Angels in America (33 page)

ETHEL
: Don't count your chickens, Roy.

     
It's over.

ROY
: Over?

ETHEL
: I wanted the news should come from me.

     
The panel ruled against you Roy.

ROY
: No, no, they only started meeting two days ago.

ETHEL
: They recommended disbarment.

ROY
: The Executive still has to rule . . . on the recommendation, it'll take another week to sort it out and before then—

ETHEL
: The Executive was waiting, and they ruled, one two three. They accepted the panel's recommendation.

ROY
(A beat, then)
: I'm . . .

ETHEL
: One of the main guys on the Executive leaned over to his friend and said, “Finally. I've hated that little faggot for thirty-six years.”

ROY
: I'm . . . They . . .?

ETHEL
: They won, Roy. You're not a lawyer anymore.

ROY
: But am I dead?

ETHEL
: No. They beat you. You lost.

     
(Pause)

     
I decided to come here so I could see could I forgive you. You who I have hated so terribly I have borne my hatred for you up into the heavens and made a needle-sharp little star in the sky out of it. It's the star of Ethel Rosenberg's Hatred, and it burns every year for one night only, June Nineteen. It burns acid green.

(Roy has turned his face away from her, looking in the opposite direction.)

ETHEL
: I came to forgive but all I can do is take pleasure in your misery. Hoping I'd get to see you die more terrible than I did. And you are, 'cause you're dying in shit, Roy, defeated. And you could kill me, but you couldn't ever defeat me. You never won. And when you die all anyone will say is: Better he had never lived at all.

(Pause. Roy slowly turns his head back to stare at Ethel.)

ROY
: Ma?

     
Muddy? Is it . . .?

     
Ma?

ETHEL
(Uncertain, then)
: It's Ethel, Roy.

ROY
: Muddy? I feel bad.

ETHEL
(Looking around)
: Who are you talking to, Roy, it's—

ROY
: Good to see you, Ma, it's been years.

     
I feel bad. Sing to me.

ETHEL
: I'm not your mother, Roy.

ROY
: It's cold in here, I'm up so late, past my time.

     
Don't be mad, Ma, but I'm scared . . .? A little.

     
Don't be mad. Sing me a song. Please.

ETHEL
: I don't want to Roy, I'm not your—

ROY
: Please, it's scary out here.
(He starts to cry)

     
(He sinks back)
Oh God. Oh God, I'm so sorry . . .

(Little pause.)

ETHEL
(Singing softly)
:

     
Shteyt a bocher

     
Un er tracht,

     
Tracht un tracht

     
A gantze nacht:

     
Vemen tzu nemen

     
Um nit farshemen

     
Vemen tsu nemen,

     
Um nit farshem.

     
Tum-ba-la, tum-ba-la, tum-balalaike,

     
Tum-ba-la, tum-ba-la, tum-balalaike,

     
Tum-balalaike, shpil balalaike—

(Roy is completely still, his eyes closed. He's not breathing. Ethel watches him; then, quietly:)

ETHEL
: Roy . . .? Are you . . .?

(She crosses to the bed, looks at him. Goes back to her chair.)

ETHEL
: That's it.

(Belize enters, goes to the bed.)

BELIZE
: Wake up, it's time to—

     
Oh.

     
Oh, you're—

(Roy's eyes pop open and he sits bolt upright!)

ROY
: No I'm
NOT
!

     
(Shaking with some terrible, jubilant, hateful joy) I
fooled you, Ethel! I knew who you were all along! I can't believe you fell for that Ma stuff!! I just wanted to see if I could finally,
finally
make Ethel Rosenberg sing!
I WIN!

     
(Something very bad happens in his head
—
he's thrown a pulmonary clot, and it strikes his brain
—
and he falls back on the bed)

     
Oh fuck, oh fuck me I—

     
(In a faraway voice, to Belize)
Next time around: I don't want to be a man. I wanna be an octopus. Remember that, OK? A fucking—
(Punching an imaginary button with his finger)
Hold.

(Roy dies.)

ACT FIVE:

Heaven, I'm in Heaven

January 1986

Scene 1

Very late, same night. Prior has been moved to a proper hospital room. He's standing on his bed, a pillow covering his crotch. There's an eerie light on him. Hannah is sleeping in a chair, a flimsy hospital blanket covering her lap and legs. She stirs, moans a little, wakes up suddenly, sees Prior
.

PRIOR
: She's approaching.

HANNAH
: What are you . . .?

     
She is?

PRIOR
: Modesty forbids me explaining exactly
how
I know, but . . . I have an infallible barometer of Her proximity. And it's rising.

HANNAH
: Oh, nonsense, that's—

PRIOR
: She's on Her way.

(The lights drain to black.)

HANNAH
: Turn the lights back on, turn the lights—

(There is the sound of a silvery trumpet in the dark, and a tattoo of faraway drums. Silence. Thunder. Then all over the walls, Hebrew letters appear, writhing in flames. The scene is lit by their light. The Angel is there, suddenly. She is dressed in black and looks terrifying. Hannah screams and buries her face in her hands.)

