The Unseen Hand, page 21
Thing I couldn’t get straight was whether or not it was real or not. Know what I mean, boy? Like whether I was just scarin’ myself fer no good reason. Hallucinatin’ and what not. Well, now we know, I guess. Don’t we? I mean now we know it’s real. The ghost. Stop playin’ that damn fool drum and talk to yer pa!
(ICE keeps playing the drum. When he talks to POP he directs his speech to the corpse.)
ICE: (His voice changes to a little boy’s.) You’re the one who taught me, Daddy. You said practice, practice, practice. That’s the only way to do the best.
POP: Well, that’s right. It stands to reason. Just look at Gene Krupa, Buddy Rich—how do you think they got where they are today?
ICE: Well, look at Sonny Murray, Keith Moon. What about them?
POP: Never heard of ’em. Upstarts. The whole bunch. It takes more than gulldanged imagination to be a great drummer. It takes guts. That’s the thing you never learned. You gotta’ build up yer strength. You gotta’ work on that left hand so hard you can do a triple paradiddle with yer right hand tied behind yer back. Ya’ gotta’ get yer right foot so strong it’s like steel. Work with that ankle so hard that it feels like it’s gonna’ break off. Then when ya’ reach that point where ya’ can hardly stand the pain of it—that’s when you start yer real practicin’. That’s when yer work begins. Separate all the pieces. Two arms, two hands, two wrists, two legs, two ankles, two feet. Everything in pairs. Break it all down in pairs. Make the pairs work together, with each other. Then make ’em work against each other, independent. Do some cymbal work, just use the ride, then the sizzle, then the splash, then yer high hat. Feel out all the sounds you got at yer disposal, all the tones in a good set a’ tubs. Yer high toms, yer lows.
ICE: What about cowbells?
POP: Well, if you go fer that Latin hand-drum sound, that’s all right too. Congas and bongos and timbalis and Dholaks and Dumbaks. All them catchy calypso, mambo, cha-cha-cha rhythms they got. Helps ya’ keep on yer toes. Teaches ya’ a lot about what’s behind a rhythm structure. Offbeats and such. That offbeat stuff. ’Course all the technique in the world ain’t gonna mean yer a genius. No sir. Ya’ can only go so far with learning the essentials, then the rest is up to you and God.
ICE: Were you a genius, Pop?
POP: Me? Naw. Damn good though. One of the two or three fastest in the country. ’Course them were the days of Dixieland and Cajun music. Don’t hear much a’ that anymore. Mind if I turn the radio on?
ICE: I’m not asleep.
POP: I know. But ya’ always ask me before you turn it on so I thought I’d extend ya’ the same courtesy.
(POP turns the radio on soft.)
ICE: It’s just that I know how you hate rock and roll.
POP: Now that ain’t true, boy. Not a bit. That kinda’ music come outa’ good roots. Rhythm and blues and country music, Western music. Them’s good roots. My gripe was and always has been that it got into the wrong hands. A bunch of teenage morons. That’s all. All that “doo, wa, doo, wa, doo, wa, ditty, talk about the girls from New York City.” Stuff like that. Like a bunch a’ morons. Grates against a man’s ears who’s played with the best. Why, if I was young today I’d probably be playin’ rock and roll myself, right along with the rest of ’em. Can’t says I’d go in fer all this transvestite malarkey that’s been goin’ on though. I’d keep my self-respect. But I’d probably figure in the picture somewhere.
ICE: You probably would.
POP: Ya’ sound far away, boy. What’re ya’ thinkin’?
ICE: Just dreamin’ on the fire. You can see the whole world in a fire.
(Pause. POP sings. During the song he becomes like a little boy. ICE becomes like his father.)
POP: (Sings)
A beautiful bird in a gilded cage
A beautiful sight to see.
You may think she’s happy and free from fear
She’s not though she seems to be
She flew from the hills at a tender age
She flew from the family tree
You may think she got to the promised land
But she’s not where she wants to be.
POP: Ice?
ICE: Yeah.
POP: Ice, could you tell me a story? I feel lonely.
