components can be enacted as often as is wished!
HARLOT.
You’re preaching to the choir, boy.
CHEVALIER, in a frenzy and paying her no heed.
The social taboos and restrictions placed on women and especially young girls ought to
be lifted and rather they should be encouraged to partake in what soon shall certainly be a
national pastime. Girls should be praised for their sexual feats and the words, whore and slut,
should become compliments rather than ignorant insults. I foresee…I foresee a world in which a
little girl strives to attain the noble title of whore and where the art of prostitution is taught in the
most prestigious of our universities.
HARLOT.
Hey, you don’t have to give me any more encouragement. I’m not a nun.
CHEVALIER.
Very well, if some of those devoted moralists are still not convinced of the advantages of
sexual liberation then perhaps I shall appeal to their more forgiving nature. Charity is one of the
cornerstones of the Christian faith (as hypocritical and misguided as the whole notion is). And
yet, those acolytes of compassion very nearly always look past those who need active aid the
most. Distributing wealth, sustenance and other vitals to various third world nations is all very
well and good, but this is often at the cost of neglecting their own communities. What I mean is
this: (Appealing to Harlot.) good and kind women and girls of all ages, instead of giving a
perfunctory handful to a village of natives who would only misuse it, rather take pity on those
males in your vicinity who lack the necessary means to garner that which is most desirable in our
minds. Transform a miserable soul into a devout worshipper of your most sacred temple, take his
hand and have him covet your idols (He rubs her breasts while holding her hands.) , allow him
to behold your holy light in all of its sensuous glory. There is no greater joy than seeing a
previously wretched figure of a man find pure ecstasy in your presence. Some may find this
repugnant, but isn’t that what penance is all about? Isn’t charity about bringing happiness to
others, rather than yourself? Would you be so selfish as to deprive an otherwise deserving male
of such a simple gift? This, of course, can be applied to men as well…if women are willing to
receive it. Therefore, if we are to evolve to this highest of peaks, both sexes must enter into a
covenant (He puts out his hand to shake and Harlot puts her leg in it, ala Harpo Marx.) in which
the males agree to hold no woman to a double standard and the females agree to be less frugal
with their most abundant resource. If this agreement can be reached, our society will begin to
function as it did so many eons ago under those illustrious Greeks and Romans, truly the
pinnacles of civilization. No one should take this as a mandate from God though, but rather as a
rediscovering of an attribute granted to all by nature and its many cosmos…oh my god, I need to
write this down! Quick, lend me a pen! I know you always have one to tabulate your
“collections.” (She hands him a rather large pen.) Ah, the cunning little vixen! (He grabs the
script and furiously scribbles on the back of it until the pen suddenly starts to vibrate.) What the
hell’s this? Why’s it vibrating?
HARLOT.
It’s multipurpose.
CHEVALIER, flinging the pen away.
Ah, never mind. I can’t handwrite anyway. It’s too restrictive. Where’s my laptop? (He
runs off right.)
HARLOT, to Courtesan.
I don’t like this. He’s in one of his moods.
COURTESAN.
He’s just yelling.
HARLOT.
He’s not just yelling; he’s ranting. That’s when he gets dangerous and if Asmodeus
arrives, he’s just going to egg him on.
COURTESAN.
Yeah, but you don’t have to worry. You’re like his favorite.
HARLOT.
Maybe for now… for this round. It’s like a game to him. He’ll turn the hourglass over at
some point and then my turn…is over.
COURTESAN, getting nervous.
Tanya, you’re exaggerating.
HARLOT.
The hell I am! I’m serious!
COURTESAN.
Well, should we leave?
HARLOT.
No, he’ll get suspicious. I don’t(Chevalier enters right with his laptop. He sits down on the couch and manically types away.)
CHEVALIER.
I must say, there are few things as rewarding as ensnaring the spontaneity when it strikes!
Perhaps this’ll work as a little epilogue, no? Bit wordy though…but smooth!
HARLOT.
Listen, Chevalier, if you’re just going to be working on this, maybe we should leave you
to itCHEVALIER, looking up.
What?
HARLOT.
I mean, we’ve wasted so much time here already and ICHEVALIER, standing.
Oh, nonsense! You haven’t told me what you think of the script yet!
HARLOT, getting close to him.
You know that you only want to hear one thing and I’d be lying if I gave it to you.
CHEVALIER.
You didn’t like it.
HARLOT.
No, it’s not that. It’s just that I know that if I’m not ecstatic about it, you consider it a
failure and I’m not ecstatic about it.
CHEVALIER, playfully sarcastic.
What’s this? No Hitler-esque cow-towing and sycophantic praise? Honestly, what do I
pay you for?!
HARLOT.
Oh, I didn’t realize that included stroking your ego as well.
CHEVALIER.
Yes, well that was fun now tell me what you think! Cease this ridiculous pandering and
render an opinion! Where must I improve? There’s no need to be frightened; I’ve no concealed
weapons! You can see that!
HARLOT.
Well, actually no, I wouldn’t be able to see that.
CHEVALIER.
Ah yes, let’s avoid the question some more and take a detour down semantics lane,
hitting that hard right onto eternal recurrence boulevard.
HARLOT.
Okay…it’s just…it takes itself a little too seriously.
CHEVALIER.
Too seriously?
HARLOT.
Yeah, it’s just a lot of mental masturbation without enough substance to justify such a
somber tone.
CHEVALIER.
Well, to be fair, it is a philosophical piece. I mean, how would you have me hypothesize
on the meaning of life, Monty Python style?
HARLOT.
Oh, Chevalier, all I meant was that even Nietzsche put in a joke every now and then.
CHEVALIER.
Kierkegaard didn’t.
HARLOT.
You hate Kierkegaard.
CHEVALIER, sitting down.
Yes, but I also hate myself so who better to mimic?
HARLOT, pausing and smiling.
You know, you’re pretty imperfect like that.
CHEVALIER.
I assume you’re referring to my simultaneous possession of both a superiority and
inferiority complex?
HARLOT.
Yeah, you’re not all brains.
CHEVALIER.
You know, I also have schizophrenia in addition to my inferiority complex. The voices in
my head refuse to talk to me.
HARLOT, laughing.
See, now why can’t you use that kind of humor to get your points across?
CHEVALIER.
So, basically you’re suggesting that I write some sort of Aristophanes-like philosophical
comedy?
HARLOT.
Yeah.
CHEVALIER.
Allow me to regale you with a bit of past failure. I’ve tried my hand at comedies before
and they’ve come out about as comprehensible as Beckett and about as witty as Gallagher. Plus,
the theories get deluded and the postulations get muddled. I ended up with a mentally unstable
Candide, a raving mad Sisyphus, a Tourette syndrome Zarathustra!
HARLOT.
You just need to hone your technique…like I’ve done.
CHEVALIER.
And after years of painful toil and unrelenting practice, her fellatio is now unrivaled in
the midtown area!
HARLOT.
Once again, very witty!
CHEVALIER.
Yes?
HARLOT.
Oh, yes!
CHEVALIER, to Courtesan.
What do you think, Courtesan?
COURTESAN.
I don’t get it.
CHEVALIER.
Ah, the philistine turns its uncultured nose up at my epigrams. I must be doing something
right!
HARLOT.
What a quip!
CHEVALIER, moving slightly towards her.
Yeah?
HARLOT.
The next Volter!
CHEVALIER.
Voltaire, dear.
HARLOT.
Whatever! You’ve got it!
CHEVALIER.
Oh my! My head is swelling…both of them!
HARLOT.
Another gem!
CHEVALIER, moving closer.
But seriously, I am becoming incredibly aroused!
HARLOT.
Maybe a little lust is all you need!
CHEVALIER.
Said Jack the Ripper to the harlot.
HARLOT.
Oh god…little creepy, still funny.
CHEVALIER, embracing her.
You know what would be absolutely hilarious?
HARLOT.
I can only imagine.
CHEVALIER.
I think it would be hysterical! How’s this for a sexual farce: (He begins to kiss and caress
her and she giggles all the while.) Oedipus comes home to roost! (They laugh.) Or how about
this, a priest raping nun! (They guffaw.) What if…what if two sexual predators stalked each other
online, both under the impression that the other was a little boy. They finally meet and are quite
disappointed to find that little Jimmy is really a forty year old with a trench coat and work van.
In fact, they’re staring at their mirror image! (They both laugh wildly.) And yet, why not
something more intricate? Worthy of Shakespeare, perhaps! A romantically entwined boy and
girl are extremely jealous of one another, a situation that a manipulative mutual acquaintance of
theirs is only too eager to exploit! This acquaintance invites the girl to spend the night at his
house. He then tells the boy that her secret lover is sleeping in his loft. Enraged, the boy waits till
nightfall and sneaks into the house, sees a slumbering body in the bed and stabs it to death only
to discover that it is, in fact, his now bloodied true love! (He laughs but Harlot is not so
enthused.)
HARLOT.
Oh, Chevalier, that’s so cruel.
CHEVALIER.
It’d be crueler, yet even more sidesplitting, if I told you that the acquaintance had the
authorities ready and waiting to apprehend the rash murderer. He later commits suicide while
incarcerated!
HARLOT.
That’s a downright tragedy! (Becoming worried.) …You find that funny?
CHEVALIER.
It’s downright stimulating! I’ve always thought that the combination of laughter and
orgasm is a transcendental experience! Now, if you can mingle those tears of mirth with tears of
others’ sorrows…and agonies, you’ve practically got heaven on earth!
HARLOT, increasingly disturbed.
What an awful philosophy!
CHEVALIER.
Perhaps for the unfortunate victims. But for me, it heightens the convulsions. (He
squeezes her wrist and Harlot cries out in pain.) See how sharply you perceived that sensation?
The principle is universal and can be applied to just about anything.
HARLOT.
Yeah, well good luck with any practical applications. Now, I’m a practical woman myself
so I really have to get going. We both do (Speaking of Courtesan.). It’s late and you’re being an
ass.
CHEVALIER.
So many times in this apartment have you wriggled your toes over the cliff edge of
liberation and you’ve peered into the abyss and were terrified and each time you’ve run back to
the safe, level valleys of domestication. You come so close every time and yet you cannot bring
yourself to leap.
HARLOT.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. (To Courtesan.) Liza, come on! Let’s go!
CHEVALIER.
Fine! Ignore me…a feat that’s most difficult to accomplish within these four walls! The
more confined you are, the more you’re confronted with your own mistakes! You offer criticism
like some sort of aesthete and yet you’re incapable of strangling your own prejudices! You look
upon me as some sort of lunatic whom you owe your patronage; an ivory tower madman whose
nonsensical predispositions turned ideologies become channels through which you can live
vicariously in order to satiate that nagging desire of yours to appear progressive, but most of all,
fashionable! As if Mistress Harlot was part of the noble aristocracy, the driveling ancien regime,
just dying to collaborate with the youthful revolutionaries in order to save face and eventually
her head! Weep for the baroness! For she is lost!
(Harlot gazes at him wildly and then turns and rushes to exit left. Courtesan follows, but they are
blocked as Asmodeus enters right.)
ASMODEUS, to Harlot.
Going somewhere?
HARLOT.
Yes, as a matter of fact. I was just leaving.
ASMODEUS.
Good. Get out.
(Harlot hurries out but Asmodeus stops Courtesan. He looks her up and down for a moment and
then mauls her with kisses and caresses.)
ASMODEUS, sighing.
Ah! For sheer unbridled magnetism, I know no better than the apathetic woman! Keep
doing exactly what you’re not doing! Right! Off with you! (He slaps her posterior and she exits.
Asmodeus addresses Chevalier.) And they say nihilism is dead!
CHEVALIER.
They’re quite a pair, aren’t they?
ASMODEUS.
Ugh, I don’t care much for the other one. Hubris masquerading as wisdom.
CHEVALIER.
Ha! Funny you should say that. I was just chewing her out about it. I was quite eloquent
too.
ASMODEUS.
I thought she looked a bit the broken woman when I came in. Why do you associate
yourself with such rubbish? I could easily find you an entire gaggle of intellectually superior
prostitutes in literally minutes.
CHEVALIER.
She’s got an excellent sense of dramaturgy. For that, I respect her immensely.
Unfortunately, she grates on my nerves, no matter what she does. I can’t say exactly
why…perhaps it’s the timber of her voice…the inflections…no, I think it’s her word choice. Or
perhaps it’s her very existence, itself, that irks me so.
ASMODEUS.
Congratulations. That’s how I feel about the entire human race. A lot of vermin trying to
lord over each other and be subservient all at once.
CHEVALIER.
The rabble!
ASMODEUS.
Don’t quote Nietzsche just because you can.
CHEVALIER, chastised.
Sorry.
ASMODEUS.
Never mind. That girl’ll be back soon enough anyway.
CHEVALIER.
Harlot? Why?
ASMODEUS, producing her pocketbook.
Well, I imagine she’s fairly interested in retaining her financial gains for the evening.
CHEVALIER, in awe.
You stole her pocketbook?! Amazing. Simply amazing. Your lecherous hands; how
quickly they sprint from one infamy to another!
ASMODEUS.
It wasn’t really a conscious decision, actually. Completely involuntary. Anything for
arousal. Incidentally, I do have to change my undergarments.
CHEVALIER.
It’s intriguing and, quite frankly, inspiring that after all these years, a simple theft can still
provoke such emotions within you.
ASMODEUS.
Well, let us not forget that it is not the mere act itself which causes me to jettison such
disproportionate quantities of masculine whey, but rather the principles behind it.
CHEVALIER, making himself comfortable on the couch.
Ah! Please elaborate!
ASMODEUS.
You see, our bodies crave violence; they crave empowerment. These can be most
successfully attained through the participation in what peons like to call crime. There is no
greater aphrodisiac than crime, let me assure you. Of course, we both know that the
aforementioned concept is merely a concept and does not actually exist. In fact, it cannot
possibly exist since there is no higher moral authority. But society is fully inebriated, and
practically drunk, with the idea that crime is very real indeed. And sometimes it benefits us to
partake in this illusion, because by believing in transgressions, and then by enacting them, one
can stimulate one’s nervous system beyond all comprehension. You see, quite simply, it’s merely
mind games were playing at. For how can there be limits? How can there be preordained rules
and guidelines? Morality is subjective. This much is obvious simply by studying cultures
throughout the world and their highly variable conceptions of ethical conduct. Par example, the
ancient Spartans were well aware of the advantageous nature of theft and encouraged all of their
burgeoning young warriors to practice this trade until within the realm of expertise. In fact, their
laws were so opposed to our own that the victim of a pilfering was soundly punished. This not
only allowed for the fine-tuning of craftiness and caution but also of responsibility and
possessiveness. The youth of today know little of these virtues. Similarly, the Guatemalans
abscond with each other’s newborns and if they are dissatisfied with their catch, they toss them
over the highest cliff into the Caribbean. There are certain Pacific Island tribes that have been
known to root out the most virtuous maidens in the village and bury them alive so that they may
enter Hell all the quicker. Still, there are some Russian forest folk who assign a murder quota to
each member of the tribe and if this quota is not met by the end of the month, the murderer,
himself, is slaughtered. The Inuits of northern Canada are famous, or rather infamous, for setting
priests, shamans and other deceivers afloat on ice drifts. An even more unusual practice is that of
the Angolans, who use crime as currency and barter various felonies, such as three thefts for one
murder. And finally, the Americans are renowned for waiving all charges and punishments if a
citizen can prove his authenticity as either a Caucasian or a celebrity. But what’s more is that we
cannot forget the universal axiom that guides all of us libertines, wherever we may roam, and
that is that nothing, absolutely nothing, must stand in the way of our pursuit of pleasure. If a law
forbids you, break it; if religiously instilled morals give you pause, murder them like so many
Messiahs; if society plants inhibitions in the garden that you wish to grow, rip them out by the
roots and destroy their seeds utterly so that they may infect no other gardens. This, this is
nature’s will…and if we must attach such a useless soubriquet as crime to some sort of err, then
let it be the resistance of nature’s will. Those who abhor that which nature has implanted within
are the greatest offenders of all. Those who defy our animal instincts, our urges, our most basic
desires…these are the men who should be locked away for these are the most dangerous
creatures on earth…the unnaturals. I call them unnaturals and yet I could just as easily call them
Clergymen, magistrates, theologians…Dostoevsky. (This latter name is clearly directed with a
loathing towards Chevalier and he bristles at the reference.) But, regardless of who our enemies
are we must always remain goal-oriented. If you yearn for something that the unnaturals find
objectionable, make sure that either they are not quick enough to catch you or that they are not
strong enough to resist.
(Harlot enters left, obviously returning for her purse.)
HARLOT.
Sorry to barge in here like this…but I think I left my purse.
ASMODEUS.
I think you are very much mistaken.
HARLOT, spying her purse on the couch.
Oh, there it is. (Asmodeus stops her.) What are you doing?
ASMODEUS.
I was rather hoping to direct that query at yourself.
HARLOT.
That’s my purse.
ASMODEUS.
I don’t believe it is.
HARLOT.
No, it’s mine. I left it here.
ASMODEUS.
I am most certain that it is not yours. (She makes for the purse but Asmodeus pulls out a
gun and Harlot stops dead in her tracks.) Your purse has obviously been misplaced…elsewhere.
HARLOT, comprehending with due horror.
But, you can’t…I…all my cash…
ASMODEUS.
Remove yourself or I shall do it for you…you…earthworm.
HARLOT.
No…please…
CHEVALIER, to Asmodeus.
At least give her back what we owe her for tonight. Poor girl’ll never come back. Pity
her.
ASMODEUS, turning the gun on Chevalier, furiously.
…Did you just tell me…order me to pity her?! Is that what escaped your flapping
mandible?! Pity?! I’ll deal with you later. (Turning to Harlot) As for you, get out! Get out!
You’ll not get a cent! Go back to your cave and chain yourself up until you rot! Out! (Harlot
exits off left as Asmodeus turns on Chevalier.) Pity?! Have you gone soft?!
CHEVALIER.
I never intended to use it in a philosophical manner. I was employing it colloquially.
ASMODEUS.
Or perhaps you’ve been reading a touch too much Tolstoy.
CHEVALIER.
For recreation, not for ideological guidance!
ASMODEUS.
I don’t know, it seems like you prefer War and Peace over whores and piss now.
CHEVALIER, furious and defensive.
The day I place novelized musings on the Russian spirit and the nature of Christ over the
chance to perpetrate carnal atrocities is the day I personally transmogrify my current state into
that of a subterranean corpse!
ASMODEUS.
You know, you’re not very adept at masking your stupidity in this flowery language of
yours. I was merely poking fun. I’m well aware of the fact that you simply suffered a lapse of
semantics. I’m the one who should be offering an apology. I was unable to control myself just
now…but that woman you insist on having is unbearable! She’s a regular Socrates, that one!
CHEVALIER.
She seems to have that affect on the both of us. If only she wasn’t such a remarkable
divining rod in the art of theater, I’d terminate our meetings permanently.
ASMODEUS.
I wouldn’t let that woman near my script.
CHEVALIER.
Oh yes, this script of yours. You’ve been terribly mysterious about it. I mean, I ought to
surmise that you’ve created some sort of compendium of sacred protocols and mystical
sacraments. I’ve never seen you write one jot of it and yet it grows thicker by the day. Strange
and eccentric circumstances indeed!
ASMODEUS.
Well allow me to dilute the eccentricity which you have ascribed to my writing habits in
order to prevent you from continuing on in your babble-prone haughtiness. Now, the reason you
never see me work is because I write only at midnight- the magic hour, I call it. It’s when my
best ideas are plucked from the domain of the muse and into my cranium. Otherwise I’d end up
with something quite similar to what you’ve been concocting, I imagine.
CHEVALIER.
I’ve actually scrapped my previous project. I think I’m going to try my hand at a comedy.
ASMODEUS.
A sound idea. You’re particular speech patterns are best suited for comedy I think, and I
mean this seriously.
CHEVALIER.
Do you really support it?
ASMODEUS.
Absolutely…she gave you the idea, didn’t she?
CHEVALIER.
…Yes. How did you ever deduce that?
ASMODEUS.
…She has a commendable intuition. We should invite her to the premier.
CHEVALIER.
The…premier? In what capacity?
ASMODEUS, ominously.
She’ll decide that for herself now, won’t she?
CHEVALIER.
Speaking of which, what are you writing?
ASMODEUS.
I’m sorry, but my answer must remain cryptic this time. I’d rather you were surprised.
CHEVALIER.
…Very well. But maybe you could at least inform me of where you’ve just come from
that’s left you so agitated.
ASMODEUS.
