Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes: Revised and Complete Edition (15 page)

HARPER
: Well all of this is made up. So if the snow feels cold I’m pregnant. Right? Here, I can be pregnant. And I can have any kind of a baby I want.

MR. LIES
: This is a retreat, a vacuum, its virtue is that it lacks everything; deep-freeze for feelings. You can be numb and safe here, that’s what you came for. Respect the delicate ecology of your delusions.

HARPER
: You mean like no Eskimo in Antarctica.

MR. LIES
: Correcto. Ice and snow, no Eskimo. Even hallucinations have laws.

HARPER
: Well then who’s that?

(The Eskimo appears.)

MR. LIES
: An Eskimo.

HARPER
: An Antarctic Eskimo. A fisher of the polar deep.

MR. LIES
: There’s something wrong with this picture.

(The Eskimo beckons.)

HARPER
: I’m going to like this place. It’s my own
National Geographic
Special! Oh! Oh!
(She holds her stomach)
I think . . . I think I felt her kicking. Maybe I’ll give birth to a baby covered with thick white fur, and that way she won’t be cold. My breasts will be full of hot cocoa so she
doesn’t get chilly. And if it gets really cold, she’ll have a pouch I can crawl into. Like a marsupial. We’ll mend together. That’s what we’ll do; we’ll mend.

Scene 4

Same day as
Scene 2
. Snowfall. An abandoned lot in the South Bronx. Trash around. A Homeless Woman is standing near an oil drum in which a fire is burning; she’s sipping soup from a cloudy plastic container
.

Hannah enters, frightened, angry and cold, dragging two heavy suitcases
.

HANNAH
: Excuse me? I said excuse me? Can you tell me where I am? Is this Brooklyn? Do you know a Pineapple Street? Is there some sort of bus or train or . . .?

(The Homeless Woman looks at Hannah but doesn’t respond. Hannah continues, trying to get through to her.)

HANNAH
: I’m lost, I just arrived from Salt Lake. City. Utah?

(The Homeless Woman sips some soup. Hannah tries again.)

HANNAH
: I took the bus that I was told to take and I got off—Well it was the very last stop, so I had to get off, and I
asked
the driver was this Brooklyn, and he nodded yes but he was from one of those foreign countries where they think it’s good manners to nod at everything even if you have no idea what it is you’re nodding at, and in truth I think he spoke no English at all, which I think would
make him ineligible for employment on public transportation. The public being English-speaking, mostly. Do you speak English?

(The Homeless Woman nods. Hannah, realizing that the woman is crazy, looks around; seeing no one else in the desolate vicinity, she forges ahead.)

HANNAH
: I was supposed to be met at the airport by my son. He didn’t show and I don’t wait more than three and three-quarters hours for
anyone
. I should have been patient, I guess, I . . . Is this—

HOMELESS WOMAN
: Bronx.

HANNAH
: Is that—The
Bronx?
Well how in the name of Heaven did I get to the Bronx when the bus driver said—

(The Homeless Woman turns to the empty air beside her and begins to berate it.)

HOMELESS WOMAN
: Slurp slurp slurp will you STOP that disgusting slurping! YOU DISGUSTING SLURPING FEEDING ANIMAL! Feeding yourself, just feeding yourself, what would it matter, to you or to ANYONE, if you just stopped. Feeding. And DIED?

(Pause.)

HANNAH
: Can you just tell me where I—

HOMELESS WOMAN
(To Hannah)
: Why was the Kosciuszko Bridge named after a Polack?

HANNAH
: I don’t know what you’re—

HOMELESS WOMAN
: That was a joke.

HANNAH
: Well what’s the punchline?

HOMELESS WOMAN
: I don’t know.

HANNAH
(Looking around desperately)
: Oh for pete’s sake, is there anyone else who—

(The Homeless Woman turns again to the person she’s hallucinating:)

HOMELESS WOMAN
: Stand further off you fat loathsome whore! You can’t have any more of this soup, slurp slurp slurp you animal, and the—I know you’ll just go pee it all away and where will you do that? Behind what bush? It’s FUCKING COLD out here and I—

     
Oh that’s right, because it was supposed to have been a tunnel!

     
That’s not very funny.

     
Have you read the prophecies of Nostradamus?

HANNAH
: Who?

HOMELESS WOMAN
: Some guy I went out with once somewhere, Nostradamus. Prophet, outcast, eyes like—Scary shit, he—

HANNAH
:
Shut up
. Please!
(Taking a step closer to the Homeless Woman)
Now I want you to stop jabbering for a minute and pull your wits together and tell me how to get to Brooklyn. Because you know! And you are going to tell me! Because there is no one else around to tell me and I am wet and cold and I am very angry! So I am sorry you’re psychotic but just make the effort.
(Another step closer)
Take a deep breath. DO IT!

(Hannah and the Homeless Woman breathe together.)

HANNAH
: That’s good. Now exhale.

(They do.)

HANNAH
: Good. Now how do I get to Brooklyn?

HOMELESS WOMAN
: Don’t know. Never been. Sorry. Want some soup?

HANNAH
: Manhattan? Maybe you know . . .
(Giving up: hopelessly)
I don’t suppose you know the location of the Mormon Visitors’—

HOMELESS WOMAN
: 65th and Broadway.

HANNAH
: How do you—

HOMELESS WOMAN
: Go there all the time. Free movies. Boring, but you can stay all day.

HANNAH
: Well . . . So how do I—

HOMELESS WOMAN
: Take the D train. Next block make a right.