ICE: Sure. Turn the radio off and come on over here.
(POP turns off the radio and crawls over to ICE and curls up in his lap. ICE strokes his forehead and tells him a story. He stops beating the drum. The corpse keeps stiffening through all this.)
ICE: Once upon a time millions and millions of years ago, before man was ever around, there was a huge, huge fiery ball of fire.
POP: Like the sun?
ICE: Sort of—but much huger and hotter than our sun. A super sun. At the same time, somewhere in space, there was a giant planet made out of cosmic ice.
POP: What’s cosmic ice?
ICE: Of, or pertaining to, the cosmos.
POP: What’s the cosmos?
ICE: Everything.
POP: Then what happened?
ICE: For millions of years the super sun and the giant ice planet traveled through space, spinning and spinning and spinning. Then one day they collided with each other and the giant ice planet penetrated deep inside to the center of the super sun and buried itself. For hundreds of thousands of years nothing happened until one day suddenly the accumulating steam from the melting ice planet caused an enormous explosion inside the super sun. Fragments of the sun were blown out into outer space. Other fragments fell back on the ice planet. Still other fragments were projected into an intermediate zone.
POP: What’s intermediate?
ICE: Something in between. These intermediate fragments are what we call the planets in our system. There were thirty fragments which gradually became covered with ice. The moon, Jupiter, and Saturn are made out of ice. The canals on Mars are cracks in the ice. The only fragment that wasn’t completely ice was the one we’re riding on right now. The earth. Ever since then the earth has been carrying on a constant struggle between fire and ice. At the same time as this great explosion, at a distance three times that of Neptune from the earth, there was an enormous band of ice. It’s still there and you can see it tonight.
POP: Where?
ICE: (Pointing to the sky) Right up there. Astronomers call it the Milky Way because stars shine through it from the other side.
POP: It must be really cold up there.
ICE: It is.
POP: But we’re nice and warm.
ICE: Well, we’re by the fire.
POP: Won’t the ice ever melt though?
ICE: Sometimes it does. That’s why it rains. Look at the moon.
POP: It seems really close.
ICE: It’s getting closer all the time. One day it’s going to collide with the earth and another battle will go on between fire and ice. It’s happened before.
POP: With the moon?
ICE: Not this moon but other ones. Three other moons came before this one. And three times the earth was destroyed and made over again.
POP: And it’s going to happen again?
ICE: Yes.
(POP jumps up and goes to the bazooka.)
POP: Bull pukey! You really expect me to believe that hocus-pocus?
(POP switches on the radio again.)
ICE: No.
POP: The earth ain’t no more made outa’ ice than the sun is. Who filled yer brain with that hogwash anyhow? I’ll tell ya’ who’s gonna’ make and break this planet, boy. We are! You and me and nothing else! We’re gonna’ set this world on fire, boy. Soon’s we blow up this Chindi fella and that two-bit whore a’ his, we’ll be on our way. I’ll show ya’ a thing or two about fire and ice. I’ll show ya’ how to make the world spin!
ICE: How’re you gonna’ blow him up, Pa?
POP: You’ll see. Soon’s he sets foot in this camp he’s a dead man.
ICE: But he’s already dead and so are you. You can’t kill a dead man.
POP: More hogwash! Fairy tales! What’s real is real and there ain’t no way around it.
ICE: You won’t even see him this time. He’ll just come for you and take you away and you won’t even know he’s there.
POP: Why don’t you go down by the crick and wash that damn makeup off yer face? If ya’ weren’t my own son I’d say you was a sissy.
(ICE stands up.)
ICE: I think I will. I think I’ll walk to the crick and keep right on walking.
POP: No! Ice! You can’t leave me now. There’s not much more time. Look at that corpse. It’s gettin’ stiffer by the minute.
ICE: Tell you what. As soon as you blow up the Chindi come straight to Rapid City and we’ll meet up there.
POP: No! I need your help!
ICE: Really? What for? To load your bazooka?
POP: There must have been some time once when you needed me and I helped you out.
ICE: There must have been.
POP: Well, now you can pay me back.