I believe I told you before I left. It was a meeting for the Latter Day Brethren of Sodality.
CHEVALIER.
I was under the impression that those sordid little soirees were conducted around
midnight.
ASMODEUS.
This was a special occasion.
CHEVALIER, sarcastically.
What, did someone die?
ASMODEUS, pausing and becoming more serious.
…Not one of the group members, no.
CHEVALIER.
Someone did die?
ASMODEUS.
Yes, as a matter of fact, they did.
CHEVALIER.
Who? What happened?
ASMODEUS.
Well, it was rather chaotic and a great deal of it is still a blur in my mind but I will
attempt to recall as much as possible with as much precision and accuracy as possible. Now, as it
is Saturday, we were out on our weekly spree of debauchery and general harm to populace. You
should see it sometime; it’s one of the few things that still gets me excited. One of the members
owns two black convertibles which we ride with the tops down, murderously careening down the
streets and skidding through every corner, the arctic night air blowing our hair this way and that
and all the while, each of us is armed with some sort of pistol, hand gun or in my case, AK-47,
which we use at our leisure to blow away whatever we see fit as we fly past the ill fated late
night pedestrians, not unlike some terrible many-headed demon lashing out at those who merely
catch his bacchanalian fancy. They truly are white nights of unrestrained hedonism! (He sighs.)
What nostalgia it conjures up my innards!
CHEVALIER, sarcastically.
You’re memory is sharp as a tack. What a vivid recollection of an event that happened
nearly an hour and a half ago.
ASMODEUS.
Thank you, Groucho.
CHEVALIER, continuing on in a similar vain.
Tell me; are the photos in black and white or color?
ASMODEUS.
Perhaps you’d rather not hear the rest of my tale so that you may work on your hilarious
comedy act?
CHEVALIER.
Really Asmdoeus, I thought you had thicker skin than that.
ASMODEUS.
It’s a veritable hide, I assure you. Now, if I may continue, I shall come straight to the
point. We had parked ourselves in a rather dimly lit alley as all involved were much too
intoxicated to drive, whether it be by alcohol, drugs, or simply the exhilaration of it all. And we
were meandering about, kicking over rubbish bins, making passes at one another, cursing out
Heidegger and generally being…productive. That’s when I spied an equally inebriated young
lady stumbling out of the night club across the street.
CHEVALIER.
Which night club would this be, if I may ask?...Simply so that I may become oriented
with the location as to create a rendering of the incident in my mind.
ASMODEUS.
Of course. It was the um…oh, what’s the bloody name? Ah! The Fiery Angel.
CHEVALIER.
Oh yes! Wonderful spot. Perfect breeding ground for just that type of woman.
ASMODEUS.
Quite so. They’ve produced some real blue ribbon winners.
CHEVALIER.
Exquisitely beautiful yet pliable, correct?
ASMODEUS.
…No, I was actually just referring to their preference for doggie style. But never mind!
I’m getting into this. As I was saying, this savvy, lubriciously delightful debutante was not
particularly difficult to coax into coming back with us to the chateau. Now, I say it was not
difficult mentally to induce this provocative demoiselle to accompany us, for the spirit was
willing, but physically, the flesh… (He laughs.) The flesh is more interested in deflating as vomit
spews out of her craw like so much regurgitated prose spewing from a certain other craw. (He
looks at Chevalier expectantly.)
CHEVALIER, pausing and rolling his eyes.
…Zing!
ASMODEUS.
But nevertheless, we manage to stuff her in the trunk without too much bother and I
fancy she had a very pleasant nap in there as well. Fortunately, by the time we reach the chateau,
she is fully conscious and quite capable of conversing. It is here, as the other members were busy
flagellating themselves, that I got to know the girl a bit, and an interesting girl she was. Her
name was Eva Braunberg. From what I was led to understand, she was practically the epitome of
hypocrisy and paradox within the religious community. You might even say she symbolized that
suppressed animal instinct lying dormant within the recesses of almost all of those puritanical
servants of the cloth. Her father was a Rabbi; Rabbi Rabbidiman I believe was the name, and
Eva, naturally, was quite intrigued with the faith. She excelled in all her academic studies far
beyond her peers; her sister was, and still is, a well-respected Zionist youth group leader and her
mother: a nurse. From my description you might suppose that life was quite comfortable for this
attractive, assiduous over-achiever…albeit for one slight flaw (disregarding her name, which in
and of itself is quite ironic but dreadfully humorous). Eva was a nymphomaniac. But, her
nymphomania was complicated by the fact that it was consistently brought on by a very
abnormal catalyst indeed…Claude-Achille Debussy’s “Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune.” It
seems that this turn of the century piece aroused the basest emotions within this fiery yenta’s
genitalia. She grew exasperated of this predicament though, especially since it primarily dealt
with a musical masterpiece that is renowned for its calming properties. Instead of lulling her into
a state of tranquility with its lilting melodies and haunting counter lines, it harnessed her most
lustful passions with its supposedly erotic descending strings. Amusingly enough, she first
discovered the unfortunate burden when exposed to Mr. Debussy’s impressionistic musings in a
concert hall at age twelve (a concert hall that was giving its premier performance thanks to the
Braunbergs’ generous contributions). The embarrassment of that disastrous evening still haunted
Eva up to the time she spoke to me about it, as I suspect it still does the flutist whom she so
voraciously molested that evening (if you’ve seen “American Pie” you might have a clearer
understanding of what I’m attempting to relay). Regardless, she really did everything she could
to move on with her life, avoiding that malicious song as often as possible. In fact, she had the
problem five years under the belt. That’s not to say that she was cured, but rather that for the past
five years she had spent the majority of her free time below the belt line. Her hobbies, as I recall,
were studying the Torah, sex, reading, sex, going to the movies with her friends, sex, talking on
the phone, sex, writing in her diary and intercourse.
CHEVALIER.
Oh, wait! Wait! I think I have a joke that’s rather suitable for the occasion!
ASMODEUS.
Do you now?
CHEVALIER.
Right. Now, um, here it is: I bet she really “Torah” new asshole! Of course Torah
referring to the holy book of the Jewish people.
ASMODEUS.
…You’ve got a long way to go.
CHEVALIER.
Oh come now! That’s a gem! It’s hilarious!
ASMODEUS.
Maybe in the form of the written word but out loud, it just sounds stupid.
CHEVALIER.
I think I prefer you with your mouth full.
ASMODEUS, smiling.
Well, no argument there.
(Chevalier mimics Asmodeus by incomprehensibly muttering the words he just said, imitating the
actor’s voice to the best of his ability.)
CHEVALIER.
Would you finish the story?!
ASMODEUS, raising an eyebrow.
…Very well. At this point in time it was quite late- midnight, in fact, so we gathered in
the main chamber for our weekly orgiastic nocturne. I hardly need relate the details as you’ve
been witness and participant to several yourself. I’ll simply state that it could hardly be described
as a disappointment. In fact, there was a bit of a surprise hidden away at the end of this frenzied
maze. This…unexpected development involved our dear friend of whom I’ve just informed you.
CHEVALIER.
What happened?
ASMODEUS, hesitant.
…Blood was drawn.
CHEVALIER.
Blood?
ASMODEUS.
Yes, that’s the stuff. Heh, heh. Platelet juice, vampire sustenance, the ‘ole AB Positive.
I’m afraid we all got a bit carried away and utilized our unfortunate new acquaintance as the
target of our…bloodlust.
CHEVALIER, smiling.
How badly was she hurt?
ASMODEUS.
…To the point of…of…
CHEVALIER.
FaintingASMODEUS, cutting him off.
No return! That’s the phrase I was grasping for!
CHEVALIER.
…Dead?
ASMODEUS.
Rather. Oh you know, the eternal unconsciousness, the deep slumber…the big sleep.
CHEVALIER.
…You…are…my idol! My posterior remains stationary here on this wretched divan as I
philosophize with whores while every week you’re out reconfiguring matter! I’ve written a few
paltry scripts while you’ve transformed a living, breathing, healthy, young individual into an
inanimate corpse! Soon it will be in a completely unrecognizable form! You’ve been God and
I’ve been…petty.
ASMODEUS.
Come now. You can’t write off your entire catalogue of crimes simply because it doesn’t
include homicide. You’ll work your way up to it. Besides, there’ll be hardly any way to admire
my handiwork.
CHEVALIER.
Why, what did you do with the body?
ASMODEUS.
…It was…consumed.
CHEVALIER.
By flames?
ASMODEUS.
No, by digestive juices.
CHEVALIER.
You…ate it?
ASMODEUS.
Yes. Devoured it, licked it clean, polished it off, made it edible. Now, in my defense, I
wasn’t in full possession of my senses at the time. We had all reached a point of such orgasmic
agitation that I was not even aware of my actions until the taste of that most delicate morsel was
repeated when I awoke.
CHEVALIER.
You blacked out?
ASMODEUS.
Yes. That’s the second time that’s ever happened.
CHEVALIER.
When was the first?
ASMODEUS.
That, my dear Chevalier, is a conversation for entirely another time.
CHEVALIER.
Very well. I’m sure it will be brought up again the next time you…murder.
ASMODEUS.
Are you still hung up on that? I tell you, it will come naturally, eventually.
CHEVALIER.
It’s not the fact that I’ve not done so yet, it’s simply that I fear I don’t even have the
inclination to…My heart is weak, Asmodeus…I’m a coward. I may preach the principles of
libertinage but thou shalt not murder is still emblazoned across my mind. I cannot shake the
damn thing! Please, dissuade me from this notion! I mean, what if everyone murdered? Our
society would collapse!
ASMODEUS.
That’s why everyone is not allowed to murder! Egalitarianism! It is the bane of my
existence! Just because a privileged few are given the right, they say it stands to reason that all
should be given that same right! Why? Has nature made us all equal? Certainly not! On the
contrary, we all have vastly different physical and intellectual capabilities! But do we ever
acknowledge this? No! Instead we have fools running the government and morons populating the
air waves because in our society, even the most brain-dead of our hapless citizens can attain seats
of power and affluence. This is not how a healthy civilization functions and I’m afraid we have
our old friend, Christianity, to thank for it. Rome was at the height of its mighty influence until
the poverty stricken, yet crafty Christians called for a toppling of the aristocracy, a wiping of all
free-thinking minds and the imposition of a slave mentality upon all. Ever since then, there have
been two main sects of Christianity: that which spawns dictatorship and that which spawns
socialism. Which is the lesser of two evils, I really cannot say. Taken to the extreme, each one
denies you the same freedoms and elevates the same idiots. In short, and in case you were
wondering where I was going with all this, murder is a transgression that should be given to only
those who deserve it: the philosophers. Ideally, they would be the ones in charge anyway. Since
we are philosophers, we are fully able to murder at will for we have the high-minded ideals to
completely justify it, thereby undeniably exonerating us…totally.
CHEVALIER.
But what exactly are these ideals?
ASMODEUS.
…Ooooh, nothing much really, other than that you can never really destroy matter, you
can only change its form so when you kill someone, you aren’t really ending them and thus
doing them no harm.
CHEVALIER.
That’s it?
ASMODEUS, floundering, yet agitated.
What do you mean, that’s it?! That’s a perfectly good reason! And, uh…I could go into
the whole explanation in more detail and whatnot, but what’s the point?! It’s short, it’s concise
and it’s a hundred percent accurate! What more do you want?!
CHEVALIER.
Well, it is something of a key issue.
ASMODEUS.
Yes…and as long as it’s for pleasure, it’s all good! Pleasure justifies anything.
Remember that! That’s the golden rule! We must never veer from that frame of mind. If we do,
all is lost.
CHEVALIER, sighing.
You speak to me as you might a child. I’ve been informed of the pleasure principle for
some time now. You know that. One cannot proceed much further unless they are acquainted
with that theory. I was hoping for something a little more in depth…more…concrete.
ASMODEUS.
…Well, I don’t have anything more concrete. I am cold and calculating by day;
passionate and murderous by night. That’s all that any libertine could ever hope to achieve.
Accept it now and it will save you a great deal of hardship in future. Specifically, tomorrow
night.
CHEVALIER.
Oh, no, no, no! Not tomorrow night! Never tomorrow night! Tomorrow night I’ll be
ready! It’s much different when it’s a person you know, let alone despise.
ASMODEUS.
You haven’t grown attached to her, have you?
CHEVALIER.
What?! Of course not!
ASMODEUS.
Only, I’m all too aware of your romantic nature.
CHEVALIER.
Yes, but that only applies to when I meet other libertines. Hamartia is about as libertine
as the pope.
ASMODEUS.
Careful now. There have been a veritable plethora of popes who haveCHEVALIER, cutting him off irritably.
I meant our present pope!
ASMODEUS.
…Oh…Still, I’ve heard tell thatCHEVALIER, cutting him off again.
Okay! I get it! Bad comparison. I was simply trying to communicate the fact that I am
utterly repulsed by Hamartia. Her entire being exudes virtuousness, reverence and a most
arrogant belief in her boundless quantity of faith. She has the insufferable self-confidence of
Harlot but with the added piousness of a bishop. You know this much! You’ve met her!
ASMODEUS.
You have a friend named Harlot?
CHEVALIER.
What?...Oh, no, no, no. I’ve dubbed those prostitutes Harlot and Courtesan to keep them
straight but still at a distance.
(Asmodeus pauses and stares at him for a moment and then rolls his eyes and sighs in
exasperation.)
ASMODEUS.
Look, I just wanted to be absolutely positive you were going ahead with this. We’ve been
planning it for what, three months?
CHEVALIER.
Three months, two weeks and four days.
ASMODEUS.
Your records certainly are precise.
CHEVALIER.
Yes, well yours would be too if you were forced to spend the duration of those three
months, two weeks and four days with Mother Theresa.
ASMODEUS.
Oh, now, now. You’re making too much of it. Surely you’ve at least been graced with
entry into the golden halo.
CHEVALIER, in mock happiness with a plastered grin.
No, actually, I haven’t. She’s too pure. Apparently the only golden halo I’ll be getting is
around my finger when we tie the knot!
ASMODEUS, comprehending.
Oh, one of those.
CHEVALIER.
Yes, one of those, if by those you mean women who only ever get down on their knees to
pray, only ever drink wine at communion and are only ever penetrated by the holy spirit! It’s
maddening!
ASMODEUS.
She is quite attractive if memory serves me. Is she the blonde with the rather pleasant
breasts that though she tries to hide them in turtlenecks and any manner of angora, they still seem
to make their presence known without much effort on their part?
CHEVALIER.
That’s the one.
ASMODEUS.
Tantalizing.
CHEVALIER.
You’ve no idea.
ASMODEUS.
She’s also got that wonderfully formed, lovely posterior. Like a little Greek boy’s.
CHEVALIER.
She’s a modern Apollo.
ASMODEUS.
Not to mention she’s got that statuesque figure…with all those curves. Radiant.
CHEVALIER, quietly.
Yes, radiant. Extremely radiant…(Shouting) Wow, I want that girl!
ASMODEUS.
Well, just hold out for one more day and then you can have her as many times as you
like…well, until…
CHEVALIER.
Midnight?
ASMODEUS.
Of course. Oh! That’s reminded me! Father Hitchens will be visiting us presently. I just
wanted to go over some of the details.
CHEVALIER.
Oh, splendid! I do enjoy Father Hitchens’ company. It’s not often that one has the
opportunity to converse with men in possession of such unabashed hypocrisy and triumphant
cynicism.
ASMODEUS.
It’s true. He places his jaded nature on a pedestal.
CHEVALIER.
We should see more of him.
ASMODEUS.
We will…especially after tomorrow. I feel it will be a real bonding experience for
everyone involved, more literally for some than others. (The buzzer by the stage left door
sounds.) That must be Hitchens now. He’s early though. (Asmodeus walks over and presses the
button on the intercom.) Yes?
VOICE (THROUGH INTERCOM), extremely perky.
It’s Hamartia!
(Asmodeus looks at Chevalier but Chevalier shrugs animatedly.)
ASMODEUS, resignedly into the intercom.
C’mon up.
HAMARTIA.
Who is this? Is this Asmodeus?
ASMODEUS, through gritted teeth.
…Yes. Right you are.
HAMARTIA.
Hey Ass!
ASMODEUS, with fake politeness.
Please don’t call me that!
HAMARTIA.
I’ll be up in a sec!
ASMODEUS, turning away from the intercom.
Please plummet to your death in the elevator shaft!
CHEVALIER.
Oh no, we don’t want that! We’d just be substituting one shaft for another.
ASMODEUS, chuckling.
True, true. Now, would you mind telling me what she’s doing here?
CHEVALIER.
I’m as baffled as you are. I suppose she just wanted to…pop in.
ASMODEUS.
Right. Well, the moment she steps through that door, your goal is to get her out. Ideally,
she’d do a u-turn and that would be the end of it. Hitchens will be arriving imminently.
CHEVALIER.
Oh, god! She most certainly does have to clear out then. If she sees a priest she’ll stay
‘till Armageddon.
ASMODEUS.
I imagine she does enjoy the company of these holy persons then.
CHEVALIER.
I’ve gone to church every Sunday for the pastASMODEUS AND CHEVALIER, together.
-Three months, two weeks and four days.
CHEVALIER.
It was worse than water boarding. At least when a terrorist confesses they take the
washcloth off and he can see clearly again. In Catholicism, they just pour more water on! In fact,
the whole business, the rituals, it’s all ridiculous…and so hypocritical! But not in the honorable
sense like Father Hitchens.
ASMODEUS.
You know, Hitchens had a little saying that he once told me:
“I’ve greased more palms
Than I’ve sung psalms.”
CHEVALIER.
Clever! Now that’s the sort of quip I hope to master in my next theatrical endeavor.
ASMODEUS.
Well, good luck to you. If you manage it, I’ll declare the second coming of Oscar Wilde
inaugurated.
CHEVALIER.
You laugh at me.
ASMODEUS.
Not at all. On the contrary, I quite support your enterprise. I would be delighted to read
something decent of yours for once, although that means we will have to shell out extra for fuel
for the fireplace.
CHEVALIER, smiling sullenly.
You are laughing at me!
ASMODEUS.
I promise you I’m not. It’s a gentle mocking at best. You are indeed lucky I’ve not
unsheathed my sarcasm; whipped my irony from its holsters.
CHEVALIER, terribly sarcastic.
Ah yes! The sardonic Asmodeus, whose dark humor and biting wit can destroy a man! I
fear that I must bow to your excellency’s ferocious scorn which you wield with the expertise of a
cynic straight out of Athens!
ASMODEUS.
Now, now, Chevalier, that was hardly fair! You didn’t even allow for the ritualistic fifty
paces.
CHEVALIER.
With such minute exactitude and precision,
Does he brandish his weapons of derision.
ASMODEUS, genuinely impressed.
Well done.
CHEVALIER, shocked.
…Really? You…you found it amusing?
ASMODEUS.
Yes, I found it amusing and what’s moreHAMARTIA (O.S.), knocking on the door.
Knock! Knock!
ASMODEUS.
Oh, hell! That must be your little angel. I’ll do the honors. (He begins walking left.)
CHEVALIER.
Ah yes, but, wait! You were about to say something…something about my humor…
ASMODEUS, paying him no heed.
Hold on! I’ve got to get the door.
CHEVALIER, walking with Asmodeus.
Right, right, but it’s good to finish your thought. Just, you know, for closure.
ASMODEUS.
What are you talking about? Will you let me answer the door?
CHEVALIER.
Of course, but on your way, just say what you were going to say a second
ago…about…about me…and it was of a complimentary nature…for the first time ever…
HAMARTIA (O.S.)
Is anyone in there? I brought some Joel Osteen!
CHEVALIER.
You heard the girl! Give me the words of praise!
ASMODEUS.
For god’s sake, it’s your bloody girlfriend! (He goes for the doorknob but Chevalier
suddenly blocks him and presses his back to the door.)
CHEVALIER, manically.
To hell with the girlfriend!
HAMARTIA (O.S.), innocently.
What?
CHEVALIER, to Hamartia.
Go to hell! (To Asmodeus, very slowly and deliberately.) Now pay… me… the
compliment!
ASMODEUS.
About what?
CHEVALIER.
About the rhyme!
ASMODEUS.
Oh yes!...It’s gone. It’s in the ether now. (Chevalier remains frozen, with an expectant
smile on his face. There is a pause. Asmodeus leans towards Chevalier and looks at his teeth.)
Did you know you had a chipped tooth there? Right upper palate. (He points on his own mouth.)
CHEVALIER, smiling and whispering.
…No.
ASMODEUS.
You should have it checked out. It’s appalling. Excuse me. (Asmodeus pushes Chevalier
out of the way and opens the door for Hamartia.)
