Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes: Revised and Complete Edition (22 page)

ANGEL
(Furious, with deep sorrow breaking through)
: Shaking HIM!

PRIOR
(To Belize)
: When we move around, heedless of, of—When the human race began to travel, intermingle, then—

(A much bigger, nearer, rolling tremor begins and builds. Belize hears it, or imagines that he hears something.)

PRIOR
(To Belize)
: There began to be tremors in Heaven. Earthquakes or, or rather—

BELIZE
(To Prior)
: Intermingle?

PRIOR
: Heavenquakes.

BELIZE
: Are you hearing yourself?

(Another deep, rolling tremor. All three look up.)

ANGEL
: He . . .
began to
—! HE who never was begun, was always
IS
and

              
Unbegun! He . . .
began
to

              
Leave Us
!

              
Bored
with His Angels,
Bewitched
by Humanity, in Mortifying Imitation of You, His least creation, He would sail off on Voyages, no knowing where. Quake follows quake, Absence follows Absence: Nasty Chastity and Disorganization; Loss of Libido; Protomatter Shortfall . . .

(A huge tremor.)

ANGEL
: UH. OH.

     
Then:

PRIOR
(To Belize)
: April 18, 1906.

ANGEL
: In that day:

PRIOR
: It’s the Great San Francisco Earthquake.

ANGEL
:
In That Day
:

     
Father-Lover of the Million Unutterable Names,

     
Deus Erectus, Pater Omnipotens, King of the Universe:

     
He left—

PRIOR
: He. Abandoned Them.

ANGEL
: —And did not return.

     
We do not know where He has gone.

     
He may
never
. . .

     
And bitter, cast-off, We wait, bewildered;

     
Our finest houses, our sweetest vineyards,

     
Made drear and barren, missing Him.

(She coughs. There’s a pause, then:)

BELIZE
(To Prior)
: Abandoned.

     
I smell a motif.

(Prior looks at Belize, then nods.)

PRIOR
: Well it occurred to me.

BELIZE
: The man that got away?

     
And I think the time has come to let him go.

(Little pause.)

PRIOR
(To Belize, forlorn)
: And then?

     
(To the Angel)
And then what?

ANGEL
: Surely you see towards what We are Progressing:

(Prior goes back to the Book. He takes up the peepstones but doesn’t put them on.)

ANGEL
: The fabric of the sky unravels:

              
Angels hover, anxious fingers worry the tattered edge.

              
Before the boiling of blood and the searing of skin comes the Secret catastrophe:

              
Before Life on Earth becomes finally merely impossible,

              
It will for a long time before have become completely unbearable.

              
(Coughs, then, with great passion and force:)

              
YOU HAVE DRIVEN HIM AWAY!
YOU MUST STOP MOVING!

PRIOR
(Quiet, frightened)
: Stop moving.

ANGEL
(Softly, rapidly)
: Forsake the Open Road: Neither Mix Nor Intermarry

              
Let Deep Roots Grow: If you do not MINGLE you will Cease to Progress. Seek Not to Fathom the World and its Delicate Particle Logic: You cannot Understand, You can only Destroy, You Do not “Advance,” You only Trample.

              
Poor blind Children, abandoned on the Earth,

              
Groping terrified, misguided, over

              
Fields of Slaughter, over bodies of the Slain:

              
HOBBLE YOURSELVES!

              
There is No Zion Save Where You Are!

              
If you Cannot find your Heart’s desire—

PRIOR
: —In your own backyard—

ANGEL, PRIOR AND BELIZE
: You never lost it to begin with.

(The Angel coughs. Prior is disturbed and confused by the citation; she is confused and disturbed that humans know these lines. For Belize it’s proof, of course, that this is a dream.)

ANGEL
: Turn Back.

PRIOR
: Please, please, whatever you are, angel or, or—

ANGEL
: Undo.

PRIOR
: I’m not a prophet, I’m a sick, lonely man, I—

ANGEL
: Till He—

PRIOR
: I don’t . . .
understand
this visitation—

ANGEL
: Till HE returns again.

(The Angel picks up the Book. Prior is now both terrified and very angry.)

PRIOR
: Stop moving. That’s what you want. Answer me! You want me dead.

(Pause. The Angel and Prior look at one another.)

PRIOR
: Uh-huh, well
I. I’M TIRED!
Tired to death of, of being done to, um,
infected
, fucked-over and tortured by, by you, by this—

     
Is this, is this, disease, is the virus in me, is that the, the epistle, is that the prophecy? Is this just . . .
revenge
, because we, because you think we ruined . . .

     
No. No, I want you to go away, you go away or
I
will, I’ll leave, I can leave, too, I’ll—

(The Angel steps aside and gestures to Prior to leave. He hesitates and starts for the door. As he passes near her, the Angel touches him gently on the shoulder.)

ANGEL
(Leaning in, quiet, intimate)
: You can’t Outrun your Occupation, Jonah.

              
Hiding from Me one place you will find me in another.