ICE: Right.
(He draws his gun and shoots POP in the stomach, then walks off.)
POP: Ice! Ice! Stanley!
(POP grabs his stomach and staggers around the stage. The corpse is almost completely stiffened out by now.)
Stanley! You can have the ranch! The sheep! The station wagon! The Dodge half-ton! The spring tooth harrow! The barbeque pit! The house! You can take it! Take it! I’m not kidding, Stanley! This is no way to leave yer pa after all these years! (To himself) The moon’s getting closer. I can make out the craters. All of the craters. It’s a marvelous thing, Stanley! This is a remarkable time we’re living in when a man can look from behind the moon, over his shoulder, past the ice and see that warm, greenish blue planet spinning around and around with its cargo of little people. Don’t you think? I agree with you, Stanley! I agree with your philosophy and your political point of view, only don’t leave me now! We can argue! That’s part of the fun. Ya’ can’t expect me to make an omelet without breaking a few eggs! Conflict’s a good thing! It keeps ya’ on yer toes! Stanley! Yer pa is dying!
(Again the screeching howl. The bells of the CHINDI are heard as before, getting louder and louder; the corpse is completely stiff. POP stops and listens; he runs to the radio and shuts it off.)
So yer really gonna’ try it after all. Yer really gonna’ try bringin’ in Stanley Hewitt Moss the sixth. Well, come on! Come on then!
(He goes to the bazooka and mounts it on his shoulder. More bells are heard from other parts of the theater. It should be a live sound, not recorded.)
Come on, ya’ weasely little no-count! Sneakin’ around in the dark. I can remember the time when wars was fought out in the open field. Hand-to-hand combat. Teddy Roosevelt style. None a’ this sneaky guerrilla stuff that’s come into fashion. Hit-and-run perverts! Throw a grenade and run the other way. Never even see the faces of the dead. Well, I got one shot and I’m gonna’ make it count. Stanley! That old Chindi thinks he’s come to take a patsy off!
(POP pulls his hand away from his stomach and looks at it. It’s dripping with blood.)
Wait a minute. Wait a darn minute.
(He crawls over to the fire on his hands and knees. He holds his hand up to the flames so the light shines on it.)
If that don’t beat all.
(He rubs his stomach again and holds his hand to the light.)
No blood. A bloodless critter. Not a speck a blood. They was right the whole time. Wait a minute! Stanley! You was right!
(He pulls up his sleeve and slowly, carefully sticks his whole arm into the flames and holds it there.)
No pain. There’s no pain!
(He breaks into loud laughter and jumps up. He dances in circles and shouts.)
No pain and no blood! No pain and no blood! No pain and no blood! No pain and no blood!
(He stops for a second and looks into the fire. The sound of the drum starts up again. More bells all over the house in a steady rhythm.)
(In the corpse’s face) You’re a dead man, Stanley. You’re a dead man.
(He looks at the corpse.)
A dead body.
(He walks into the centre of the campfire and laughs. He dances in the fire.)
Oh didn’t he ramble. Rambled all around. All around the town.
Oh didn’t he ramble. Rambled all around. All around the town.
All around the town. He sure did ramble. Rambled all around. All around the town. Boy, didn’t he ramble.
(He stops and runs out of the fire. He goes to the bazooka and lifts it up, then throws it into the fire. He keeps up the talk as he goes around the stage throwing everything into the fire: sleeping bags, cans, blankets, guns, hats, radio. He leaves the corpse for last. As he throws more and more things into the fire the flames grow higher and spread outside the circle. This could be done with a projector and film loop above the audience. POP is in a manic state. He talks to the corpse, himself, an imaginary ICE and ghosts he doesn’t see.)