HAMARTIA, bursting in jovially.
Hey Ass! (She flings the door wide open and it hits Chevalier in the face, knocking him
down.)
CHEVALIER, clutching his face in pain.
Jesus!
HAMARTIA.
Where?
ASMODEUS.
No, I’m sorry, little girl. I believe your beau was utilizing the forename of your savior in
order to express a certain amount of physical duress.
HAMARTIA, moving to Chevalier.
Oh honey, what happened?
CHEVALIER.
Oh, nothing. The hinges on this door are terrible. I’ve been saying (looking at Asmodeus
with purpose.) we should get it fixed.
ASMODEUS, returning Chevalier’s look and tone.
…Or taken out.
HAMARTIA.
You should! That’s dangerous! (Moving Chevalier towards the couch.) C’mon, let’s sit
down.
CHEVALIER, being lead by Hamartia.
Really, I’m fine.
HAMARTIA, sitting down with Chevalier.
Oh, but your cheeks are all flushed…and you have some foam around your mouth!
CHEVALIER, wiping his lips.
Oh, heh, that’s nothing. To tell you the truth, I’m concerned about why you’re here.
Nothing unfortunate has occurred, I hope?
HAMARTIA.
You’re such a worry wart! I just wanted to drop by since I was in the area. I was helping
out with the church raffle down the road.
ASMODEUS, smiling.
They’re giving away churches?
HAMARTIA.
No, silly! They’re raffling off a life-size statue of St. Alyosha. It was sculpted by the
special needs art class. They meet in the church’s bonus room every Wednesday night.
ASMODEUS.
Does it bear any resemblance?
HAMARTIA.
Oh yeah! You should see it! It’s the spitting image!
ASMODEUS.
Oh, you should wipe it off then. They do dribble a lot, don’t they?
HAMARTIA, confused.
What?
CHEVALIER.
Oh, pay no attention to him.
HAMARTIA.
What is he talking about?
CHEVALIER.
Nothing. So, how long were you there for?
HAMARTIA.
A couple hours. They were putting the finishing touches on it. Those kids, god bless
them! They really wanted to wrap their heads around it. (Asmodeus barely contains a laugh and
Chevalier shoots him a look.) You should have seen them! We threw the canvas off of it and
their creation was unveiled! Their little eyes got so wide!...Of course some of them rolled into
the back of their heads and we had to perform the necessary procedures but it turns out we didn’t
even have to because most of them just started poking them and they fall right back into place.
(Asmodeus sniggers even more audibly.) Oh, but the raffle was great! They all gave it away
personally, waving to the crowd with their shining faces, glowing with pride that it was such a
success!
CHEVALIER.
It was very popular, huh?
HAMARTIA.
Oh, it was unbelievable! We had way too many people!
ASMODEUS.
Sorry, did you say people or chromosomes?
HAMARTIA.
People.
ASMODEUS.
Ah! Just a bit of confusion there.
HAMARTIA.
I tell you, it was a little bittersweet. We never had that many people at the church before.
It was weird. It felt…abnormal.
ASMODEUS, laughing hysterically now.
Abnormal!
HAMARTIA, genuinely curious.
What is so funny?
ASMODEUS.
Oh, it’s a…Peanuts comic in the paper today. Hilarious as usual.
HAMARTIA.
Oh, I have that book: “Parables of Peanuts”! I didn’t know they did comics.
(Chevalier shoots Asmodeus a quick look again.)
ASMODEUS, responding to Chevalier’s glare.
I’m restraining myself.
CHEVALIER, to Hamartia.
Soooo…what, uh, were you selling any baked goods thereASMODEUS, also to Hamartia.
I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what church this was at. You said it was in our area but I
don’t recall any place of worship around here. I mean, this is club country, isn’t it? The Fiery
Angel, Sodality, Raskolnikov’s- hardly room for a church.
HAMARTIA.
It’s only three blocks away, right across from the Emporium. Our Lady of-
CHEVALIER.
Does it really matter?! What do you care, Asmodeus?
ASMODEUS.
It just piqued by topographical interests.
HAMARTIA, to Chevalier.
…Anyway, I brought you these Joel Osteen DVD’s. They’re so inspiring! (She takes
them out of her purse and hands one to Chevalier.)
CHEVALIER, reading the cover.
Three hours of unadulterated Osteen magic.
HAMARTIA.
And it’s loaded with special features!
CHEVALIER, turning the DVD over.
“From Script to Scripture: The Making of a Joel Osteen Sermon.” Sounds great.
HAMARTIA.
Do you wanna watch a little right now?
CHEVALIER.
Oh, well, uh…
ASMODEUS.
We can’t! Test Pattern’s on and I wouldn’t miss it for the world!
HAMARTIA.
Well, what about after?
ASMODEUS.
Sorry, Situation Room marathon.
HAMARTIA.
Oh…okay, well I’ll just leave this here and we can all watch it Friday for movie night.
ASMODEUS, mockingly.
Sounds swell!
HAMARTIA.
Speaking of Friday, we should definitely all go out to dinner!
CHEVALIER.
Dinner?
HAMARTIA.
And there’s this great little place that just opened up near the church. Don’t tell anyone
but it’s actually a chain restaurant owned by the Emporium but you’d never know to look at it!
It’s adorable!
ASMODEUS.
Is the food any good?
HAMARTIA.
What?...Oh, who cares! The atmos is to die!
ASMODEUS.
What’s it called?
HAMARTIA.
Emporium Eats. Oh, where did I stick that flyer? (She begins rifling through her purse
for it.)
CHEVALIER.
Look, I don’t know if we already have plansASMODEUS, whispering to Chevalier.
Just promise her anything. What difference does it make? Just make her feel comfortable.
HAMARTIA, producing the flyer.
Oh, here it is! Listen! (Reading.) Emporium Eats: Ingest comestibles at this location
while giving our humble establishment a reasonable sum for the services provided!
ASMODEUS.
Sounds charming.
HAMARTIA, still reading.
Come to the grand opening for the initial base that will become the headquarters for an
empire of eateries. Don’t miss the opportunity to get in on the ground floor before we engulf the
nation much like one of our thoroughly satisfied customers consuming our savory edibles.
(Looking up.) Oh, there’s a menu on the inside!
CHEVALIER.
The whole Emporium outfit is nothing more than a quick way for men who’d like to
think they were unethical to make another fleeting dollar. They pride themselves in being
ominous and influential when truth be told, the average person could care less about who they
own and what they control. Isn’t that right, Hamartia?
HAMARTIA.
What are you talking about?
CHEVALIER.
Case in point.
HAMARTIA.
All I know is that they have the cutest little street side patio and people have told me it’s
a real family friendly atmosphere.
CHEVALIER.
But we’re not a family.
HAMARTIA.
Not yet. (She takes Chevalier’s arm and rubs it affectionately, much to Chevalier’s
displeasure. Asmodeus notices this and begins rubbing his other arm mockingly. Chevalier
angrily bats him away as Hamartia remains oblivious.) So have you given anymore thought to
what we discussed last night?
CHEVALIER.
Sorry?
HAMARTIA.
What we talked about. (Chevalier still shakes his head.) Moving in together!
ASMODEUS.
What, here?
HAMARTIA.
No, silly! Chevalier moving in with me.
ASMODEUS.
Sounds like a plan.
CHEVALIER.
Well, we haven’t really discussed it that much yet. (Asmodeus gives him a look.) I mean,
but that doesn’t matter because I’m really considering it.
HAMARTIA.
I know you are, honey. I’m just sorry that ‘ole Azzy will be left all alone.
ASMODEUS.
Don’t worry about me. I’m most content when the circulation of humanity is cut off from
my veins.
CHEVALIER.
Believe me, Hamartia, he’s telling the truth. He’s a solitary bird.
HAMARTIA.
I bet he wouldn’t be so keen to keep to himself if he found a little girlfriend. We should
definitely get you someone for Friday night! It’ll be so much fun, like a double date!
ASMODEUS.
Unfortunately, I’m fresh out of female companions at the moment.
HAMARTIA.
Oh, we’ll find you somebody! I’ll call up one of my single friends!
ASMODEUS.
I do seem to remember a rather attractive yet distinguished woman catching my eye last
weekend at your grandfather’s funeral, if you don’t mind me saying.
HAMARTIA.
Not at all! I’d love for you to go out with a friend of the family! Do you remember who it
was?
ASMODEUS.
Quite tall. Long, silver hair. Sharp nose, very defined body.
HAMARTIA.
What was she wearing?
ASMODEUS.
All black taffeta, as I recall.
HAMARTIA.
Did she have gold teardrop earrings?
ASMODEUS.
Yes she did, as a matter of fact.
HAMARTIA, appalled.
That’s my grandmother!
ASMODEUS.
Oh…she’s free then?
(Hamartia gasps but Chevalier waves Asmodeus off.)
CHEVALIER, to Hamartia.
Don’t listen to him. He’s always joking.
HAMARTIA.
He always does that whenever I try to help him with his love life. I’d just like to see him
as happy as you are.
CHEVALIER.
Well, don’t tell me, tell him.
HAMARTIA, turning to Asmodeus.
Asmodeus, you always do that whenever IASMODEUS.
I heard you.
HAMARTIA.
Well how come you always push me away? Whenever I even mention dating, you clam
up.
ASMODEUS.
I just don’t find it a supremely interesting subject, that’s all.
HAMARTIA.
I’ve never even seen you with a girl! Why?
ASMODEUS.
I’ve had my share of females. (Pathetically.) It’s just that…relationships are so…hard. I
love people so much that whenever someone breaks up with me…the…the heartache is
unbearable.
(Chevalier stifles a laugh but Hamartia notices it.)
HAMARTIA, to Chevalier.
Don’t laugh! This is so sweet! Azzy, I had no idea.
ASMODEUS.
Even though I’m such a quiet, introspective…contemplative person, I still can’t help
myself from developing such strong emotional and spiritual bonds with practically everyone I
meet. It magnifies the pain tenfold when they leave.
HAMARTIA.
I know just what you mean.
ASMODEUS.
And so many times I’ll feel like there’s this hole in me that just needs filling.
(Chevalier suppresses another laugh.)
HAMARTIA.
Yup, yup. You can feel so alone and confused…especially at night. Night can be rough.
\
ASMODEUS.
Oh yes, my nights are very rough. (Chevalier gives another strangled giggle.) It’s just
that it happens so rarely that you can find someone who can delve deeply into you and touch you
in a way you never thought possible.
HAMARTIA, starting to tear up.
So true!
ASMODEUS.
And wherever they go you feel like there’s something of themselves that they’ve left
inside you…all warm and sticky. (Hamartia gives a high-pitched sound of agreement as she
fights back the tears.) But you have to hold onto them in the end, or else you have to let them go
so you can pass on your love to others and they can pass it on to others as well and those others
can spread it until everyone is gushing forth with your love.
HAMARTIA, full out crying.
That…is so…magical! (She sees Chevalier desperately trying to keep his composure and
mistakes his giggling for crying.) Oh, and look at you! You’re so sensitive! (She brings them
both in for a hug.) I’m so blessed to have men in my life like you. Asmodeus, you’re like a
tortured Christ dying for our sins!
(Chevalier loses it completely at this point and Asmodeus takes the opportunity to extricate
himself from the proceedings.)
ASMODEUS, standing up with Hamartia as Chevalier writhes in mirthful merriment on the
couch.
Now, Hamartia, I think you’re getting too worked up. Maybe you should lie down. I’ll
just throw some papers off the bed.
HAMARTIA, composing herself and wiping away tears.
Oh no, I wouldn’t impose like that! I don’t want you to see me like this. I was just so
moved by what you said. Look, I better get going anyway.
ASMODEUS.
Oh, but you just got here!
HAMARTIA.
I know, but I’ve smeared my makeup and everything.
CHEVALIER, standing up.
Honey, are you really going?
HAMARTIA.
Yeah, I think so, sweetie.
CHEVALIER.
…Alright. Not even a cup of coffee, maybe?
HAMARTIA.
Oh, well coffee might help.
(Chevalier gives Asmodeus a quick, panicked look.)
ASMODEUS.
Ah, coffee. I take mine black…like my life.
(There is a pause and then Hamartia begins hysterically sobbing again.)
HAMARTIA.
Oh, I’d better go!
CHEVALIER, to Asmodeus as he leads Hamartia to the door.
Thanks! I didn’t think she’d call my bluff!
ASMODEUS, whispering.
Never mind that! Ask her about tomorrow night!
CHEVALIER.
Right. (To Hamartia.) Now Marshy, don’t forget about tomorrow night. You’ll be at the
church, won’t you?
HAMARTIA, broken and sniffing.
Oh yes, I had almost forgotten. For the…function?
CHEVALIER.
Yes, for the function. Nine o’clock.
HAMARTIA, being pushed out the door.
It’s so nice that you’ve finally taken an interest in the church.
CHEVALIER.
Well, it’s only right. We go there every Sunday. Now, I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some
rest.
HAMARTIA.
Will you be at the function, Azzy?
ASMODEUS.
Yes, I’ll be at the function. Goodbye Hamartia.
CHEVALIER.
Bye bye, honey. (He kisses her, forcing her out and goes to close the door but Hamartia
turns around quickly and blocks it from the outside.)
HAMARTIA.
I just realized, should I bring anything?
CHEVALIER.
No, that won’t be necessary. Everything that’s needed has already been provided.
HAMARTIA.
…Okay. (She starts to leave and Chevalier attempts to close the door again but she turns
back around and blocks it once more.) Are you sure I can’t bring anything? I’d just feel so guilty
coming empty handed.
CHEVALIER.
What?!
ASMODEUS.
You can bring…coffee.
(There is a beat and then Hamartia’s waterworks start up again and she finally leaves for good.)
CHEVALIER, yelling out the door.
Adieu, dearest! Have a long cry! (Shutting the door.) It’ll be good practice. God, it’s a
miracle she left! I think now you’re fairly reassured that I’ll have no trouble ending her.
ASMODEUS.
Quite right. Possibly the most annoying little creature I’ve ever met. Has she been like
that always?
CHEVALIER.
Always.
ASMODEUS.
I truly feel sorry for you. I may be a sadist but I’m not inhuman. That girl is a blight on
this earth. So utterly stupid too!
CHEVALIER.
Well, blind, unquestioning faith in the ridiculous without a shred of evidence or logic will
do that to you. It’s like cable TV. It simply gives you want and all it asks in return is that you
never read a book.
ASMODEUS, picking up a crucifix necklace left by Hamartia and toying with it.
It’s a very astute comparison you make. They’ve never been very susceptible to reason.
Just because a long haired, hippie Jew got nailed up thousands of years ago for preaching
anarchy, they think they’re all going up to heaven. Except what they don’t realize is that God is a
lover of order, the aristocracy and despotism. He’s a despot himself, you know. He’s just as
Roman as his predecessors and no matter how many incarnations he goes through, that, at least,
will never change…(Noticing the crucifix.) Did Hamartia leave this?
CHEVALIER.
She must have.
ASMODEUS.
We ought to hide it.
CHEVALIER.
Why?
ASMODEUS.
The priest, Father Hitchens, will be here any minute! He can’t stand to look at the thing!
(Blackout and the curtain closes.)
SCENE II
CHEVALIER, ASMODEUS, FATHER HITCHENS, NIKITA, FATHER ZOSIMA
Prokofiev’s “Overture to Betrothal in a Monastery” plays and the curtain rises on the
apartment half an hour or so later. It is completely tidied up but the crucifix remains lying
conspicuously on some upstage surface, i.e. an end table by the couch. Chevalier sits on the
couch, industriously typing away. After a beat or so, Asmodeus enters writing a check. He rips it
out of the checkbook and then sticks it in his pocket.
CHEVALIER, not looking up from typing.
What was that noise?
ASMODEUS.
I was writing a check.
CHEVALIER.
To whom?
ASMODEUS.
Father Hitchens. I’m giving him his final payments tonight.
CHEVALIER.
Where is he anyway? I thought you said that he was usually quite prompt.
ASMODEUS.
I never said that. I said he usually arrives at the right time and I still maintain that much.
Unfortunately, the “right time”, according to our pastoral friend, quite often refers to the most
convenient occasion for him, rather than for the party patiently biding their time at the designated
rendezvous.
CHEVALIER.
Jaded and egotistical…this guy’s got it all!
ASMODEUS.
It would seem so. (Noticing the crucifix.) Oh, I can’t believe this!
CHEVALIER.
What?
ASMODEUS, picking up the crucifix.
After all that and we still forgot to dispose of this thing!
CHEVALIER, still never having looked up once.
What is it?
ASMODEUS.
The crucifix.
CHEVALIER.
The what?
ASMODEUS.
The crucifix!
CHEVALIER.
What crucifix?
ASMODEUS.
It’s the cross pendant that Hamartia left.
CHEVALIER.
What are you on about, cross pendant?
ASMODEUS.
The lower case “t” with Billy Connolly nailed to it!
CHEVALIER.
Oh! The Jesus necklace!
ASMODEUS.
Yes! My, you can be thick sometimes.
CHEVALIER.
Oh no, let me assure you it wasn’t my intellect that impeded are communication but
merely my lack of consideration for what you were going through such pains to describe. You
see, I’ve had another break through and the play is coming along better than ever!
ASMODEUS.
Really? And would this by any chance have something to do with the incorporation of
comedy?
CHEVALIER.
It’s integral!
ASMODEUS.
Well, what is the subject matter?
CHEVALIER.
Philosophy.
ASMODEUS, sarcastically.
Oh, very good! I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate?
CHEVALIER.
It’s something of a satire of the foibles commonly associated with the outdated dogmas of
philosophers past.
ASMODEUS, still sarcastic.
Yes, well that narrows it down.
CHEVALIER.
Well, I beg your pardon but I don’t think I’m being any more mysterious than you’ve
been regarding your own work.
ASMODEUS.
True, but I do believe that mine may very well be on quite a different plain than yours.
CHEVALIER.
What’s that supposed to mean?
ASMODEUS.
Nothing. Only that while your magnum opus remains a tittering comedy starring the
Greek Three Stooges, my play is of an entirely new form, hitherto never yet dared to be enacted
in actual performance. Yours, on the other hand, I am assuming borrows a great deal from
Plautus.
CHEVALIER.
So what’s wrong with being neo-classical?
ASMODEUS.
It’s not neo-classicism, it’s neo-plagiarism.
CHEVALIER.
You’ve not even heard a word of the thing!
ASMODEUS.
I’m only speculating…well, it is an educated guess.
CHEVALIER.
Well, it couldn’t be further from the truth! I dare say the education from which this guess
arose was fostered at an inner-city school.
ASMODEUS, laughing.
Well done. Perhaps it won’t be as bad as I first suspected. You’re getting better all the
time.
CHEVALIER.
Oh, well thank- now, that’s a compliment!
(The buzzer sounds and Asmodeus goes to press it.)
ASMODEUS, crossing.
What? Oh, forget it.
CHEVALIER, in extreme agitation.
Oh, no, I, you…aaaagh!
ASMODEUS, from by the door.
Quiet! (Into the buzzer.) Yes?
VOICE (THROUGH THE INTERCOM), speaks in a pronounced Foghorn-Leghorn-like
southern accent.
Well, is that you, Asmodeus?
ASMODEUS.
Yes it is and I presume this is Father Hitchens, is it not?
HITCHENS, good naturedly.
Well, it certainly is! Now, do you mind buzzin’ me up or are you gonna wait ‘till Lent?!
ASMODEUS, laughing and then to an unsure Chevalier.
It was a joke. He puts absolutely no stock in the ridiculous observance. (Chevalier nods
in relieved approval and Asmodeus addresses the intercom once more.) I’ll buzz you up
immediately Hitchens! I’d hate to keep a holy man stewing in his own juices!
HITCHENS.
Well, they’ve probably transubstantiated by now!
ASMODEUS, laughing more and then to Chevalier.
The man’s got a quick wit. Loves to make jokes about his false profession.
CHEVALIER.
How perfectly hilarious! Now, is there any other pertinent information that I should be
informed of before he enters?
ASMODEUS.
No, no. He’s a very informal, simple-minded type. Mostly business oriented- which
serves him well. Not to mention that he’s hardly one to reproach since he is a most notorious
pervert, in the tradition of his specific sect of Christianity.
CHEVALIER.
What a superbly corrupt individual!
ASMODEUS.
On the contrary, the only priests I don’t find corrupt are those who are ascribed that title
by society.
CHEVALIER.
I am at a loss for how anyone can remain Catholic. More than any other religion, the
mystique has been almost entirely expelled, due to these numerous indiscretions.