ANGEL
: I I I I Have Returned, Prophet,

     
(Thunder!)

     
And not according to Plan.

PRIOR
: Take it back.

     
(Big thunderclap)

     
The Book, whatever you left in me, I won't be its repository, I reject it.

     
(Thunder. To Hannah:)

     
Help me out here. HELP ME!

HANNAH
(Closing her eyes tight, trying to shut it all out)
: I don't, I don't—
(Pulling the blanket over her head)
This is a dream it's a dream it's a—

PRIOR
: I don't think that's really the point right at this particular—

HANNAH
(Under the blanket)
: I don't know what to—

PRIOR
: Well it was
your
idea, reject the vision you said and—
(Continue below:)

HANNAH
: Yes but I thought it was more a . . . metaphorical . . . I—

PRIOR
(Continuous from above)
: You said scriptural precedent, you said—

(Prior tries to yank the blanket away from Hannah, who hangs on to it.)

PRIOR
: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO—

HANNAH
: You, you wrestle her.

PRIOR
: SAY
WHAT?

HANNAH
: It's an angel, you just . . . grab hold and say . . . oh what was it, wait, wait, umm . . . OH! Grab her, say, “I will not let thee go except thou bless me!”

PRIOR
: And then what?

HANNAH
: Then wrestle with her till she gives in.

PRIOR
(A beat, then)
: YOU wrestle Her, I don't know how to wrestle, I—

(Prior faces the Angel, who has been waiting for him, blazing with menace. She opens her arms, challenging, terrifying. Prior draws as deep a breath as he can; then, to his and her and Hannah's surprise, he charges at the Angel. He throws his arms around her waist. She emits a terrible, impossibly loud, shuddering eagle-screech.)

PRIOR
: I . . . will not let thee go except thou bless me.

(She tries to pry him off, but he hangs on. Prior and the Angel begin to wrestle. It is a life-and-death struggle, fierce, violent and deadly serious. The Angel at first is far stronger and has a clear upper hand. But she cannot pry Prior loose. As they struggle:)

PRIOR
: Take back . . . your Book. Anti-Migration, that's . . . so . .
.feeble
, I can't believe . . . you couldn't do better than that!

(Prior's tenacity begins to tire and panic her. She screeches again, then unable to shake him off, she opens her wings wide and begins to beat them, battering Prior. He loses his grip for an instant; she rises immediately into the air. Prior leaps up, grabs her right leg and pulls down with all his might and weight. She beats her wings more furiously, rising higher, lifting him up off the ground, but he won't let go.)

PRIOR
: Free me! Unfetter me! Bless me or whatever . . . but
I will be let go
.

(The Angel is straining Heavenward but can't ascend higher; Prior's weight causes her to lose altitude.)

ANGEL
(Her voice a whole chorus of voices)
: I I I I Am the CONTINENTAL PRINCIPALITY OF AMERICA, I I I I AM THE BIRD OF PREY I Will NOT BE COMPELLED, I—

(They descend. Prior's feet touch earth first, and he redoubles his grasp, first on her leg and then her torso, wrapping himself tightly around her. Helpless, she stretches her wings to their utmost, screams the eagle-screech again, and stops fighting
.

     
Instantly there is a great blast of music. The fiery letters fade and the room is sunk in blue murk. A second blast of music, even louder, and, from above, a column of incredibly bright white light stabs through the blue. Within the column of light, a ladder of even brighter, purer light appears, reaching up into infinity. At the conjunctions of each rung there are flaming Alephs.)

ANGEL
: Entrance has been gained. Return the Text to Heaven.

PRIOR
(Terrified)
: Can I come back? I don't want to go unless—

ANGEL
(Very angry)
: You have prevailed, Prophet. You . . .
Choose!

     
Now release me.

     
I have torn a muscle in my thigh.

PRIOR
: Big deal, my leg's been hurting for months.

(He releases the Angel. He hesitates. He looks at Hannah, asking her: “Should I go?” Frightened as she is, she manages to hold her hand out, bidding him to stay
.

     
Prior, suddenly very sad, shakes his head no, and turns to the ladder. After one last look at the Angel, he puts his hands on the rungs, then one foot, then the other, and begins climbing. The column of bright light intensifies as he ascends, till Prior and the ladder are entirely subsumed within its blinding radiance and can no longer be seen
.

     
Then abruptly the column of light disappears, and the room is drowned in semi-darkness. The ladder and Prior are gone
.

     
The Angel turns to Hannah.)

HANNAH
: What? What? You've got no business with me, I didn't call you, you're
his
fever dream not mine, and he's gone now and you should go, too, I'm waking up right . . . NOW!

(Nothing happens. The Angel spreads her wings. The room becomes red hot. The Angel extends her hands toward Hannah. Hannah walks toward her, torn between immense unfamiliar desire and fear. Hannah kneels. The Angel kisses her on the forehead and then the lips
—
a long, hot kiss.)