HANNAH
: Thank you.

(Hannah hoists her suitcases and starts to leave.)

HOMELESS WOMAN
: Oh yeah.

     
In the new century I think we will all be insane.

Scene 5

Same day. Joe and Roy in the living room of Roy’s brownstone. Joe has just come in and is still in his coat. Roy wears an elegant bathrobe
.

JOE
: I can’t. The answer’s no. I’m sorry.

ROY
: Oh, well, apologies.

     
I can’t see that there’s anyone asking for apologies.

(Pause.)

JOE
: I’m sorry, Roy.

ROY
: Oh, well, apologies.

JOE
: My wife is missing, Roy. My mother’s coming from Salt Lake to . . . to help look, I guess. I’m supposed to be at the airport now, picking her up but . . . I just spent two days in a hospital, Roy, with a bleeding ulcer, I was spitting up blood.

ROY
: Blood, huh? Look, I’m very busy here and—

JOE
: It’s just a job.

ROY
: A job? A
job
?
Washington!
Dumb Utah Mormon hick shit!

JOE
: Roy—

ROY
:
WASHINGTON!
When Washington called me I was younger than you, you think I said, “Aw fuck no I can’t go I got two fingers up my asshole and a little moral nosebleed to boot!” When Washington calls you my pretty young punk friend you go or you can go fuck yourself sideways ’cause the train has pulled out of the station, and you are
out
, nowhere, out in the cold. Fuck you, Mary Jane, get outta here.

JOE
: Just let me—

ROY
: Explain? Ephemera. You broke my heart. Explain that. Explain that.

JOE
: I love you. Roy.

     
There’s so much that I want, to be . . . what you see in me, I want to be a participant in the world, in your world, Roy, I want to be capable of that, I’ve tried, really I have but . . . I can’t do this. Not because I don’t believe in you, but because I believe in you so much, in what you stand for, at heart, the order, the decency. I would give anything to protect you, but . . . There are laws I can’t break. It’s too ingrained. It’s not me. There’s enough damage I’ve already done.

     
Maybe you were right, maybe I’m dead.

ROY
: You’re not dead, boy, you’re a sissy.

     
You love me; that’s moving, I’m moved. It’s nice to be loved. I warned you about her, didn’t I, Joe? But you don’t listen to me, why, because you say Roy is smart and Roy’s a friend but Roy . . . well, he isn’t nice, and you wanna be nice. Right? A nice, nice man!

     
(Little pause)

     
You know what my greatest accomplishment was, Joe, in my life, what I am able to look back on and be proudest of? And I have helped make presidents and unmake them and mayors and more goddamn judges than anyone in NYC ever—AND several million dollars, tax-free—and what do you think means the most to me?

     
You ever hear of Ethel Rosenberg? Huh, Joe, huh?

JOE
: Well, yeah, I guess I . . . Yes.

ROY
: Yes. Yes. You have heard of Ethel Rosenberg. Yes. Maybe you even read about her in the history books.

     
If it wasn’t for me, Joe, Ethel Rosenberg would be alive today, writing some personal-advice column for
Ms
. magazine. She isn’t. Because during the trial, Joe, I was on the phone every day, talking with the judge—

JOE
: Roy—

ROY
: Every day, doing what I do best, talking on the telephone, making sure that timid Yid nebbish on the bench did his duty to America, to history. That sweet unprepossessing woman, two kids, boo-hoo-hoo, reminded us all of our little Jewish mamas—she came this close to getting life; I pleaded till I wept to put her in the chair. Me. I did that. I would have fucking pulled the switch if they’d have let me. Why? Because I fucking hate traitors. Because I fucking hate communists. Was it legal? Fuck legal. Am I a nice man? Fuck nice. They say terrible things about me in the
Nation
. Fuck the
Nation
. You
want to be Nice, or you want to be Effective? Make the law, or subject to it. Choose. Your wife chose. A week from today, she’ll be back. SHE knows how to get what SHE wants. Maybe I ought to send
her
to Washington.

JOE
: I don’t believe you.

ROY
: Gospel.

JOE
: You can’t possibly mean what you’re saying. Roy, you were the Assistant United States Attorney on the Rosenberg case, ex-parte communication with the judge during the trial would be . . . censurable, at least, probably conspiracy and . . . in a case that resulted in execution, it’s . . .

ROY
: What?
(Challenging)
Murder?

(Pause.)

JOE
: You’re not well is all.

ROY
: What do you mean, not well? Who’s not well?

(Pause.)

JOE
: You said—

ROY
: No I didn’t. I said what?

JOE
: Roy, you have cancer.

ROY
: No I don’t.

(Pause.)

JOE
: You told me you were dying.

ROY
: What the fuck are you talking about, Joe? I never said that. I’m in perfect health. There’s not a goddamn thing wrong with me.

     
(He smiles)

     
Shake?

(Joe hesitates. He holds out his hand to Roy. Roy pulls Joe into a close, strong clench.)

ROY
: It’s OK that you hurt me because I love you, baby Joe. That’s why I’m so rough on you.

(Roy releases Joe. Joe backs away a step or two.)

ROY
: Prodigal son. The world will wipe its dirty hands all over you.

JOE
: It already has, Roy.

ROY
: Now go.

(Roy shoves Joe, hard. Joe turns to leave. Roy stops him, turns him around. He smooths the lapels on Joe’s coat, tenderly.)

ROY
: I’ll always be here, waiting for you . . .