ASMODEUS.
Chevalier, my dear, ignorant men will deny anything in order to ward off any semblance
of self-improvement or realization of the truth.
CHEVALIER.
I mean, honestly, these virtuous dolts who remain ever pious are either hypocrites, in
denial or impossibly stupid.
ASMODEUS.
You say it as if they’re mutually exclusive.
CHEVALIER.
Ah, well, they’re not of course. But, even the aesthetics of the thing are marred. At least
Catholicism has retained most of its pagan, cult-like rituals, rather like the Russian Orthodox
Church.
ASMODEUS.
I’ve never heard you speak like this before.
CHEVALIER.
Oh, no need to become worried. It’s merely nostalgia. It’s a memory most fond I have of
that fateful point in my childhood when I first broke away from my family’s dogma. I nearly
killed our priest with the news. He was an elderly Russian of about eighty and had a face not
unlike that of Methuselah.
ASMODEUS.
I didn’t realize you had a religious background.
CHEVALIER.
Yes, well not all of us were lucky enough to be brought up as heathens. Some of us had
to earn that title.
ASMODEUS.
I’d dine to hear about it.
CHEVALIER.
So you do take interest in me!
ASMODEUS.
From time to time, yes, when the story you are to relate appears to be sufficiently
theatrical.
CHEVALIER.
…The priest’s name was Father Zosima…no relation.
ASMODEUS.
Of course.
CHEVALIER.
Well, around the conclusion of my middle school era, I had a most momentous meeting
with this man.
ASMODEUS, intrigued.
Go on.
CHEVALIER.
I suppose some might have dubbed it the beginning of the end.
ASMODEUS.
I hope this is the beginning of the end of you using that phrase.
CHEVALIER.
Shut up! You’re ruining the flashback!
ASMODEUS.
My apologies.
CHEVALIER.
Well, one day, I ventured down to the church… (An elderly Russian Orthodox priest,
Father Zosima, with the full black garb and gray beard enters left and Chevalier, now playing
his past self, humbly approaches the man with mock reverence.) Excuse me, Father, might I have
a word?
ZOSIMA, with a very pronounced, high-pitched Russian accent.
Of course, my son. My door is always open. Please, come in, come in.
CHEVALIER.
Oh, thank you, for I feel that I must, I simply must unburden myself!
ZOSIMA, chuckling.
Well, you’ve come to the right place. One of the main functions of the church is to
console and rejuvenate. Many forget that in times of trouble, the word of God can be most
soothing.
CHEVALIER.
I’ve no doubt of that, which is why I’ve come to you seeking your advice. Our family has
been in your church for years and you’re one of the wisest men I know.
ZOSIMA.
That is most flattering, my child, but now, please, tell me what is weighing heavy on your
soul?
CHEVALIER, with much trepidation.
Oh, father, I tremble to speak it aloud…I dare not!
ZOSIMA.
Come, come. Only the Lord can sit in judgment of a man’s sins and He has already seen
what you’ve done. I am merely here to speak to you as His mouthpiece.
CHEVALIER.
It is awful what I have done, though, Father. I have a great many confessions to make!
ZOSIMA.
Then we should begin right away.
CHEVALIER.
…Yes. (Sighs.) Yes, I will tell you…Two years ago, it was summer and I was outside
enjoying the unusually clement weather and I went for a bit of a run, you see.
ZOSIMA, wistfully.
Oh, if only these old bones could still hold up! Ah, youth!
CHEVALIER.
I was jogging at a fairly steady pace for almost a mile when, all of a sudden- (He trails
off, unable to continue.)
ZOSIMA.
Yes? Please go on.
CHEVALIER.
I’m sorry. It’s rather difficult for me.
ZOSIMA.
The Lord gives us great strength in times of tribulation.
CHEVALIER.
I fell. I tripped on a rock or some irregularity in the road- I can’t be quite sure now. But,
the important thing is that I fell and I skinned my knee and I yelled out to the heavens… (Barely
audibly.) goddamn it.
ZOSIMA.
I’m sorry? You’ll have to speak up, my son. My hearing is poor.
CHEVALIER, still softly.
…Goddamn it.
ZOSIMA.
What?
CHEVALIER, loudly now.
Goddamn it! Goddamn it, I said! Oh, it was a vicious and cruel thing to do and I’ve
regretted it low these two long years!
ZOSIMA, pausing in perplexity.
…Allow me to clarify if I understand you correctly. You fell down and hurt yourself and
involuntarily used the Lord’s name in vane?
CHEVALIER.
…Yes.
ZOSIMA.
Well, my dear boy, that is not so terrible. It is only a small sin and it is certainly not
worth agonizing over, although your suffering is most impressive.
CHEVALIER.
Oh, but there’s more!
ZOSIMA.
More?
CHEVALIER, with a deep foreboding.
I’ve barely skimmed the surface of my dark deeds. Last month I was in the school
cafeteria and I accidentally took a packet of ketchup, thinking it was free and walked out without
paying for it when it was really…fif…fif…fif… (Bursting into tears.) fifty cents!
ZOSIMA.
Oh, please do not cry! This is so insignificant!
CHEVALIER, growing more bleary eyed and incoherent with every sentence.
It’s just that I was so distracted as I was buying extra food for the homeless man who
frequented the road in front of the school that I neglected to check for the price of the item!
Which reminds me that a week and a half ago, when I was giving alms, one of the many twenty
dollar bills that I handed out was ripped beyond all saving so that in the end, the destitute I had
given it to could only buy eighty dollars worth instead of a hundred! Why, it was even around
that time that I missed that discarded soda can whilst cleaning up the town lake, forever
profaning that corner of God’s beautiful earth! (He sobs uncontrollably.)
ZOSIMA, also crying.
Please! Please! No more! You have brought me to tears with your pious generosity and
passionate suffering! You are surely the most devout child that I have ever met! God bless your
soul…as if you needed it! I do hope that you can at least forgive yourself for these most minute
follies!
CHEVALIER.
Thank you, father! Thank you! …I did fail to mention though that three days ago I
borrowed a pencil from a girl at school and forgot to return it.
ZOSIMA.
Again, such a petty nothingness!
CHEVALIER.
…I suppose you’re right. It’s just as well since the next day I forcibly took her virginity
through the act of rape, an irrevocable truth that she simply could not live with, causing her to
commit suicide the following day…So, you see! The pencil was never missed!
ZOSIMA, wide eyed with horror.
You did what?!
(The door suddenly bursts open, hitting Zosima right in the face. He cries out in pain as he flies
backward, behind the door, into a corner. Father Hitchens boisterously blusters into the room.)
HITCHENS, as he crosses the threshold.
Well, don’t mind if I just let myself in!
ASMODEUS, crossing to him.
Ah, Father Hitchens! Lovely to see you again!
HITCHENS.
Well, the feeling is mutual! Sure, sure!
CHEVALIER.
So you’re Father Hitchens. I’m delighted.
HITCHENS, shaking his hand.
Well, it’s nice to meet you, Delighted – just kidding! What’s your name, boy?
CHEVALIER.
Chevalier.
ZOSIMA, from behind the open door.
Oh, what, what has happened to all my icons? Who has stolen them? Oh, Lord, have
mercy! Stay away! Repent my son! Put down that cross!
CHEVALIER, slamming the door into Zosima again whilst gritting his teeth and addressing
Hitchens.
You know, I do apologize for the elevator being broken. Why don’t you go rest on the
couch?
HITCHENS.
Well, that sounds heavenly! (He crosses to the couch and sits.)
ZOSIMA, moaning.
Please, my child! Leave the body of Christ alone! (Asmodeus sighs in exasperation and
closes the door to reveal Zosima on the floor.) Aaah! Lucifer!
ASMODEUS.
Shut up! You’re only a metaphor! (Under his breath to Chevalier.) Get him out of here!
CHEVALIER, roughly putting Zosima on his feet.
Alright, out you go, you old fool!
ZOSIMA.
You must atone for your wretched sins!
CHEVALIER, sarcastically.
…Yeah, I’ll get right on that.
ZOSIMA, almost whispering.
What has become of you?
CHEVALIER.
Look, would you mind terribly much if you could just vacate- (He stops suddenly and
looks past Zosima, out the door with an expression of mystic wonderment.) Oh Lord! The
Madonna! (He immediately kneels and crosses himself.)
ZOSIMA.
You have seen a vision?! Where?! (He turns around excitedly as Chevalier gets up and
kicks him in the back out the door.)
CHEVALIER, extremely deadpan.
Down the stairs. (He slams the door as Zosima is heard offstage screaming and crashing
down a flight of stairs.)
ASMODEUS.
Where do you think he’ll end up?
CHEVALIER.
Third floor: Mother of God, religious visions, mystical experiences and toenail clippers.
ASMODEUS.
By the way, this exploit from your youth, it sounded very familiar.
CHEVALIER.
I was inspired by the Decameron, if that’s what you mean.
ASMODEUS.
Ah yes, of course! (Said at the same time as Chevalier.) Boccaccio.
CHEVALIER, over Asmodeus.
Pasolini.
(Asmodeus rolls his eyes.)
HITCHENS, getting up from the couch.
Well, I feel plenty rested and refreshed and now, if you don’t mind gentlemen, I would
like to get down to business here.
ASMODEUS.
A most excellent idea, father.
HITCHENS.
Oh, please, call me Augustus. And that goes for you too, kind gentleman.
CHEVALIER.
As you wish. Incidentally, would you care for any sort of refreshment?
HITCHENS.
Oh no, I wouldn’t dare. I’m watching my figure, you see. Gotta be able to fit through the
eye of that proverbial needle!
ASMODEUS.
Right. As of now, everything is prepared for tomorrow night, correct?
HITCHENS.
Well, I can never be too sure. Why don’t I just consult the Good Book? (He takes out a
Bible.)
CHEVALIER.
Don’t tell me you try to predict the future with that useless tome!
HITCHENS
It’s not useless if you write all your financial transactions in it. (He opens it and a long
scroll unfurls out of it.)
CHEVALIER.
That’s a list of all your transactions?!
HITCHENS.
What, this? Oh no! That’s just my Virgin Mary centerfold!
(Asmodeus and Chevalier, quite interested, both move in and have a look, ad-libbing their
enthusiasm.)
ASMODEUS.
Doesn’t look like much of a virgin to me.
CHEVALIER.
Is that all three wise men?!
HITCHENS.
And the shepherds too.
ASMODEUS.
Where’s Joseph?
HITCHENS.
Look behind the sheep there, you seeASMODEUS.
Ah, yes! Yes! Well, it’s a masterful rendering, that’s all I’ll say.
HITCHENS.
Well, you can have it if you like. I’ll still have my Salome pinup and the Foursome of the
Apocalypse.
ASMODEUS.
Well, thank you.
HITCHENS, producing a pair of scissors and cutting off the centerfold.
Here you are.
CHEVALIER.
Where’d he get the scissors? Who is he, Harpo?
HITCHENS.
Now, here is my list of transactions! (A ridiculously long scroll unfurls to the ground.)
CHEVALIER.
You certainly are the businessman!
HITCHENS, looking through the list.
Yes, well I was never one of those priests to content themselves with the tax exemption.
That just wet my whistle! (Finding it.) Ah! Here we are! Well, according to this, there’s five
hundred sixty eight dollars’ worth of festivities ready for tomorrow night. Just five hundred sixty
eight dollars’ worth, mind you. (He coughs expectantly.)
ASMODEUS.
Yes, yes! I’ve got the rest right here. (He hands Hitchens the check and he examine sit.)
HITCHENS.
Wonderful! It would have been a shame if this little get-together fell through. I’m lookin’
forward to it just as much as you boys!
ASMODEUS.
And what sort of goods are we to expect? Only the finest I would assume.
HITCHENS.
Well, of course! I got for you the finest lookin’ nuns and altar boys this earth has to offer!
You will not find a better selection at the Vatican itself!
CHEVALIER.
Did you say…altar boys?
HITCHENS.
Sure did! I got a whole gaggle of ‘em! Twenty from Texas, five from Missouri, five from
Mississippi, eight from the Ukraine and fifteen from good ‘ole Milan!
(Chevalier looks at Asmodeus.)
ASMODEUS, nodding.
Go ahead.
HITCHENS.
What is this? Don’t you trust me?
ASMODEUS.
It’s just that Chevalier is very particular about his altar boys.
HITCHENS.
Oh, well you can put your fears to rest! These boys were handpicked by the Bishop of
Gloucester, himself!
CHEVALIER.
Is that somehow advantageous?
HITCHENS.
Well, sure! You ‘aint gonna find a better connoisseur than that fruit!
ASMODEUS.
I believe the Bishop of Gloucester operates under the C of E, not the Vatican.
HITCHENS, caught off-guard.
…What, did I say Gloucester?
ASMODEUS.
Yes.
HITCHENS.
Oh, sorry about that! Just a little peckish, that’s all! Thinkin’ about cheese, right? I meant
to say uh, he was uh, the uh, well it’s uh, it don’t matter none, right? What’s important is that I
got the top o’ the line, mint condition, completely competent, absolutely gorgeous fifteen to
eighteen year old boys!
CHEVALIER.
Oh dear, I was hoping for something a bit younger.
HITCHENS.
Younger? You want younger? Well, why didn’t you say so? ‘Course I can get you
younger! What are you after? Thirteen, eleven, five, a fetus? You want a fetus, ‘cause I can get
you a fetus!
CHEVALIER.
That won’t be necessary. Although I would like to know what the races are of these
children.
HITCHENS.
They’re whatever you want them to be, Lordy! We got all kinds of colors! You can have
Midnight Black, Jaundice Yellah, Sweetly Smooth and Creamy Brown, Internal Bleedin’ Red
and of course, an ‘ole favorite of the South, Wintry Semen White!
CHEVALIER.
I’d like a good mix of tanned boys as well.
HITCHENS.
Certainly we can arrange that! I’ll have ‘em whipped on the plane ride over!
CHEVALIER.
And may I ask what the virginity situation is?
HITCHENS.
These are genuine, untouched, unspoiled, fresh as daisy certified virginsCHEVALIER
Oh no! That won’t do at all! I detest virgins. I infinitely prefer those who know what
they’re doing.
HITCHENS.
Oh, well I got plenty of used ones too!
CHEVALIER.
I don’t know…
HITCHENS.
Well, what do I have to do to put you in an altar boy today?
ASMODEUS.
Sounds like you’re selling a car.
CHEVALIER.
In that case, I’ll take the stick shift.
HITCHENS, laughing ingenuously.
Oh, that’s a good ‘un! Asmodeus, why didn’t you tell me you had such a comedian lyin’
around here? You should’ve introduced me to this boy years ago! He’s got me in stitches! (He
continues to laugh as he turns to Chevalier and grabs him by the collar, talking to him through
gritted teeth.) Just take the damn boys! They’re fine!
CHEVALIER, intimidated and looking to Asmodeus for help, who nods vigorously.
…Very good kind sir. How fortunate that I was able to avail myself of your obviously
excellent wares!
HITCHENS, letting go of Chevalier.
Well, how about that?! We’re all happy!
ASMODEUS.
You’re not off the hook yet. I’d like to inquire about the nuns. Yes, don’t think I’m
unaware of the unusually high proclivity for plainness that exists amongst this demographic.
CHEVALIER.
There’s nothing unusual about it. Plain girls inevitably fail to find requited love so they
shelter their battered pride in a convent.
HITCHENS.
Well, that may be the case for some unfortunate souls, but they certainly have no place
amongst my dazzling beauties.
ASMODEUS.
Let’s focus on this last point momentarily, shall we? I shall require women of the utmost
exquisiteness. There must be an ample variety of dark haired and blondes and all of them must
be well endowed in the breast and posterior department. There ought not to be a blemish to be
found upon their figures and the conditions of their respective skins should be immaculate. The
blondes should be evenly tanned and the brunettes extremely pale. Their asses should be more
convex than they are long and the same principle applies to their bubs. The majority should be
Semitic in appearance and the rest should still retain the facial characteristics of said race. I also
want several Italians with a specialty in voluptuousness. Nevertheless, their nipples should be as
small as possible and this goes for the others as well. Once you have organized this much, I
would like for you divide them into two groups, one comprised of the blondes and the other
exclusively of brunettes. The brunettes should be extremely proficient in their art and you are to
instruct them to be unyieldingly compliant. The blondes on the other hand, should be virginal,
inexperienced, naïve and terribly frightened. I want tears in their eyes and I want them to resist
as much as possible. Finally, I would like you to procure a third group of women, this one made
up entirely of vile, putrid, stinking, ancient hags. The more repulsive, the better! Teeth should be
rotted, breath foul, breasts sagging, skin cracked, asses stretched, sores open and running and
rectal control…nonexistent. These are my specifications. Either adhere to them or call the whole
thing off. I refuse to accept anything less and I utterly loathe compromise. It is nothing more than
the convergence of two dilute souls in the hopes of future attenuation.
HITCHENS.
Well, that’s quite the wish list, but as they say, you’re wish is my command! I guarantee
you I can get you all that…and more!
ASMODEUS.
No more, no less. Thank you, father.
HITCHENS.
Augustus.
ASMODEUS.
Augustus! Of course!
CHEVALIER.
So you’re perfectly capable of accommodating all this, are you?
HITCHENS.
Don’t you worry about a thing! Orgies of this particular nature happen to be my
specialty!
CHEVALIER.
Oh, I almost forgot! I’ll need a troupe of actors as well.
ASMODEUS.
For the performances we discussed.
HITCHENS.
Of course. They’ve all been booked already. Am I correct in saying that you only need
four males?
CHEVALIER.
That’s true for mine, but I can’t speak for Asmodeus.
HITCHENS, looking to Asmodeus, confused.
I thought you was, uh…
ASMODEUS, to Hitchens.
Nothing’s changed. (To Chevalier.) I should have mentioned to you that my play requires
no actors, in fact it is quite the opposite. It can only be dramatized most realistically by
untrained, unprofessional laypeople, who will be with us in abundance tomorrow night, as you
now know.
CHEVALIER.
That’s quite the radical idea. Is it really practical though if you ever hope to have this
performed again?
ASMODEUS.
I’m not concerned. Tomorrow evening is effectively its premier and swan song.
HITCHENS.
I think what he means to say is that it’s a one night deal.
ASMODEUS.
Exactly…in fact, your Hamartia is to play a leading role.
CHEVALIER.
I see. It becomes slightly clearer now. (Whispering to Asmodeus.) What is his policy on
sanitation and removal?
ASMODEUS, at normal volume.
You don’t have to whisper. The full extent of our plans is no secret to Augustus. (To
Hitchens.) You’ll have that all taken care of, won’t you? Especially after my piece.
HITCHENS.
It is absolutely under my control. Don’t forget though, I’ve got a little show of mine all
lined up for tomorrow as well.
ASMODEUS.
Yes, yes. I think we shall open with it. It always does the audience good to begin with the
light material.
CHEVALIER.
You’ve…written something?
HITCHENS.
Well, funny thing about most of my business deals. I consider myself something of an
amateur poet and now again I like to see my works performed, in person. I usually take the
opportunity to impose that on my customers. I give them a discount and they produce my pieces,
it’s as simple as that. You folks are saving over a hundred bucks by just favoring me with a
mediocre performance.
ASMODEUS.
Now, now. I assure you that it will be decidedly un-mediocre…especially since the parts
will be read by you, Chevalier and myself, just as we agreed.
CHEVALIER.
What?
ASMODEUS.
No need to fret. The poem is excellent and you will enjoy being a part of it immensely.
I’ll give you a copy of it later.
HITCHENS.
I have an extra if you need it.
ASMODEUS.
That won’t be nessecary. You have already given me a more than adequate supply of
copies.
CHEVALIER.
What exactly does my…part entail?
ASMODEUS.
I told you once, you needn’t worry! I’ll explain it all later. (To Hitchens.) He’s such a
neurotic!
CHEVALIER.
I’d dare to contradict that statement!
ASMODEUS.
Oh, please! Last week we had relations with this rather lovely young man in the outlying
district and the whole time he keeps whining, (Does a Woody Allen impression.) “This guy looks
pretty emaciated. What if he has AIDS or something?”
CHEVALIER.
That is a valid concern!
ASMODEUS, continuing in his Woody Allen voice.
My mother would’ve taught me the warning signs if she wasn’t too busy getting raped by
Cossacks.
CHEVALIER.
The family history I recounted was completely accurate!
ASMODEUS, stepping downstage and talking to the audience in his Woody Allen voice.
How do I end up in these predicaments? I’m stuck in an apartment with a sociopathic
neurotic in denial.