(She takes her hand from his shoulder.)

ANGEL
: I I I I stop down the road, waiting for you.

(Tenderly, she puts her arm about his waist.)

ANGEL
(Almost a whisper)
: You Know Me Prophet: Your battered heart,

              
Bleeding Life in the Universe of Wounds.

(The Angel presses the Book against Prior’s chest, then presses her body against his. Together they experience something unnameable
—
painful, joyful, in equal measure. There is a terrible sound.)

ANGEL
: Vessel of the BOOK now: Oh Exemplum Paralyticum:

     
On you in you in your blood we write have written:

     
STASIS!

     
The END.

(She releases Prior, who sinks to the floor. In gales of music, holding the Book aloft, the Angel ascends.)

Scene 3

The bedroom disappears. While this is happening, Prior stands, and, again, with deliberate, unhurried pace, changes into his street clothes. When he’s ready he resumes his place beside Belize, who’s waiting, thinking, on the street in front of the funeral home
.

Prior and Belize stare at one another, silent for a beat, and then:

BELIZE
: Uh-huh. I . . .

     
Well what do you want me to say?

PRIOR
: It’s . . . nuts.

BELIZE
: It’s . . .
worse
than nuts, it’s— “Don’t migrate”? “Don’t mingle”? That’s . . . kind of malevolent, isn’t it, ’cause—
(Continue below:)

PRIOR
: I hardly think it’s appropriate for you to get
offended
, I didn’t invent this shit it was
visited
on—

BELIZE
(Continuous from above)
: —you know, some of us didn’t exactly
choose
to migrate, know what I’m saying, some of us— But it
is
offensive or at least monumentally confused and it’s not . . .
visited
, Prior. By who? It
is
from you, what else is it?

PRIOR
: Something else.

BELIZE
: That’s crazy.

PRIOR
: Then I’m crazy.

BELIZE
: No, you’re—

PRIOR
: Then it was an angel.

BELIZE
: It was
not
an—

PRIOR
: Then I’m crazy. The whole world is, why not me? It’s 1986 and there’s a
plague
, friends younger than me are dead, and I’m only thirty, and every goddamn morning I wake up and I think Louis is next to me in the bed and it takes me long minutes to remember . . . that this is
real
, it isn’t just an impossible, terrible dream, so maybe yes I’m flipping out.

BELIZE
(Angry)
: Stop.

     
(Tough, harsh, very clear)
This is not dementia. And this is not real. This is just you, Prior, afraid of . . . Of what’s coming. Afraid of time.

     
But see that’s just not how it goes, the world doesn’t spin backwards.

(Prior starts to say something. Belize holds up his hand, forbidding, and Prior obeys.)

BELIZE
: Listen to the world, to how fast it goes.

(They listen, and the sounds of the city grow louder and louder, filling the stage, sounds of traffic, whistles, alarms, people, all very fast and very complex and very determinedly moving ahead.)

BELIZE
: That’s New York traffic, baby, that’s the sound of energy, the sound of time. Even if you’re hurting, it can’t go back.

     
You better fucking not flip out. There’s no angel. You hear me? For me?
(Continue below:)

THE ANGEL’S VOICE
: Whisper into the ear of the World, Prophet.
(Continue below:)

BELIZE
(Continuous from above)
: I can handle anything but not this happening to you.

THE ANGEL’S VOICE
(Continuous from above)
: Wash up red in the tide of its dreams,

     
And billow bloody words into the sky of sleep.

(Prior steps back from Belize, withdrawing.)

PRIOR
: I’m sorry, baby, I . . . I’ve tried, really, but . . . I can’t, it follows me, it won’t let me go. So, maybe I’m a prophet. Not me, alone, all of us, the, the ones who’re dying now. Maybe the virus is the prophecy? Be still. Maybe the world has driven God from Heaven. Because, because I do believe that, that over and over, I’ve seen the end of things. And
(He puts his hand near his eyes)
having seen, I’m going blind, as prophets do. Right? It makes a certain sense to me.

THE ANGEL’S VOICE
: FOR THIS AGE OF ANOMIE: A NEW LAW!
(Continue below:)

PRIOR
: Oh,
oh God
how I hate Heaven. But I’ve got no resistance left.

THE ANGEL’S VOICE
(Continuous from above)
: Delivered this night, this silent night, from Heaven,

     
Oh Prophet, to You.

(Prior kisses Belize good-bye.)

PRIOR
: Except to run.

(He limps away. Belize watches him go.)

ACT THREE:

Borborygmi

(The Squirming Facts Exceed the Squamous Mind)

January 1986

Scene 1

Several days after the end of Act Two. Split scene: Joe and Louis in bed in Louis’s apartment, which is tidier, homier. Louis is sound asleep. Joe is awake, sitting up, watching Harper, who is in the living room of their Brooklyn apartment. She’s dressed in a soiled nightgown. Returning Joe’s stare, she removes her nightgown; she stands shivering, facing him in her bra, panties and stockings
.