CHEVALIER, stepping next to Asmodeus.
Hey, I am not a neurotic in denial and never have been. Anyone who’s ever known me
would tell you the same…Even Father Zosima!
ASMODEUS.
Well, as a matter of fact, I happen to have Father Zosima with me here now. (He opens
the door to reveal Zosima standing in the doorway.)
ZOSIMA, to Chevalier.
It’s true. You know nothing of yourself. You were always in denial and will never realize
your full potential until you admit this.
ASMODEUS, kindly.
Thank you father.
ZOSIMA.
Oh, no trouble and God bless- (He is cut off as Asmodeus slams the door in his face.)
HITCHENS.
You were awfully brusque with that symbolic man.
ASMODEUS.
Eh. I care not for people, only personalities.
CHEVALIER.
You missed the original flashback anyway, Augustus. You need the proper context.
HITCHENS.
I suppose. Looked like a bit of a holy fool anyway.
CHEVALIER.
That’s exactly what he is. Excellent phrase. I’ve always liked it.
HITCHENS, slowly.
Well, perhaps if you’re interested, I could whip up one of them said holy fools for
tomorrow night’s shindig. That way, you could possibly unleash some pent anger upon the
doubting dimwit…some unresolved rage you may have developed for these foolish fellows over
the years.
CHEVALIER.
Why, that would be simply marvelous!
ASMODEUS.
Yes, I quite like the idea. We could arrange to have him bless all present, which I think
would possess, in and of itself, a most charming irony.
HITCHENS.
I will see that it is so…’course, arrangin’ for such a participant (this is a fully grown man,
mind you!) isn’t always…cheap.
ASMODEUS.
Your southern charm leaves something to be desired…subtlety, I would think.
HITCHENS.
Now, let’s not forget what I lack in subtlety I more than make up for in nostalgic racism!
ASMODEUS.
Uh uh! We’ll have none of that here, Hitchens! Don’t forget, everyone’s equal in our
eyes…they’re all equally disposable.
HITCHENS.
Speakin’ of disposability, I wonder if perhaps you might have some disposable income so
that I may procure this holy fool for y’all.
ASMODEUS.
Right. How much?
HITCHENS.
Six hundred.
ASMODEUS.
Very well. Money is no object. Chevalier, I left the checkbook on that table. Write the
man a check.
CHEVALIER, picking up the checkbook and pen.
With pleasure! (As he writes, he begins to hum the melody of the “Volga Boatmen’s
Song”. He finishes the check and rips it out, giving it to Hitchens.) Here you are.
HITCHENS.
Thank ya. You know, that song you were humming sounded awful familiar, really ringin’
a few mysterious bells! What was it?
CHEVALIER.
It’s the Song of the Volga Boatmen. My father used to sing it quite frequently. He was an
impresario, you know.
ASMODEUS.
Really? I had no idea!
CHEVALIER.
Oh yes! (He hums some more and Hitchens joins in.)
HITCHENS.
Why yes! I recognize it now! But that’s no boatman’s song! That’s the Libertine’s Song!
ASMODEUS.
The what?
HITCHENS.
Well, the Libertine’s Song! It’s the anthem of every enlightened individual!
CHEVALIER.
How could we not have been aware of this?
HITCHENS.
Well, maybe it’s more of an international thing.
ASMODEUS.
I do recall something of the sort being brought up at Sodality once. How does it go?
HITCHENS, singing.
Pulsing fingers,
Throbbing members.
See the purple head turn to fire.
CHEVALIER.
I never heard that verse before!
ASMODEUS.
Yes…(Singing.) Waves of ember
Melt the ice flows.
HITCHENS AND ASMODEUS.
Fell the lustful bite
Of stark pleasure!
HITCHENS, laughing.
You do know it!
ASMODEUS.
I didn’t realize this deviant air and that famous folksong were one and the same!
CHEVALIER.
If you remember it, I would so love to hear the rest.
HITCHENS.
‘Course he remembers it! Once you learn the Libertine’s Song, you never forget it!
HITCHENS AND ASMODEUS.
Ecstasy consumes our lost souls!
Live by one and only cruelty!
Ay-da, da, ay-da!
Ay-da, da, ay-da!
Sing the songs of ancient harlots!
ASMODEUS.
That’s the entire first verse, if memory serves me.
CHEVALIER.
How splendid! I must learn the rest!
HITCHENS.
Don’t worry. I’ll give ya a few lessons.
CHEVALIER.
How very kind of you- (He is interrupted by the sound of the buzzer. He and Asmodeus
look at each other in puzzlement.)
ASMODEUS.
Who on earth could that be?
HITCHENS.
If I’m intruding on some other guests you’re having, say the word and I’ll take my leave.
ASMODEUS.
No, no. They’re…not expected.
CHEVALIER, hesitantly answering the intercom.
…Hello?
VOICE (THROUGH THE INTERCOM).
Hi. Is this, uh…Emily?
(Something suddenly dawns on Chevalier and his eyes grow wide as he covers his mouth. He
wildly looks to Asmodeus and points at the intercom. Asmodeus urges him to play along.)
CHEVALIER, in a feminine voice through the intercom.
…This is her. Is this… (Ridiculously over-pronouncing her name with a Hispanic
accent.) Nikita?
NIKITA.
Yes it is.
CHEVALIER.
Great! Why don’t you come on up?
NIKITA.
Okay.
(Chevalier turns back towards the other two with a frightened expression.)
HITCHENS.
What was that all about?
ASMODEUS.
Okay, I don’t have a lot of time to explain this but here’s the long and short of it. Several
weeks ago, as part of a joint venture, Chevalier and I created a false E-Harmony account,
fabricating absolutely every aspect of it, including the gender and sexuality. The fatally
misguided woman making her way up here right now is a young, supple, highly attractive
Hispanic lesbian named- (He prompts Chevalier.)
CHEVALIER, in the same style he employed previously.
Nikita!
ASMODEUS.
She is under the impression that she is about to make the acquaintance of lonely, blonde,
twenty two year old Emily, who inconsequently, enjoys kayaking, wearing plaid, hunting and
castration. She believes we’ll be sojourning at the cinema tonightCHEVALIER.
But as you might have already guessed, we have other plans.
HITCHENS.
Well, I best get outta your way then! This sounds carefully orchestrated!
ASMODEUS.
Augustus, wait! I think it would be rather beneficial for all involved if you maintained
your presence here. I think you might enjoy yourself and, dare I say, feel so inclined as to
partake in the proceedings.
HITCHENS.
Well, if you really don’t think I’d be a hindrance…
ASMODEUS.
Nonsense! Chevalier, you’ve no objection to the inclusion of Hitchens, do you?
CHEVALIER.
Not at all! In fact, an additional body is quite appreciated lest she attempts to…struggle.
HITCHENS.
You can count on me then! They don’t call me the Right Hook of God for nothin’!
ASMODEUS.
Excellent! We must immediately position ourselves then! You and Chevalier must
completely conceal yourselves. We don’t want her suspicions aroused as soon as she crosses the
threshold now. Augustus, you hide behind the couch so you can remain close by in case she tries
to flee. Chevalier, wait in the other room, as planned. I’ll lure her in and we’ll proceed from
there.
HITCHENS.
Oo, wow! This is some ruse you got goin’ on here! Well, I’m excited!
ASMODEUS.
I’m sure Chevalier and I share your sentiments, but please, to your places now. I think I
hear footsteps.
CHEVALIER, as he and Hitchens move upstage.
C’mon, Augustus, let’s go.
HITCHENS, standing behind the couch.
Oh, I tell ya, this is somethin’ else!
(Chevalier pushes him to the ground and hurriedly exits off right just as there is a knock on the
door. He looks back for a moment and Asmodeus emphatically waves him off. He leaves and
Asmodeus opens the door.)
ASMODEUS, charmingly.
Good evening my dear.
NIKITA.
Oh, hello. Is, uh…Emily here?
ASMODEUS.
You must be Nikita!
NIKITA, extending her hand.
How do you do?
ASMODEUS, shaking her hand.
I’m Asmodeus. Please, come in! (Nikita steps inside and Asmodeus closes the door
behind her.)
NIKITA, looking around.
This is a beautiful apartment you have. Very tasteful.
ASMODEUS.
Why, thank you. I pride myself in the manner in which I conceal my extremely vane
nature under an exquisitely wrought gossamer veil of disinterest in the opinions of others.
NIKITA.
Sorry, I didn’t quite get all that.
ASMODEUS, pausing and then returning to the sweet affect he had adopted earlier.
… Might I take your coat?
NIKITA, handing it to him.
Thank you.
ASMODEUS.
Hmmm, Is this Alfani?
NIKITA.
Yes. I just bought it actually.
ASMODEUS, flipping his wrist.
Jealous!
NIKITA, laughing timidly.
You’re actually the second person to admire it today.
ASMODEUS.
Only the second? Well, the night is still young! (He laughs effeminately.)
NIKITA.
So…are you Emily’s…father?
ASMODEUS.
Oh goodness no! Heaven forbid I ever have children, besides I don’t look like an old
prune already, do I?
NIKITA.
Oh no! I just meant, uh…are you her brother?
ASMODEUS.
‘Fraid not! Only child! I was ever so spoiled!
NIKITA.
I see.
ASMODEUS.
Were you an only child?
NIKITA.
No. Forgive me for asking, but how are you related to Emily?
ASMODEUS.
Well, I’m not at all dear girl. That would implicate me as also being imaginary. What a
frightfully odd question!
NIKITA.
I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’ve lost me again.
ASMODEUS.
Well, this Emily you keep mentioning is actually quite completely made up and if I were
somehow related to her, I suppose that I would to be mythological as well.
NIKITA.
Wait. Is there an Emily here or isn’t there?
ASMODEUS.
Do try to pay attention, child. Emily is nonexistent, quite like the god to whom I imagine
you’ll be appealing to momentarily.
NIKITA.
What?
ASMODEUS, yelling.
Now! (He throws Nikita on the couch and she screams. Hitchens jumps out from behind
the couch and grabs her as Chevalier rushes in.)
NIKITA, struggling, screaming and crying.
Let me go! What do you want with me?!
ASMODEUS, slapping her.
Quiet! I simply cannot abide crying. It only fuels my passion.
NIKITA.
Please, please let me go!
ASMODEUS.
Now, that would be an incredibly stupid thing to do on my part.
NIKITA.
Just let me go and I’ll never tell anyone about this. I swear. You’ll never see me again!
ASMODEUS.
What a gloomy prospect!
(Nikita quietly sobs.)
CHEVALIER.
Nikita, please! Calm yourself! What a little angel she is! Each tear is more adorable than
the next!
NIKITA.
What is this?! Please, don’t hurt me!
ASMODEUS, smiles and unfolds a piece of paper from his pocket.
Nikita, would you mind terribly much if I read you something? It’s a new poem I’ve just
written and I’d rather fancy getting your opinion on it.
CHEVALIER.
Have I heard this?
ASMODEUS.
No. (Reading.) O’er the frozen gilded crests,
An undulating terra firma
Can be discerned with grinning eye
And darkly playful muse.
Its outlands bear us naught but gray
And yet its abdomen is rich
With golden intrigues and lilac horrors
Tumultuously blending into one.
Its beauty spirals from the sky
And bores a stiletto into the soul.
An awe-inspired firmament rises from this wound
And engulfs the spirit’s external specter,
Dancing with it all night long…How do you like it? (Nikita stares wildly at him for a beat and
then starts screaming and struggling.) Right! Let’s do this bitch!
HITCHENS.
Yeeeeeehaw!
(All three men leap on Nikita and the Act One, Scene Two Interlude from Shostakovich’s “Lady
Macbeth of Mtsensk” begins blaring as the stage lights flash rapidly like a strobe light. The men
tear off Nikita’s clothes and Chevalier is the first to penetrate her as she continues to cry and
scream in aguish. Asmodeus follows and as they go along, a gradual change occurs as Nikita
starts to enjoy herself and begins to moan and scream in pleasure, rather than terror. She
forcefully pushes Asmodeus off then and beckons Hitchens to her posterior, who readily obeys,
doggie style. Nikita passionately kisses Asmodeus in the meantime as Chevalier caresses and
fondles her. Nikita finally climaxes as the song ends and Hitchens pelvic thrusts her off of him to
accent the final note. She collapses on the couch and the curtain closes as she laughs
maniacally.)
END OF ACT I
ACT II
The setting is now that of the inside of a gothic cathedral, full of light and shadow with
stark contrasts and a generally ominous atmosphere full of foreboding, as is the case with so
many churches. There is an altar area upstage and center and icons and lavishly ornate
crucifixes are illuminated by lit candelabras and racks of prayer candles. There are two pews on
either side of the stage, but other than that, the floor is completely open and uncovered. The
cathedral itself is particularly remarkable in the sense that it is immensely flamboyant and highly
wrought in the style of all grand architectural structures of the time and yet it completely lacks
any stained glass windows or any windows at all for that matter. The stage lights are initially
quite dim but immediately brighten as the characters enter.
SCENE I
CHEVALIER, HAMARTIA, ASMODEUS, FATHER HITCHENS, NIKITA, NUNS,
NOVICES, ALTAR BOYS, NOIRE, ACTORS, ABBESS, FATHER ZOSIMA
The “Waltz-Coda” into “Midnight” plays from Prokofiev’s “Cinderella”. The curtain
then rises as “Opening, the Girl and Three Tramps” plays from Bartok’s “The Miraculous
Mandarin”. This should be timed right so that the song should be faded out at the section, about
1:30 in (this may vary depending on which recording is used), and the corresponding line to end
it should be Hitchens’ “you picked up a real oddball, didn’t ya?” At the outset though, Chevalier
and Asmodeus run on in an extremely agitated state from stage left, dragging Hamartia in tow.
She struggles and screams but to no avail as the men are in full control of her. Asmodeus barks
directions this way and that, yelling orders commandingly over the music.
ASMODEUS, to Chevalier and grabbing hold of Hamartia.
Quick! Chevalier, there’s no time to waste! You’ll find the rack in the office. (He points
off right.) Bring it out and as you do so, be sure to secure the doorway!
CHEVALIER, running off right.
Right!
ASMODEUS, calling after him.
Have it prepared and ready! (To himself.)…Where the hell is Hitchens?!
HAMARTIA.
Please tell me what’s going on!
ASMODEUS.
Shut up you! (Calling off left.) Hitchens! Hurry along there!
HAMARTIA.
I don’t understand! You’re all being so mean…and in a church, no less!
ASMODEUS.
I told you to shut up! Do not tempt me to end you now! (Calling off left again.) Hitchens!
HITCHENS, stumbling on left with an altar boy in his grip.
Alright already! I will join you momentarily! It’s just that one got away.
ASMODEUS.
What?!
HITCHENS.
Now, now, it’s no cause for alarm. He’s just hid somewhere in the corridors. I’ll find
him.
ASMODEUS.
You had better do so! Do not let him leave the building!
HAMARTIA.
I pray that at least one of them has the courage to escape!
HITCHENS, pausing and looking at Hamartia.
(To Asmodeus.) …You picked up a real oddball, didn’t ya?
ASMODEUS.
She’s Chevalier’s girl. Now, go!
HITCHENS.
Alright, alright! (Dragging the altar boy off with him.) Come on, son! Don’t drag your
feet! You got perfectly good knees, now use ‘em!
ASMODEUS.
God, it’s going to hell already! (Calling off right.) Chevalier!
HAMARTIA.
Oh, Chevalier! Please help me! (She suddenly screams in horror as Chevalier enters
right pushing a menacing looking rack that appears to have come right from the halcyon days of
the Inquisition, itself.)
ASMODEUS.
It’s about time! I’d rather like to dispose of this irksome tumor now! (He indicates
Hamartia.)
CHEVALIER.
Well, I’m sorry but the wheels were adorned with an absolutely impenetrable coat of rust.
It did give the contraption a rather becoming appearance of being fashionably ghastly but it also
nearly necessitated its being completely sedentary.
ASMODEUS.
So what did you do?
CHEVALIER.
I forced the wheels. I couldn’t very well allow this entire venture to expire on account of
some aesthetic whimsy I suddenly acquire.
ASMODEUS, sarcastically and looking off left.
Yes, how fortunate that crisis was averted.
CHEVALIER.
You’re welcome. Now…shall we lash her to the rack?
ASMODEUS.
Quite!
(Hamartia whimpers as they struggle to strap her in.)
CHEVALIER, quieting her.
Oh, hush now. We’re not about to use it on you. Simply think of it as a primitive child car
seat.
ASMODEUS.
Complete with rust and the ability to kill you.
HAMARTIA.
Oh Jesus! Our Lord, who art in heaven…(She continues to recite the Lord’s Prayer while
Asmodeus and Chevalier talk over her.)
CHEVALIER.
And she’s off, ladies and gentlemen.
ASMODEUS.
Can’t you excerise a little control over your woman?
CHEVALIER.
I’m not sure, but I’ll make a valiant attempt. (Cutting off Hamartia’s prayer.) Hamartia!
You have two divergent choices lying before you at this moment. Allow me to illuminate them
for you. You could continue to prattle on with this doctrinal gibberish, or you could enact a vow
of silence, thereby prolonging your nonsensically enraptured existence. These are the options at
your disposal so act as you deem appropriate. (She is silent.) Wonderful! Now please remain like
that for the majority of the night.
HAMARTIA.
Oh, Chevalier, what happened to you?
CHEVALIER.
For god’s sake! Nothing! This is the real me! How many times must I explicate this for
you?! The other Chevalier was the act!
HAMARTIA.
But the other Chevalier loved me…and I him.
CHEVALIER, yelling slowly and deliberately.
Yes! That was the clever ruse! Understand?!
ASMODEUS.
Chevalier, why are you letting her get to you?
CHEVALIER.
Don’t you see? It is an immense blow to my pride if the genius of this plan and the
brilliancy of my acting are not recognized by its victim! The whole reason I slaved away for all
those months going to church, meeting her parents, baking cookies…watching FOX, was the
promising image of witnessing the dawning recognition slowly break across her face when she
comprehends my true nature! And now that superb scene is being robbed from me!
ASMODEUS.
Oh, Chevalier, you know so very little about the other kind. The only people capable of
being victims are those who believe their tormentors to be the real victims.
CHEVALIER.
Hamartia, do you still love me?
HAMARTIA.
Christ forgave his enemies and so will I.
CHEVALIER.
And you feel no resentment?
HAMARTIA.
Jesus didn’t.
CHEVALIER.
So basically…you’ve decided to enter into denial about this whole situation by making
rationalizations based on (Shouting.) the biggest case of being in denial in the history of the
world!
ASMODEUS.
Please, Chevalier, do try to keep your temper. It’s so demeaning to be brought down to
the level of ad hominem.
HAMARTIA.
I just ask myself, what would Jesus do?
ASMODEUS, ominously.
Yes, but Jesus was crucified, wasn’t he?
HAMARTIA.
Oh Azzy, I know you could never harm me.
ASMODEUS, finally losing his temper.
…Alright. Number one! You’re on a bloody rack…literally! What do you think that’s
for, anyway?! Your back?! Number two…don’t call me Azzy…I hate it! Asmodeus is an
incubus! The demon of sexual temptation! I will not have the only acceptably Christian thing
about me trivialized, you little whore! (He raises his hand to slap her but Chevalier stops him.)
CHEVALIER.
Uh uh uh. Fresh. She has to be fresh, remember?
ASMODEUS, after a long pause of recapturing his composure, he finally lowers his hand.
…Yes. Of course. She must remain unspoiled. Forgive me.
HAMARTIA.
Unspoiled for what?
ASMODEUS, with a big sarcastic smirk.
The ballroom dancing lessons! (He crosses left, past Chevalier, in disgust and addresses
his next line to him.) I apologize for not sympathizing with you earlier. (He looks off left and then
calls out.) Ah! Did you find him?
HITCHENS (O.S.).
Sure did! (The prodigal altar boy is pushed on left as Hitchens soon follows.) He was a
tricky one! Knew all the church hiding places, but hey, they don’t call me the Altar Boy Hunter
for nothing!
CHEVALIER.
I thought they called you the Right Hook of God.
HITCHENS.
Well, that too, in addition to the Altar Boy Wrangler.
CHEVALIER.
I thought it was “Hunter”.
HITCHENS, narrows his eyes angrily.
I’m known by different things in different circles, alright boy?
ASMODEUS.
Alright, take it easy, Norman Mailer. Why don’t you use that rage for something
constructive, hm?
HITCHENS.
Oh, you’re right! (Screaming off left.) Well, hey you rabble! Get in here now before I
make sure that altar boy is as old as you get! (A whole gaggle of altar boys scramble on left and
Hitchens counts them.) Well, all present and accounted for!
CHEVALIER, in reverie.
Oh…I didn’t realize there’d be so many of them!...Or that they’d all be so…ripe.
HITCHENS.
Well, sure! This is what I like to call the “Sweet Sixteen” package! Every boy here turned
sixteen just this month, guaranteed! I got papers to prove it!
ASMODEUS.
The producing of which is hardly nessecary, I assure you. By the way, where are the nuns
and novices?
(Womanly screams are heard off stage left as well as the cracking of a whip and a bloodcurdling cackle. The nuns and novices are herded onstage as a maniacally laughing Nikita
chases after them with a whip. Nikita has been radically transformed, with a silver streak in her
long black hair and she now wears an intimidating dominatrix outfit.)
NIKITA, screaming.
Feel the lash of my whip, you dowdy harpies! Ah, ha, ha, ha! Where’s your Messiah
now?! (She cracks the whip again as Asmodeus and Chevalier run towards her.)
HITCHENS.
Easy with the cat-o-nine, Nikita! Wouldn’t want to tire ‘em out too quickly now, would
ya?
ASMODEUS, grabbing Nikita’s whip-hand.
Precisely! We must keep a certain air of civility and humanity about the place until the
time is right.
CHEVALIER.
Although we appreciate your enthusiasm!
NIKITA, pleased.
Really?
CHEVALIER, falling under her spell.
Indubitably.
(Nikita suddenly lunges for Chevalier and gives him a long, passionate kiss, finally releasing him
after some time.)
NIKITA.
Sorry. I needed to release my energy somehow.
CHEVALIER.
No, no! It’s quite alright!...Excellent tongue work…I think I just got my colon cleansed.
ASMODEUS.
I must say Nikita, you’re a marvelous student! Top notch! But you mustn’t let trite
romanticism get the best of you. Kissing is ever so pedestrian. You know it was Judas who
kissed Jesus’ left cheek to betray him.
NIKITA.
Bah! Vapid fairytales! I’ll have nothing to do with them anymore!
ASMODEUS.
And you really think you’ve made such a complete revolution of yourself?
NIKITA.
Here, let me show you how I transubstantiate! (She grabs a cross that one of the nuns is
holding and with her back to the audience, masturbates with it. All gasp and ad-lib their
surprise.)
ASMODEUS.
Good lord! How…very creative!
(Nikita then holds the now bloodied cross triumphantly up in the air and laughs profusely as she
smashes it on the floor.)
HITCHENS.
Well, I’m getting the slightest inkling that she means business!
HAMARTIA.
Wait, what did she do with the cross? I couldn’t see!
CHEVALIER.
Shut up, Hamartia!
HAMARTIA.
But, really! I don’t know what’s going on! All I can see are the pert buttocks of sixteen
year old altar boys!
CHEVALIER.
I’ve always said you had tunnel vision!
(Asmodeus, Hitchens and Nikita chortle and Chevalier is quite pleased with his witticism.)
ASMODEUS.
Well, I’d say it’s just about time we got things started, eh?
CHEVALIER.
Splendid idea!
ASMODEUS.
And we can proceed without any reservations at all now that we see that Nikita has more
than adequately proven herself!
HITCHENS.
Well, what’s first up on the itinerary?
ASMODEUS.
Well, it’s not on the schedule but I’m just now experiencing an overpowering urge to
institute it.
CHEVALIER.
And what might this be?
ASMODEUS.
I’d like to hear Nikita’s life story. I am ever so fascinated by biopics and I can only
imagine that hers must be of a particularly intriguing nature.
CHEVALIER, turning to Nikita.
Nikita?
ASMODEUS.
Surely you wouldn’t mind dispensing with a few of the sordid details?
NIKITA.
Sordid they are, I assure you, and I believe that their recounting is no more appropriate
than amongst my current company. I would be delighted and honored to share with you the
travails of my gloomy past.
ASMODEUS.
Excellent…(Fiercely yelling.) Right! All you lot listen up! I want the novices, altar boys
and nuns to form concentric circles, from outside in, in that order! You will then all sit down and
your masters shall sit around you! Nikita, you shall stand in the middle, by the altar, truly the
only proper place for the regaling of stories, although I fear yours will be the most genuine that
these walls have ever heard. (They all get into position with Nikita upstage center. Asmodeus
pats Nikita’s arm.) Whenever you’re ready.
NIKITA.
My birth was an accident. It was never meant to be. Now, most parents would say, “oh,
best mistake I ever made!” Not in my case though. I very much doubt that either of my parents
shall ever speak to me again, or I to them, or, in my father’s case, for the first time. Yes, I never
met my father, although I do dine to. I am quite certain that I have much more in common with
him than I do with my mother. In fact, I think we’d all have a great deal in common with the man
whose loins I sprung from. On the other hand, my mother could not be farther away from our
collective world view. She is an abbess, the mother-superior of a rural convent in the town of
Sticksville, a few miles outside the city. (She pauses.) One night, my mother met my father. The
circumstances were hardly romantic though. You see, my father broke into the convent in the
middle of the night with the intention of ransacking the place for, quite simply put, thievery was
his profession. And yet, at least he was in the habit of stealing the replaceable, while my mother
pilfered souls. Who is the real criminal after all? But forget that, this is not a time for
philosophizing, rationalizing or, least of all, moralizing. Mine is a task of relation and I intend to
carry that out, unbiased and unmoved. Up to this point in our ceremonies, you may have noticed
that I have been extremely emotional…even volatile. You will find none of that here though as I
have discovered over the years that those who are supposed to be closest to me provoke me least
of all. But, back to my story. The long and short of it is this: my father was caught in the act by
my mother so he decided to rape her and then flee. Not surprisingly, he had impregnated her and
even less surprisingly, she absolutely refused to get an abortion even though her increasingly
distended stomach brought her great shame within the convent. Finally one night, in the secrecy
of the bell tower, she released her burden. They say my mother actually climaxed when I was
born, although she’s never admitted to it. Nevertheless, the small group of nuns who were
present has sworn to me that the screams of agony supposedly heard throughout the convent
were actually screams of ecstasy as I slid through her canal. Now, of course, as soon as I was
wrapped in swaddling clothing, I was spirited away, out of the convent, out of the entire town in
fact, to live with my uncle in his chateau, which sat atop a hill, overlooking Sticksville. My uncle
was a wealthy man and, as a usual accompaniment to this, was also quite eccentric. No more so
than anyone in this room though. It was my uncle who introduced me to the world of sexual
pleasure as he would often serve as the host to debauched orgies, of which I actively participated
in at as early as three years old. This put me in good stead for future social interaction and
encounters with my schoolmates. In kindergarten, I suffocated one my fellow students under an
avalanche of Jenga blocks. In first grade, I cut off a girl’s pinky with a pair of crazy scissors and
used the blood, appropriately enough, to finger paint. In second grade, an old classic: I seduced
the teacher and in third grade, I was expelled for encasing a student in a snowman for the entire
month of December. My mother naturally got wind of these atrocities and sent for me to return to
the convent where they succeeded in scaring me straight. Oh, they got out their biggest guns for
my case. Hellfire, eternal torment and damnation, beds of brimstone, being forever gnawed alive
by the razor-sharp teeth of Satan, himself and, of course, an all-loving god who practices
forgiveness and compassion. Believe you me, these confusing paradoxes frightened me so much
that I was willing to do whatever they told me! Nevertheless, I still remained incapable of
completely extirpating my natural urges and led a dual life from that point on. In the daylight I
would pray fervently for the demons to leave my troubled soul, but at night I would constantly
seek out temptations within the nunnery. Four nuns were ousted because I had led them astray
through sexual misconduct. I took communion with the best of intentions but got drunk from the
wine and high from smoking the incense during and before the ceremony. My judgment became
so impaired that while I was lighting up, I accidentally set fire to the massive wooden cross that
adorned the chamber. It collapsed like a tower of Jenga blocks, killing the very priest who was
set to confirm me. After that…(with a smile.) regrettable incident, I was banished from the
nunnery forever and was once again sent away to a new boarding school, which I eventually
graduated from without too much controversy and moved to the city in the hopes of leading at
least a semi-decent life as a copyright editor. I hoped that a career as mundane as that would at
least calm my senses a bit. I was wrong though. They simply went into a deep slumber and
remained dormant…until now.
ASMODEUS, rushing towards Nikita and embracing her.
Cousin Nikita! What an astounding turn of events! I can’t believe it!
NIKITA.
What are you on about?
ASMODEUS.
Nikita…we’re cousins! I grew up in Sticksville…in that chateau! Your uncle was my
father (I use that in the loosest possible sense of the word of course).
NIKITA.
My god!
ASMODEUS.
I was sent off to boarding school as well. Of course, I was long gone by the time you
arrived at my father’s house. Now I wish I had gone back to visit at least once. Back then I
shared no emotional ties with father...or my mother…before she…died.
NIKITA.
As you know, I felt the same way. Now that I think about it, it’s hardly surprising that we
should be related!
ASMODEUS.
Isn’t it marvelous though? The libertine lineage is even greater than I had thought! And
what a pleasure it is to be able to embrace someone of such delicate exquisiteness into the bosom
of familial amicability!
CHEVALIER.
What else is family for?
ASMODEUS.
Yes, I’ve always said that family is perfectly useless unless corruptible. Let us remember,
the father who sleeps with his son is not a pervert, only a narcissist.
NIKITA, laughing.
How true! (She laughs some more and then pauses as she looks at Asmodeus sensuously.)
You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever been more attracted to anyone in my whole life than I am
now.
ASMODEUS.
Well, it’s only natural. They say that genes, like polar opposites in a magnet, always
attract. (There is a pause and then they both begin to passionately kiss with a kind of force
usually reserved for rutting rhinos.)
HAMARTIA.
God, no! Don’t you realize what a sin you’re committing?! It’s horrible what you’ve
become, Nikita!
(Nikita stops necking and looks at Hamartia with an expression of intense disdain. She starts to
move away from Asmodeus’s embrace.)
ASMODEUS, quietly.
Nikita, what are you doing?
(She continues to walk towards Hamartia.)
CHEVALIER, to Asmodeus.
What’s she after? (He goes after her but Asmodeus stops him.)
ASMODEUS.
Chevalier, no! Let her go. (Silvestre Revueltas’s “Sensemayá” begins playing as Nikita
seductively approaches the rack and starts to dance to the music in a similar fashion to Salome’s
“Dance of the Seven Veils” from the opera. Everyone else looks on in awe. Even the nuns are
taken in by her sensuous skills. Only Hamartia seems horrified. This is only intensified as Nikita
gives Hamartia something of a lap dance, hanging on her and swaying this way and that until
she becomes increasingly aggressive to the point of near violence so that Hamartia begins
screaming. Chevalier and Asmodeus look at each other and then rush to restrain Nikita but get
pulled into the frenzy with them ending completely tangled as the piece comes to a close.) Nikita,
enough! I applaud your zeal, but the poor girl has got to hold up for a while yet. She’s already
been subjected to the abuse of each of us; I doubt she can handle much more.
HAMARTIA.
Thank you, Asmodeus.
ASMODEUS.
Shut up! I absolutely deplore gratitude! It is the subtlest form of revenge and I will not
have it!
HITCHENS.
Whoa! Why don’t you just calm down there, sonny! This is supposed to be a happy
occasion and all I’ve seen is tension, tension and more…stress! Come now, we oughtta lighten
the mood here, lest we forget ourselves!
ASMODEUS.
You’re right, of course. It’s just…this woman drives me mad!
NIKITA, smiling.
Me too!
HITCHENS, to Nikita.
Alright Ellen, take it easy! Now look, what can we do here to while the time away until
the thespians arrive?
NIKITA, excited.
Who’s coming?
CHEVALIER.
Thespians, Nikita. Thespians.
NIKITA.
Oh…well, there still could beCHEVALIER.
Yes, but they’re male.
NIKITA.
Oh.
ASMODEUS.
You know, I’ve got a rather fetching idea. Why don’t we get everyone acquainted? I
mean, you’ve all been so quiet! Hardly appropriate for an affair such as this!
CHEVALIER.
So what are you suggesting, nametags?
ASMODEUS.
No, much better…a ball! Everyone partner up! I don’t want to see anyone not dancing! If
I do, the next music you’ll be hearing is a funeral dirge! Understood?! (There is silence.) Give
me a response! (They all verbally acquiesce.) Splendid! (Asmodeus grabs a novice and slowly
but surely everyone else follows his lead and gets a partner. Chevalier goes with an altar boy,
Hitchens with a nun and Nikita also with a nun.) Enjoy yourselves everyone! It’s a waltz!
(“The Hooligan” from Shostakovich’s “The Young Lady and the Hooligan” plays and everyone
begins waltzing, the main players obviously with more relish than most of them. At the
conclusion of the piece, the four actors suddenly burst in from stage left. They are dressed in an
extremely flamboyant Victorian style, complete with all the makeup, frills and masks. Their
leader, Noire, is dressed in mainly dark reds and blacks and talks in an extremely pronounced
Victorian/Elizabethan English accent.)
NOIRE.
Thine players have arrived!
(As Noire says this, “In the Park” from “The Young Lady and the Hooligan” begins to play and
underscores the following interactions.)
ASMODEUS.
Noire! Is that you?
NOIRE.
Asmodeus! Dost mine eyes detect reality or merely a cheerful specter?!
ASMODEUS.
No fear! It is I, Noire! Hitchens, why didn’t you tell me that you hired Noire’s troupe?
HITCHENS.
Well, I didn’t know you knew each other!
ASMODEUS.
Noire and I go back quite a ways.
NOIRE.
The path we’ve travelled together disappears into the horizon of yore.
ASMODEUS.
Well put. (Noticing Chevalier and Nikita.) Oh, excuse me! Noire, this Chevalier, my
roommate and an indispensable asset when dealing with all things libertine, and this is Nikita, a
recent find, but nevertheless, a keen learner and dare I say, my protégé. Nikita and Chevalier,
this is Noire, a brilliant actor, a brilliant man and a brilliant lecher.
NOIRE.
Thy superlatives rival a sonnet in verboseness and, in my case, hyperbole.
ASMODEUS.
Not at all! You’re an auteur unequaled in your field.
CHEVALIER.
It’s a pleasure to meet you…Noire.
NIKITA.
Yes, indeed.
NOIRE.
I am most assured that our association will be a sonorous one.
HAMARTIA.
Please, don’t listen to them! They’re all possessed, I tell you! Possessed!
NOIRE.
Mine ear dost recognize the vibrations of an gnat!
NIKITA.
Very perceptive, this one!
HAMARTIA.
Please, I’m telling you, they’ll torture us! Nobody’s safe! Help us! For the love of Christ,
help us!
NOIRE.
Hm, hath her utterances the ring of truth, Asmodeus?
ASMODEUS.
Perhaps.
NOIRE.
I cannot allow this horror to be carried out!
ASMODEUS, uncertain.
You can’t?
NOIRE, grinning suddenly.
…Not unaided! (This should be timed so that he says this right before the main Hooligan
theme starts up again. He grabs an altar boy, much to the dismay of Hamartia, and begins
waltzing. The other three actors do the same.) Lord, thy children are mine! (Noire cackles as
Hamartia sobs in despair until the end of the piece.)
ASMODEUS, clapping.
Excellent dancing Noire! I see you haven’t lost your theatrical touch one bit! (He slowly
stops clapping and looks around in disdain and then screams.) Applaud him, you dimwits!
Applaud! That fancy footwork was masterful!
(Nikita cracks her whip and the captives fervently applaud.)
NOIRE, dipping into a deep, dramatic bow.
Thou art too kind!
ASMODEUS.
Nonsense, Noire! You deserve it! Now, everyone’s here and accounted for; I say we get
things started properly! Augustus, if you’ve no objections, I think we ought to perform your
piece now! What say you?
HITCHENS.
Well, I think that’s a marvelous idea! We ought to start things off with a bang after all!
ASMODEUS.
Noire, we won’t need you and your troupe just yet but stay on hand, you’re slated to go
on imminently. (Adressing everyone else.) As for you lot, boys to the right and ladies to the left.
Keep the center clear for performing…well?...Disperse! (The boys and girls split to either side of
the stage.) Right…(Claps twice.) Places! (Blackout. After a beat a spotlight appears on
Asmodeus, who is holding the Ten Commandments. He slowly steps forward and begins reciting
in verse.) In the beginning, out of chaos borne,
Was a shaft of gold shining through the dark
And brutish barbarism, so war-torn.
This shimmering beam proved a contrast stark
To the petulant savages who soon
Acquiesced to their obvious betters
As the dread night was lit by a fresh moon
And they were freed from their primal fetters. (He throws down the commandments and they
shatter on the floor causing thunder and lightning flashes until the stage lights come up fully
again to reveal Chevalier perched atop Hamartia’s rack. As he speaks his next verses, he
extends his arm towards center stage where Hitchens has fashioned himself a throne about the
altar.)
CHEVALIER.
A new dawn broke across the Danube’s foam
And sparkled over the vast Thiamis,
Simultaneously revealing Rome
As well as Athens’ great Acropolis. (He leaps from the rack and goes over to Hitchens, who
looks quite imperial.)
These were the pinnacles of human worth;
Two grand societies flanking Europe
With Greece the midwife and Rome giving birth
To that which would runneth over our cup. (This is said as Hitchens raises a golden chalice.)
HITCHENS.
Not with death-affirming fantasies though,
But with acumen gleaned from logic true,
Dignity granted to man once so low (he pushes Chevalier down to a kneeling position.)
And the high ideal of hailing the new.
Where else could such an inquisitive mind (pats Chevalier on the head.)
As that of Socrates bask and flourish?
Only in antiquity could one find
Hemlock preferred to soulfully nourish. (He gives Chevalier the chalice and Chevalier puts it to
his lips to drink. He begins coughing and spluttering and choking until he spits out a wafer,
which he examines and then tosses away.)
ASMODEUS, still upstage.
Questions were welcome as was superb art
And even science was greatly advanced
Well beyond where it had gotten its start.
Slavish weaknesses were rapidly lanced (he raises Chevalier to his feet.)
While healthy vices were most encouraged. (He pushes Chevalier onto Hitchens. The entangled
pair give each other sensual looks.)
Promiscuity was chief among all,
Thwarting those who would have it discouraged
By erecting itself proudly and tall. (At this point, Chevalier has positioned himself directly in
front of Hitchens with his back to the audience. On this line Hitchens raises his hands and then
brings them down so that it appears he has grasped Chevalier’s member.)
Man had loved his fellow man so deeply
That unbreakable bonds had sallied forth
And strengthened that unspeakable fealty
By raising their smooth heads to all points north. (Hitchens arms slowly rise, simulating
Chevalier’s erection.)
CHEVALIER, craning his neck towards the audience.
The most majestic Roman empresses
Gladly defiled their wanton idols.
They madly tore off their purple dresses, (as he says this, he runs over and grabs a nun, ripping
her habit.)
Donning whorish wear instead of bridal. (He pushes the nun to the ground and runs across the
stage with a staid laugh.)
HITCHENS.
The government, while Republican based,
Never devolved into populism
And was in shrewd exclusiveness encased
While safeguarding against Socialism.
The strong were quite justly adulated
And glorified within the Parthenon
While the weak were rightly subjugated,
Giving way to Adonis’s fair brawn.
(Chevalier chuckles as he grabs an altar boy.)
ASMODEUS, with purpose, almost angrily
There were no wars fought over ancient gods,
No mis’rable thoughts of the afterlife,
No holy laws so vague, perverse and broad
And no self-imposed, masochistic strife.
(Chevalier gives the rack a crank and Hamartia screams.)
ALL THREE IN UNISON, chanting.
Oh, Dionysus, voice of all pleasure,
Where hast thou gone now that destruction reigns?
Thou were once our one true guiding master,
But now our deities are all insane!
ASMODEUS, in a rage.
They defy rather than deify thou!
CHEVALIER, running downstage, right of Asmodeus.
They scorn the joy found in nature’s idylls.
HITCHENS, also coming downstage, left of Asmodeus.
And they replaced thou with a Jewish cow.
ALL THREE, monotonously.
Until answers became merely riddles.
ASMODEUS, still stridently.
This toxin seeped into people’s bright souls, (he takes a Bible from Hitchens, who
brought it with him from the altar.)
Dimming them with nonsensical pages
Ripped from some tome most would consider droll, (he emphasizes this line by ripping pages
from the Bible. The nuns gasp and Asmodeus darts over to them.)
But all laughter ceased in those Dark Ages.
Oh, ye foolish flocks who know naught of light, (he grabs a nun by her crucifix necklace and
toys with it in quiet anger.)
Thou hath been too long in thy hollow caves,
Forever cloaked in false eternal night,
Always hoping that thou shalt be saved! (He pushes the nun away in disgust.)
CHEVALIER, falling to his knees and sobbing.
Why, Apollo, hast thou forsaken us?
Thy disciples have turned with the seasons.
That which once was beautiful is now dust.
Our temples no longer serve thy reason. (He throws wide his arms to show the church.)
HITCHENS, more composed.
All the worthy gods who were once lauded,
Are now shunned for their bold proclivities.
Their merry ideals were once applauded,
But are now banished from towns and cities.
CHEVALIER, in a horrified whisper.
How could such infamies be carried out,
Such abominations granted for fact,
Such blasphemies instilled and set to rout?
It was certainly not will that they lacked.
ASMODEUS, with loathing.
Diabolical men had plotted this,
Blinded by opportunism and greed.
If only His cheek had not felt that kiss
And Judas had not done his fatal deed!
CHEVALIER.
But, alas, it was done to perfection.
ASMODEUS.
And the deception was believed by all.
HITCHENS.
Turning hist’ry in one drab direction.
ALL THREE, yelling.
Sounding the Nihilists’ hellish call!
(Hitchens and Chevalier go upstage. Hitchens fetches a candle and proceeds to light it while
Chevalier rips a nun’s habit away from her and slips it on.)
ASMODEUS.
The catalyst for the events at hand
Is rather embarrassing to describe
Due to its omission of all things grand
And inclusion of grotesque diatribe.
CHEVALIER, as he’s hunched over in the midst of putting the habit on.
How else could they explain their savior’s birth,
Or their renunciation of science?
The trickery is veiled behind the girth
Of their stubborn, corpulent defiance.
ASMODEUS.
This foul calamity began one night
When, in the swirling darkness of the sky (Hitchens holds the candle high behind Asmodeus to
simulate a star.)
In ancient Nazareth, a star shone bright,
Whose luminescence signaled this foul lie.
HITCHENS, blowing out the candle.
For, under this star was a young couple
Comprised of Joseph with his troubled soul. (Steps forward presenting himself.)
CHEVALIER, also stepping forward to present himself.
Gentle Mary with her figure supple
And babe with origins questionable.
ASMODEUS.
We must presume that these two were at odds.
CHEVALIER, smiling craftily.
Since the loose harlot had misled her beau.
HITCHENS.
By calling her bastard the Son of God.
ASMODEUS.
A deception that would soon grow and grow.
What better falsity could one concoct
Than the claim of divine adultery;
Of being angelically defrocked,
Thus assuaging a cursed husband’s fury.
An elaborate plan was then devised
To journey to decaying Bethlehem (Hitchens and Chevalier loop in front of Asmodeus to the
right and then go left behind him until they reach the altar.)
So that the burning rage in Joseph’s eyes
Might in transit, eventu’lly be stemmed.
Upon reaching their rank destination,
Joseph only found greater cause to fume,
As Mary had not sought reservations (Hitchens shakes his fist angrily at Chevalier.)
And nary an inn had a single room.
Forced to bed with beasts and lowly creatures, (Asmodeus looks at the altar boys and they rush
towards the altar to play the farm animals under his wrathful eye.)
Before gaping rustics, (he waves the nuns and novices over and they also hurry into place.) Mary
produced
A most influential future teacher
Who would soon have the western world seduced. (Chevalier gets in a position to give birth and
Hitchens reaches into his habit to produce a vibrator, which he holds up for all to see. The
defrocked nun whose habit it was looks thoroughly embarrassed as Chevalier smiles and cradles
it like an infant.)
Evident’ly, the variant stories
Of Arab bumpkins and fortunetellers
Suffice to legitimize His glory,
Born though he was in a cellar.
Even prudent Herod believed these knaves
And massacred many babes where they slept. (Nikita runs forward and whips several captives
and then proceeds to run wildly from one to the other, slapping and punching them and kicking
one to the ground as well as strangling one and banging their head repeatedly on the stage, not
fatally though.)
What a miracle that Our Lord was saved (Chevalier holds up the vibrator with both hands over
his head, triumphantly.)
While others’ blood ran down Judea’s steps!
Their demon’s coming was foretold by
That commonly clichéd blind prophet (Hitchens pretends to be blind and gropes his way towards
Nikita.)
Who condemned Herod’s vanity and pride,
An accusation that was harshly met
With the blind Baptist’s incarceration, (Nikita grips Hitchens by the throat, who struggles.)
During which he encountered Salome (Nikita turns her head back and forth and becomes the
lustful Salome as she eases her grip on Hitchens from a choke to a grope.)
Who tortured him with lustful temptation. (Salome caresses Hitchens.)
But his stoic self-will would not give way. (Hitchens pushes Salome away.)
The dolt resisted and was murdered instead (Salome gets behind Hitchens and chokes him with
the whip, bringing him down to the ground.)
During an orgy most incestuous
And Salome was given holy head (with her back facing the audience and in front of Hitchens,
who is lying on the stage, Salome whacks the butt of the whip on the stage near Hitchens’ head
to simulate cutting it off. Hitchens convulses a bit.)
For her dance which was most tempestuous.
NIKITA, turning to the audience.
If only the story had ended there,
With a young libertine awarded just.
But alas, history is never fair,
Or looks kindly on daring acts of lust. (She skips away back to the side of the stage.)
ASMODEUS, moving to Chevalier and patting him on the head.
A few blissful decades then transpired
Where our prodigy remained inactive.
Perhaps, in His youth, He quickly tired,
Or found thankful silence more attractive.
One day, He awoke from this mundane state (He bops Chevalier on the head and Chevalier
stands up straight.)
And, through craftiness or insanity,
Decided to completely ground his fate
In the preaching of sick profanities.
He was desirous of Roman power,
So he inverted the nation’s structure, (Hitchens gets up and stands on his head and then stands
normally.)
Turning an entire system sour
By aiding in a most grievous rupture.
CHEVALIER, preaching as Jesus.
To be poor and meek,
ASMODEUS.
He deemed virtuous
Since He was poorest and meekest of all.
Wealth was considered
CHEVALIER.
Nearly blasphemous!
ASMODEUS.
And trust was placed in only
CHEVALIER.
Folderol.
ASMODEUS.
These poisonous instructions were headed
Once their creator had demonstrated
His divinity, which was conceded
Before He could even have been graded. (Hitchens and Nikita drag Chevalier to Hamartia’s
rack and throw him against it and he throws wide his arms so that it appears as if he’s on the
cross.)
No sooner had he corrupted his drones
Than he was sentenced to be crucified,
After which, his followers hid the bones
To simulate their leader’s death defied. (Nikita and Hitchens carry Chevalier across the stage
with him raised above them in a sort of funeral dirge.)
They then squawked and screeched of resurrection
And of magic tricks and trite illusions. (The stage lights all dim except for a spotlight on
Asmodeus. Hitchens and Chevalier eventually enter the spotlight as well.)
They mixed this with brotherly affection
Simply to ensure complete confusion.
They made their doctrines specific enough
To harness the servitude of their slaves,
But also conveniently vague enough
To allow ample room for the depraved.
And thus great learning was forever gone
In the fires of this church infernal.
CHEVALIER.
But perhaps there will be a brand new dawn.
ALL THREE.
Hope for Armageddon springs eternal.
NIKITA, after a beat.
Applaud, fools! Applaud! (She cracks her whip and the frightened captives applaud.)
CHEVALIER.
A crowning achievement, if I do say so myself, Augustus!
ASMODEUS.
Quite right. Really superb, my friend.
HITCHENS.
Well, thank you. Thank you. I dare say it might not have come off half as well if it wasn’t
for the talented performers at my disposal!
ASMODEUS, laughing modestly.
Oh, come now!
HITCHENS.
No really! I’m being sincere! I haven’t seen my works performed with such aptitude and
ability since that dramatic girl I picked up in the French Quarter!
ASMODEUS.
Oh yes! I’d quite forgotten all about her! Lovely girl. Voice like an angel, body like a
whore. It was in the manner of the latter that she died though.
HITCHENS.
Oh, I had a hell of a time getting her away from her parents! I’m no good at negotiating
dates, you know. But I remember telling ‘em, “don’t worry, you’ll see your daughter again by
midnight…specifically on the eleven o’clock news- keep your eyes peeled!” (Hitchens and
company laugh uproariously as Noire approaches them.)
NOIRE.
I dine not to suspend thy present merriment, but perhaps mine fellows and I could
augment it with the commencement of Chevalier’s joyous theatrical diversion, as we are
complete in our preparations.
ASMODEUS.
Excellent! I think it’s better that we don’t have a break in the entertainments! Please,
proceed! (To Chevalier.) I’m rather eager to see this, the product of your aggravation and my
invariable ridicule.
CHEVALIER.
Yes, let us hope that your mockeries will soon seem ridiculous.
ASMODEUS.
I’ve no doubt… (Yelling to the troupe as they clear the center of the stage.) Ready when
you are!
(The stage lights dim and Noire enters the spotlight center stage in early nineteenth century
aristocratic clothing.)
NOIRE.
Maleficent Molecules or, the Misfortunes of Extremism: A satirical homage to the
dreadfully misguided and ostensibly capricious theorems and principles postulated and often
irresponsibly concocted by the now appropriately long forgotten wise men of yesteryear. A light
prose drama by Chevalier Saint-Ange. (He then steps back as the spotlight goes black. After a
beat, the lights come up on four males in Victorian/Gothic dress standing and sitting about the
stage in various philosophical positions. They all speak with an English accent but each slightly
differently. Cruikshank, played by Noire, speaks with a high pitched, aristocratic lisp which is
basically Noire’s normal voice, Gillray has an upper-class accent but not a comical one, Newton
talks with a pronounced cockney accent and Hogarth has a deep, Winston Churchill-like drawl.
Cruikshank feels around in his pocket.) Oh…ah…how very peculiar…devastatingly odd, I
would even say…rather disconcerting as well, if I may be allowed a moment of blind emotion. I
fear there’s no other means of expression that I could competently harness in regards to this most
puzzling mystery! My faculties of reason and deduction are at an absolute loss! I tell you, it’s a
damn bit of inscrutabilityGILLRAY, interrupting irritably.
Oh, for god’s sake! If you were desirest of us to inquire about it, simply pose the
question! Don’t dance about it like a savage blowing smoke signals! Just bluntly announce that
the matter needs attending to! Unless you would like to court us some more!
CRUIKSHANK.
May I begin my response to that monstrous eruption by stating that your flagrant sarcasm
has been duly noted and you will no longer be required to bludgeon us over the head with it,
throwing subtlety to the inane winds. My second point is more progressive in furthering the
discussion.
GILLRAY.
Thank god!
NEWTON.
I didn’t know we were having a discussion.
CRUIKSHANK.
Well, we are! And I’d advise you to make that firmly evident in your mind for the
immediate future.
NEWTON.
Sounds more like a discourse to me.
HOGARTH.
I think the word you are groping for is dissonance, m’boy.
CRUIKSHANK.
It most certainly is not! We are having a polite conversation, of which there is scarcely a
dissonant aspect to be found!
GILLRAY.
Ha! Yes, tell that to our friend, Bartok, who at this very moment is writing down the
tones and pitches of your previous utterance for his next chamber piece!
(Newton and Hogarth laugh with Gillray.)
CRUIKSHANK.
Sir! I fail to recognize the implied amusement with which you titter so!
GILLRAY, to Newton and Hogarth.
Ah! Did I just hear the cacophonous polyphonies of Stravinsky’s infamous Rite?
(The three against Cruikshank chortle again with Hogarth barking away.)
CRUIKSHANK.
Very well. Continue this crude mockery. It only emphasizes your own personal
weaknesses.
HOGARTH, wiping away tears with his handkerchief.
My dear, the phrase, “your own personal” is redundant.
GILLRAY.
Correcting Cruikshank on any of his linguistic didacticisms is the epitome of redundancy.
(The three laugh again, this time the loudest yet.)
HOGARTH.
The fellow is rather long winded, isn’t he?
GILLRAY.
Twain-like in his sentence structures.
NEWTON.
I’d venture downright diarrheic!
CRUIKSHANK.
Nevertheless, if we could circumnavigate this rather bulbous dialectical obstruction in
order to return to the speaking point that I had commenced upon at the beginning of this whole
incredibly tiresome ordeal, I’d be much obliged.
GILLRAY.
Is it really that important?
CRUIKSHANK.
‘Tis, I fear. And I feel that I must unburden myself…even if it will be much akin to
casting pearls before swine. I shant let it bother me though. There once was a great empire of
Philistines, now no doubt, the last vestiges rest here. (He indicates the other three.)
NEWTON.
Cor! Blimey, if he still has enough energy to carry on with his original intent, then I say
let him talk!
HOGARTH.
Ah, yes. I see your point. The sheer determination with which he continues on implies
that whatever point he’s about to make must, at the very least, be of some import.
GILLRAY.
I think you’re giving him more credit than he’s due. Let him speak unfettered and it’ll be
the death knell for us all!
CRUIKSHANK.
I resent that! I am perfectly capable of presenting my rhetoric in a concise manner.
GILLRAY.
D’you hear it, boys? It’s the Dies Irae! (Hogarth and Newton chuckle quietly while
Cruikshank gives an exasperated sigh to coincide with his forlorn expression. Gillray sees this
and takes pity on him.) …Oh, very well. Finish your antics. We’ll listen.
CRUIKSHANK.
Ah, splendid! You won’t be disappointed! Now, where was I? Oh yes! I believe there
seems to be a specimen of unidentified matter within the confines of the pocket on my left upper
haunch.
GILLRAY, reluctantly playing along.
(He sighs.) …Well, perhaps you should release this object from its woven chamber and
present it so that it may be examined.
CRUIKSHANK.
I shall do just that! Although, it quite confounds me as to what the nature of this hidden
piece of the universe could be! We shall see! (He puts a finger to his eye.)
GILLRAY, screaming rapidly.
Take it out of your pocket! (Cruikshank hastily retrieves the item and it is revealed that it
is a piece of paper, which he unfolds.) Oh, no, no, no! Cruikshank, if that is a paper you’ve
written, we’re not interested!
HOGARTH.
Now, now, Mr. Gillray. I think the boy’s entitled. No need to crucify him just yet.
NEWTON.
I’d rather fancy hearing it…what with all the buildup.
CRUIKSHANK.
Excellent! I’m so glad that there are at least a few in our midst who still possess all the
qualities and graces becoming in an audience.
GILLRAY.
A captive audience, no less! (Cruikshank coughs.) Sorry Nero, please continue.
CRUIKSHANK.
Now who would like to hear my dissertation on free will?
GILLRAY, to the heavens.
He ridicules us with a mock choice!
HOGARTH.
You don’t mean to tell me that you’re still clinging to that outdated dogma, man?
CRUIKSHANK.
Ah, but you failed to comprehend my entire introductory query. It is a dissertation on free
will, not a defense of it and I think you will find that, quite to the contrary, it is soundly refuted!
For you see, in this flimsy treatise that I’ve drawn up I’ve been able to postulate a theory on how
to achieve said free will, for we are currently residing in a swirling tide pool of fate and time and
instinctual fluctuations and forces.
HOGARTH.
A rather brilliant metaphor! Although, I’d be careful to not so loosely employ the word,
“fate.”
CRUIKSHANK.
Duly noted! Now, the prime reason for human drive and existence is the attainment of a
preset, presupposed goal. Excluding the nihilists, the majority of humanity is in accord with this
idea. And as long as we are driven to pursue this goal and this purpose, the fact is inescapable
that we as a species are certainly not operating under the delusion of free will but are being thrust
forward in continual motion by the forces of nature and the human spirit! But what is this lofty
aim, solely responsible for deeming any man victorious once he has achieved it? Well, have no
fear my mostly level-headed companions, I do not allow myself to indulge in the fanciful ravings
of the bearded invalid, Friedrich Nietzsche.
GILLRAY.
Would I then be correct in divining that you are not a proponent of the will to power?
CRUIKSHANK.
Quite right, my until recently, obstinate rival! The will to power is a hastily cobbled
together burst of insanity that was dribbled down the facial hair of a cloistered shut-in. Rather, I
would take a more Dionysian approach.
GILLRAY, becoming interested.
How so?
CRUIKSHANK.
I shall answer your question with a question.
HOGARTH.
Contrived!
GILLRAY.
Clichéd.
NEWTON.
Circular interrogation is rather…banal.
CRUIKSHANK.
Allow me this exception though, for it is crucial!
GILLRAY, to Hogarth and Newton.
I told you! Let him babble without restraint and he’ll flout every convention of decent
conversation and progressiveness that we have worked so tirelessly to implement!
CRUIKSHANK.
Sir, I do protest! I would rather you take umbrage with my theories rather than my
methods.
NEWTON.
Faire enough. He’s got a point.
HOGARTH.
Yes, I concur. Allow him to pursue this rather lengthy sophism, (To Cruikshank.) but do
try to banish all forms of these wretched platitudes in future.
CRUIKSHANK.
I shall put forth a noble effort to just such an end!
GILLRAY.
Oh, for all that has been produced in heaven and earth, either reject the dishes that you
see before you or devour us whole, but for the love of god, cease these ineffectual efforts to
butter us up! I’d much rather hear your argument in an objective light without a prologue of
prejudices.
HOGARTH.
He is right, you know. The constant drivel of the sycophant can get rather grating.
CRUIKSHANK.
Very well then. I shall alter my tone and attitude in order to fit your preference. (Yelling.)
Kindly abstain from further talk so that I may deliver my thesis devoid of interruption! (He looks
around expectantly and the others remain silent.) …Thank you. Now, if we can return to the
course in which I was proceeding, you would so deftly recall, as are your respective natures, that
I was on the verge of offering up an alternative to that woefully erroneous will to power theorem.
Therefore, the question I put to you is in this vain: What is the pinnacle of earthly pleasure? This
is not rhetorical so please hurl your most ill-advised responses at my person; all will soon be
rectified following this little exercise.
HOGARTH.
If I may make a small inquiry before we commence with this rather amusing bit of
triteness, are you suggesting that man is motivated by the pursuit of pleasure?
CRUIKSHANK.
Ah, but precisely! Man’s primary emotion is lust. This leads to the formation, much like
the condensation of water, to other less volatile emotions. The combination of these precipitous
passions is what balances the mien and encases the psyche in a sense of stability and equilibrium.
Only from this all too delicate solution of sentiments can a necessary and healthy drive arise
within a human to direct toward the attainment of his goal, which obviously is pleasure since his
instinctual desires are rooted in lust. Now, of course the will to power can be a very plausible
derivative of this since power often times grants its acolytes certain pleasures, but the opposite
cannot be said of pleasure, at least not in all cases. As the bishop aspires to experience divine
ecstasy in paradise, so does the libertine strive to fill his harem with the feminine wonders of this
world. Regardless of rank, class, wealth or affiliation, every homosapien has the salient wish to
achieve delight! And so, now that I have established this as indisputable fact, I return to my
lingering question: what is the pinnacle of earthly pleasure?
GILLRAY.
The accumulation of knowledge and the sharpening of acumen?
CRUIKSHANK.
You are either ridiculing me with a feeble bout of sarcasm or you are directing that scorn
towards yourself in a rather comical display of naïveté. In any case, you are incorrect. Others?
HOGARTH.
Satisfaction of both soul and flesh?
CRUIKSHANK.
No, but you are traveling an advantageous path. Proceed but perhaps by means of a slight
detour.
NEWTON.
A good deal?
CRUIKSHANK.
Shut up, Spinoza.
GILLRAY.
I don’t suppose you are just aching for us to respond with an answer tainted with carnal
transgression?
CRUIKSHANK.
Rather! Copulation, sexual intercourse is undeniably the most direct way of satisfying
one’s desires. It is the fruit with which gentle Venus supped and as the juices trickled down her
fair chin, so did similar fluids across the vastness of civilization. Sovereign nations have risen
and fallen because of this capricious and highly tempestuous activity. But there is a certain point
during the course of motions and gyrations that the common man is set free and finally allowed
to exercise his will unfettered for he has accomplished his arduous task of fulfillment. This point
is the climax. Aptly named, is it not? It is here that we are able to briefly shed our mortal coil in
favor of a near out of body experience.
GILLRAY.
Are you saying that sexual orgasm is as good as it gets?!
CRUIKSHANK.
Good as it gets?! You speak of it as if it is nothing! How many of us have felt as if we
had thrown wide the gates to paradise and frolicked in the Garden of Eden as our heads lolled
about, our tongues inoperable, our extremities borne into spasm, twitching and flailing like Julius
Caesar spread-eagled on the mosaics of the ancients? Aye, therein lies the rub, to quote the Bard.
HOGARTH.
This is in rather poor taste.
CRUIKSHANK.
Oh, really?! Or is it simply the fact that you are having a most difficult time staying your
heaving flanks?! Your prudishness will garner you no merit this time, Hogarth, for I am most
assuredly correct in my reasoning! The products of logic are not always pure or chaste. They are
often of a most disturbing nature but you must respect them and bow to the yield of rational
thought!
NEWTON.
I’m with Crook here. I like this conclusion. This is a philosophy I can really sink my
teeth into, eh! Bit of wish-thinking involved maybe, but nothing wrong with that! I’ll buy into
the illusion if it bids me a cheery future!
GILLRAY.
And turn a blind eye to the facts?
NEWTON.
No harm done. I mean, I don’t mind being chained down in Plato’s cave as long as it’s
gonna be with a few fit birds! That’s all the reality I need! In fact, it’s plenty, thank you very
much!
GILLRAY.
But don’t you worry that you might be missing something? That is might be unfulfilling
in the end?
NEWTON.
Mate, I think you need to lay off the Wittgenstein and fill up on a little De Sade!
GILLRAY.
I’ve read De Sade… (Mumbling.) useless to a man!
CRUIKSHANK.
Well, I would like to thank you Newton for comprehending and ascending where others
have failed. You appreciate my proposal for its practical means but there is still yet a second
component.
GILLRAY.
Oh god, what now?! The pursuit of desecration?! Or perhaps it’s the search for lewdness!
I hope you amended the epilogue to include the quest for deviance!
HOGARTH.
Oh, that’s rather a crass jape. Satirical to fault sometimes, I think.
CRUIKSHANK.
Well, if my previous musings offended, prepare to be utterly traumatized! For, I am
proposing that free will can be achieved indefinitely through the sensation of the perpetual
climax!
NEWTON.
Huh, I don’t know about that, mate!
GILLRAY.
How on earth do you expect to maintain that?!
HOGARTH.
Tanya? (The other three all look at him quite askance. Hogarth becomes very
embarrassed.) …What? I’m…becoming a humanist!
(There is a pause.)
CHEVALIER, whispering to Nikita.
That’s it. That’s the end.
NIKITA.
Oh, I see! (Cracking the whip.) Applaud, you pitiful underlings!
ASMODEUS, getting close to Nikita.
What skill you have with that whip, my cousin!
NIKITA, suggestively.
Perhaps we can put it to more imaginative use.
ASMODEUS.
I would be most honored.
CHEVALIER.
I hate to interrupt the family bonding, but might I inquire what your opinion is on my
premiere?
ASMODEUS.
Chevalier, I consider it a triumph.
CHEVALIER, joyfully shocked.
A…a triumph? Now, those are your words and not mine! Finally! Some unconditional
praise!
ASMODEUS.
In factCHEVALIER.
Yes?
ASMODEUS.
I think(Hitchens has crossed over to them from the other side of the stage with the troupe. Obviously
none of them were privy to the previous conversation.)
HITCHENS, interrupting.
Say, Asmodeus, these actors are a swell bunch! And this Noire sure does have one silver
tongue!
CHEVALIER.
Uh, just a second, Augustus! Asmodeus, you were saying?
ASMODEUS, to Hitchens.
Well, I’m most pleased you’ve made their acquaintance. I figured you’d all get along
swimmingly.
CHEVALIER.
Uh, Asmodeus…
HITCHENS.
You know, we were just talking about how we’ve seen all the performance pieces except
for yours and Noire here tells me that you gave him absolutely nothing to prepare.
CHEVALIER.
Please, could we continue this another time?!
NOIRE.
I doth sense bewilderment flittering about mine quivering person as a butterfly in spring’s
zenith. Most kindly reveal to us thy play, Asmodeus.
CHEVALIER.
Why don’t we finish your comments pertaining to me first, hm?!
NIKITA.
Please cuz, do elaborate!
CHEVALIER.
But not right away!
ASMODEUS.
\
I’d be happy to.
CHEVALIER.
NOOOOOO!!!! I WAS SO CLOSE!!!!
ASMODEUS.
Do pipe down, Chevalier. I’m attempting to provide the kind people with an explanation.
(Dramatically.) Ladies and gentlemen! Madame et monsieur! Damen und Herren! Señoras y
caballeros! дамы и господа! The show you are about to witness is already in full flight! The
conductor has given the downbeat for the overture; the strings have a commenced with a lilting
melody: andante sostenuto! Their mission is aided by the agile woodwinds but the brass soon
disrupt this quiet musical excursion with their visceral force. A brilliant fanfare signals the
raising of the curtain and our players are revealed! There are no wings to hide in, no dark corners
to obscure oneself; the stage is ablaze with the fiery luminescence of the unforgiving spotlight!
Nothing hidden, nothing obscured! We face each other eye to eye reciting our lines without
pause. There is no fiction here, no conceived fantasy, no imaginary invention! This is real life,
people! And hence, my play. This entire event was organized and staged, take note of that latter
word, to bring to life my creation! The first act has already proceeded smoothly enough with the
introduction of all the main characters, key plot points, exposition and foreshadowing. You, you,
my friends, will determine where this performance will lead us next. You have completely free
reign to travel down whatever dramatic path you so choose…except for the finale. That much is
certain.
NIKITA.
What’s the finale?
ASMODEUS, smiling.
Ah ha ha! Apart from me, only Chevalier knows that. And we shall keep it that way, for
after all, the sign of truly great theater is a work devoid of all clichés, one that keeps the
audience…and the actors…guessing until the very end.
HITCHENS.
So instead of actually committing some stale scene depicting two dimensional characters
to the confines of the unsympathetic page, you’ve devised this living, breathing performance
piece instead!
ASMODEUS.
Spot on.
CHEVALIER.
Don’t you think that’s a bit of a copout though?
ASMODEUS.
How so?
CHEVALIER.
Well, for one thing, it can never be restaged, and second of all, it takes considerably less
effort to just allow actual events to occur and proceed as planned rather than taking the time to
visualize a concept, flesh it out into a story, intersperse the characters throughout and most
importantly, write it down. The creative process is meant to be a labor intensive experience.
ASMODEUS.
So, because I haven’t suffered, I must not be worthy- is that it? When one says such
things, the resemblance to a Christian is uncanny.
CHEVALIER.
Hardly! I merely meant that a certain amount of discipline is involved. Otherwise we end
up with such easily overrated avenues as the art of Jackson Pollack or the music of John Cage.
ASMODEUS.
Well, if you are displeased with such modern techniques, perhaps once tonight’s
festivities have concluded, I shall document them in the form of a proper play. Would that satisfy
your conservative need for recognizable artistic structure?
CHEVALIER.
It would actually.
ASMODEUS, sarcastically and under his breath as he crosses.
I dare say I hope to create something half as witty as your little tableau.
(Chevalier hears him though and goes into slight convulsions of angst as he realizes that he just
single-handedly turned Asmodeus against his work, canceling out his previous praise.)
NIKITA.
Asmodeus, what comes next in your…script, as it were?
(An Abbess stumbles on from stage left and only Asmodeus notices this. “The Girl Begins a
Hesitant Dance…” from Bartok’s “The Miraculous Mandarin” begins underscoring the
following scene.)
ASMODEUS.
My dear, we are about to experience the first climax.
ABBESS.
My flock! I’ve finally found you!
(Everyone turns towards her in surprise. The nuns and novices recognize her as their mother
superior and rush towards her, tittering happily.)
CHEVALIER.
Who the hell is that?
NIKITA.
Mother!
ASMODEUS.
Inquiry answered.
ABBESS, to the sisters.
Oh my sisters, are you alright? Have they hurt you? Thank the lord I was able to locate
you!
HAMARTIA.
Yes! Praise him!
HITCHENS.
Oh, shut up.
ABBESS, hearing Hitchens.
You! I knew I’d find you again someday, you horrible, vile man!
HITCHENS.
Well, well, well, what a pleasant surprise! Ever since I abducted your…acquaintances
here, I’ve been visiting you every night in my dreams.
ABBESS.
Demon spawn! You all, all are guilty in the eyes of the lord!
ASMODEUS.
Now, I understand your aggravation and I appreciate your concern, but may I ask how
you found us?
ABBESS.
Who are you?! What role have you to play in this squalid affair?!
ASMODEUS.
A rather central one, actually. Asmodeus Mauvais at your service.
ABBESS.
A…A…Asmodeus?
ASMODEUS.
Yes, I know you pious people tend to attach a rather silly significance to the name. I
daresay my parents were fully aware of this and adorned me with the “scarlet letter” as it were
precisely for that reason. Now, I would be ever so grateful if you were to answer my original
question. How did you find us?
ABBESS.
I received an anonymous letter disclosing the location and time of this horrid event.
ASMODEUS.
Ah, yes! I am rather proud of that particular piece of correspondence and as an added
bonus I believe there’s a certain personage present who you’d be quite interested in speaking to.
Nikita…
(Nikita steps forward and the Abbess rushes towards her.)
ABBESS.
Nikita, my child! What are you doing here?!
NIKITA.
Liberating myself, mother.
ABBESS.
I don’t understand. Please, we must leave here at once!
NIKITA.
I’m afraid that would conflict with my plans.
ABBESS.
Plans? Your plans are with God now.
NIKITA.
To think that after all this time you still think I believe in God. You must be as mad as the
martyrs.
ABBESS.
Nikita, I know you have strayed but there’s still hope! Redemption is granted to all!
NIKITA.
So after my life of prolific sin and debauchery I can still be saved? What a practical faith
you subscribe to!
ABBESS.
Christ died for our sins! That is why you are not yet damned!
NIKITA.
Then I suppose a few more wouldn’t hurt, now would they?
ABBESS.
What do you intend?
NIKITA.
I intend to give myself wholly and completely to the principles of libertinage and I have
entrusted my schooling with these men.
ABBESS, to Asmodeus, Chevalier, and Hitchens.
You…you brutes! (She rushes at them but they push her back.) You ignorant heathens!
CHEVALIER.
Ignorant?! You, of all people, has the gall to tar me with such an epithet?!
ASMODEUS, restraining him.
Easy, friend. Let Nikita handle her. It’s part of her education.
ABBESS, grabbing Nikita.
Nikita, you must come away from this viper’s den at once!
NIKITA, struggling with her mother.
I will do no such thing!
ABBESS.
You must! You will obey me! I may hold no sway over you as a religious guide, but I am
still your mother!
NIKITA.
All the more reason for me to disregard your ravings!
ABBESS, to the heavens.
She knows not what she does!
NIKITA.
Shut up you wretched slut! (She slaps her mother right on the climax of the piece. The
Abbess falls backward, shocked and clutching her cheek. Nikita stands over her and begins a
seductive dance to the music where she caresses and molests her own mother. The lights flash.
Finally, tearing off her habit and forcing her dance upon her even though the Abbess struggles
throughout.)
ABBESS, wailing.
Please! No more!
ASMODEUS, moving in.
Right! Throw her in the crypt! (He and Nikita drag the Abbess off right with Chevalier in
tow. They throw her offstage just a frantic Father Zosima sticks his head out from off right.)
ZOSIMA.
Wait! I think this is where repressed memories go to die!
(Chevalier shoves him by his face offstage. Asmodeus places an arm around Nikita as they walk
back to the center of the stage.)
ASMODEUS, kissing her.
Good work, my girl.
CHEVALIER, singing quietly at first.
Pulsing fingers,
Throbbing members.
CHEVALIER AND ASMODEUS.
See the purple head turn to fire.
CHEVALIER, ASMODEUS AND HITCHENS.
Waves of ember
Melt the ice flows.
Feel the lustful bite
NIKITA.
Of stark pleasure!
ALL FOUR.
Ecstasy consumes our
Lost souls.
Live by one and only
Cruelty.
THE FOUR AND NOIRE AND HIS TROUPE.
Ay-da da, ay-da!
Ay-da da, ay-da!
Sing the songs of
Ancient harlots!
(Nikita cracks her whip several times and the whole company joins in.)
COMPANY.
Fight for power!
Crush the victims!
Doom those holy fools
While they praise God.
Lord in coitus!
Rule the boudoir!
Dare to tyrannize
The weak rabble.
Libertines will invoke
Terror!
Blood is spilt and rushes
Forward!
Ay-da da, ay-da!
Ay-da da, ay-da!
None can kill the wanton
Spirit! (Everyone lunges for each other and the company is brought to the floor as they all
scream and shriek in a wild orgy.)
HAMARTIA, screaming above all.
NOOOOOO!!!
(The curtain closes as Igor Stravinsky’s arrangement of “Song of the Volga Boatmen” plays.)
SCENE II
CHEVALIER, HAMARTIA, ASMODEUS, FATHER HITCHENS, NIKITA, NUNS,
NOVICES, ALTAR BOYS, NOIRE, ACTORS
The stage is darkly lit as the curtain rises. The “Act 3: Scene 2 Prelude” from Stravinsky’s “The
Rake’s Progress” plays. Everyone is lounging about, exhausted. Some have paired off and lie
down as couples, others alone. Hamartia and her rack are no longer onstage. Noire is sprawled
on the altar and Nikita lays stage right while the other main characters are concentrated mainly
center stage and stage left. There is a sickly spotlight on Noire as he cries out in recitation.
NOIRE.
The desolate streets he walked at night,
Slithering through the pernicious gaslight.
The cobbled walk echoed full
With the hobbled walk of his crippled soul.
He barely ever raised his head,
Gazing downward at the dead.
He sorely wished to join their horde,
Nailed so softly ‘neath a board,
For the guilt he shouldered was beyond belief
And had no remedy, no relief.
Shunned by all, judge and jury
Exiled him with rage and fury.
Nevertheless, they were partially right
To banish this creature from their sight.
(A spotlight illumines Nikita as she continues the story.)
NIKITA.
His transgression that shook them so
Was indeed, a crime so low,
Only worthy of Salome’s praise
Or Lucrezia Borgia in her younger days.
They’d both offer an adm’ring kiss
To this melancholy Oedipus.
He laid with his mother, his father too;
His love for his creators was rivaled by few.
In ill-begotten joy did he languish:
A fleeting pleasure that only led to anguish.
NOIRE, standing.
And now, abandoned by his ancestral advisors,
Murdered in cold blood by those who were wiser,
He numbly roams the dark terrain,
Searching for replacements, yet all in vain.
NIKITA, crossing center to Noire.
“Who will give me guidance now,” he cries.
“To separate the truth from lies?
Without my sage parental dictators,
My original vice will surely grow greater.
How shall I determine wrong from right,
My eyes torn out, blinding my sight?
It’s been so long since I thought
On my own as to what I ought
And what I oughtn’t not to do,
Lest I plunge into some witch’s brew.
I’ve forgotten what it is that makes me man,
So long have I been in the hand
Of a guide who seems to have not been there
When it mattered most for my welfare.”
NOIRE, clutching Nikita as they both look outward, towards the audience.
But can we really cast judgment on
This mere victim, dupe and pawn?
For, how many moral men of cloth
Have also taken to waxing wroth
Over desires to intertwine
With a being most divine?
NIKITA.
With their omniscient maker, to reunite
Is the hope that calms their persistent plight.
The incestuous lust to embrace the creator
Is an impulse as old as a Passover Seder.
NOIRE AND NIKITA.
And so the product of this perverted view
Now searches for a philosophy in lieu
Of this tragic death-affirming creed
So that, one day, from this nausea he may be freed.
ASMODEUS, slowly rising.
And so man’s quest for spiritual fulfillment leads him in circles. He bleeds…he
suffers…he dies…for what?! The eternal reward. He is never contented with earthly rewards.
Why?! Instead, he chooses death. (Mockingly looking towards the heavens.) Lord…we ritualize
in your honor. Let us rebuild Sodom on this rock. Let…the ceremony…begin! (“Primo Vere:
Veris Leta Facies” from Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana” begins playing. On each of the chilling
opening fanfares, Chevalier stands, Hitchens stands and the rest of the company stands,
respectively. The lights are now slightly brighter so that the stage is dimly lit. It is now apparent
that the nuns, novices and altar boys are all wearing hoods obscuring their features in shadow.
Asmodeus then picks up a bundle of five whips and methodically hands them out to Nikita, Noire,
Chevalier and Hitchens.) It is eventide and time for penance after committing much sin.
(They proceed to strip their upper bodies of whatever extemporaneous clothing might be left and
whip themselves while walking across the stage and back again in a line, much akin to monks.
The nuns, novices, altar boys and acting troupe sway back and forth with the chanting of the
music. The libertines then stop center and Hitchens steps forth and kneels.)
HITCHENS.
Well, Lord, I will abide by your will…as long as it coincides with my pleasure. I do this
for you.
(The others begin mercilessly whipping him as he cries out in elation and ecstasy. Asmodeus
takes a goblet and places it behind Hitchens to catch the blood running down his back.)
ASMODEUS, raising the cup over Hitchens head.
This cup shall not pass you by. You must drink, for not thy (looking up.) …but my will be
done. (He pours the blood over Hitchens who obviously enjoys the sensation. Asmodeus then
turns to the hooded ones.) Acolytes! You worship a new god now! Yours is the god of lust! All
hail Dionysus!
(The hoods are lowered to reveal pale, bloody faces with blank expressions.)
COMPANY.
All hail Dionysus, bringer of ecstasy, catalyst of creativity and lord of libertinage.
ASMODEUS.
Chevalier, my play reaches its denouement now. Do you still accept this role?
CHEVALIER.
Gladly.
ASMODEUS.
You will not falter?
CHEVALIER.
I shall make the ghost of Caligula quake with terror.
ASMODEUS.
Very well…Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom
come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and
forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not
into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the
glory, for ever and ever. Amen! (He overturns the altar, which smashes on the floor,
signaling the start of Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain”.) Bring in the sacrifice!
(Several altar boys exit right and return wheeling on Hamartia, still strapped to the rack.
She is brought center as the libertines circle around her.) Chevalier, she’s all yours!
(Hamartia begins feverishly reciting the Lord’s Prayer.) We already did that bit, honey.
It doesn’t work! (Turning back to Chevalier.) Get to it, Chevalier.
CHEVALIER.
I’ll make you proud, Asmodeus.
ASMODEUS.
No fear! (Chevalier unstraps Hamartia and tears her clothes off and has his way
with her as the other libertines look on and shout encouragement. Asmodeus then turns to
the rest of the company.) As for you lot, what do you think you’re doing, standing around
like a bunch slack jawed, ineffectual Christians?! That ancient charade means nothing to
you now! You ought to be dancing for this is a celebration! Dance, loves! Dance away,
my Bacchae!
(The whole company begins to dance wildly and erratically while Chevalier continues to
defile Hamartia. Meanwhile, Asmodeus is leaping everywhere, furiously conducting the
music while certain nuns, novices, altar boys and actors throw cups of blood at him until
he is drenched. He then runs about, wiping blood off of his face and sprinkling it on the
libertines and various others, “blessing them”, as it were. When the main theme of the
piece starts up a third time, he returns to Chevalier and gives him a knife. Chevalier then
slits Hamartia’s throat and she falls to the ground, dead. This should be right at the part
in the music where it has died down and is calm and reflective. Everyone stops dancing.)
CHEVALIER, as the first bells toll.
And thus she is dissolved into naught but maleficent molecules.
ASMODEUS, when melody the on the strings begins and with long pauses in between
each line.
The beauty of the birch,
The spectacle of the sunset,
The divinity of the dove,
The tremendousness of the twilight,
The heavenliness of the hollows,
Need no brushstrokes from an entity
To affirm their superiority. (A pause until the melody begins once more.)
The beauty of Bach,
The spectacle of the Sistine,
The divinity of David,
The tremendousness of Tolstoy,
The heavenliness of Handel,
Need no assistance from a deity
To confirm their validity.
A rose would still smell as sweet.
(Everyone moves towards the corpse, forming a semi-circle around it as the clarinet sings,
mournfully. Asmodeus signals for the corpse to be carried off and several altar boys do so,
hoisting it over their heads, and proceeding slowly offstage right. Asmodeus and Nikita then gaze
at each other and embrace, kissing passionately. The altar boys return in the meantime.
Asmodeus is now in the center with one arm around Chevalier and the other arm around Nikita.
They all smile as the final bells toll. The lights fade to black and the curtain closes.)
END OF SECOND AND FINAL ACT