Boy, if my boy could see me now! If my boy Stanley was here to see me now! He wouldn’t believe it. The change in his old man. A changed man. Believe you me, Stanley, he wouldn’t believe it! Imagine me, crawlin’ off into the Badlands like an old alley cat, knowin’ he’s dyin’, dyin’ alone. Tryin’ to save pain. Save face. Keep the family calm. No sense in them seeing their man of the house in his last moment on earth. It’s a long moment, Stanley! Boy, don’t you know if there was a phone booth out here I’d sure make a collect call to that boy and have him hightail it out here to see his old man now! Yessir! That boy would be so proud! He’d fall on his knees to kiss the earth my boots stomp on. It’s been a long time. A long, long time. Wonder what he’s lookin’ like now. A grown man. My boy, a grown man. And his old man, a boy. You’re as old as ya’ feel, Stanley! And I feel as old as forever! I’ve never been more alive in my life, son! Never been more full a’ fire and brimstone. All that useless fear. All them years yelpin’ like a pup, afraid to look the eagle in the eyeball. It’s never like ya’ think it’s gonna’ be, Stanley! Never! Never endless and lonely and no end in sight. Just goin’ on and on without a stop. It’s right here, boy, in the fire. Ya’ take the fire in yer hand, boy, in both hands. And ya’ squeeze it to death! Ya’ squeeze the life out of it. Ya’ make it bleed! Ya’ whip it and make it dance for ya’. Ya’ make it do its dance. Ya’ make it scream like a woman with the pain and joy all wrapped up together! Ya’ send it beyond fear, beyond death, beyond doubt. There’s no end to its possibilities.
(He looks the corpse in the eye.)
(To the corpse) And what’re you doin’?
CORPSE: Nothin’.
POP: Don’t do nothin’ in the kingdom a’ God! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn!
(He picks up the corpse, holds it over his head and spins it around in circles, then throws it into the fire. The drums and bells increase, the flames flicker all over the audience. The whole theater is consumed in flames as POP screams over and over and dances in the fire.)
BURN! BURN! BURN! BURN! BURN! BURN! BURN! BURN!
BLACKOUT
Operation Sidewinder
A PLAY IN TWO ACTS
Dedicated to the following for their keen inspiration:
Michelangelo Antonioni
Dapper Tommy Thompson
Crazy Horse
The Stones
The Holy Modal Rounders
The Hopi
Nancy
Gabby Hayes
Old Oraibi
Mickey Free
1968
O-Lan
Operation Sidewinder was first produced on March 12, 1970, at the Repertory Theater of Lincoln Center/Vivian Beaumont Theater, New York City, with the following cast, in order of appearance:
DUKIE: Robert Phalen
HONEY: Barbara eda-Young
MECHANIC: Michael Miller
YOUNG MAN: Andy Robinson
FOREST RANGER: Robert Riggs
BILLY: Roberts Blossom
COLONEL WARNER: Joseph Mascolo
CAPTAIN: Robert Phalen
CADET: Gus Fleming
MICKEY FREE: Don Plumley
1ST COHORT TO MICKEY FREE: Ralph Drischell
2ND COHORT TO MICKEY FREE: Arthur Sellers
CARHOP: Catherine Burns
BLOOD: Garrett Morris
BLADE: Paul Benjamin
DUDE: Charles Pegues
GENERAL BROWSER: Paul Sparer
DOCTOR VECTOR: Ray Fry
SPIDER LADY: Michael Levin
EDITH: Joan Pringle
CAPTAIN BOVINE: Philip Bosco
INDIANS: José Barrera,
Paul Benjamin,
Gregory Borst,
Gus Fleming,
Robert Keesler,
Michael Levin,
Clark Luis,
Richard Mason,
Muriel Miguel,
Louis Mofsie,
Santos Morales,
Garrett Morris,
Jean-Daniel Noland,
Joan Pringle,
Barbara Spiegel
1ST DESERT TACTICAL TROOP: Robert Priggs
2ND DESERT TACTICAL TROOP: Robert Phalen
3RD DESERT TACTICAL TROOP: Michael Miller
The production was directed by Michael A. Schultz and Jules Irving.
Act One
The houselights come down. The stage is black. The sound of a rattlesnake rattling. A coyote in the distance. The rattle grows louder. A soft blue light fills the ceiling of the stage then flashes off. A bright flash of yellow light from the center of the stage floor then black again. The blue light comes on and goes out. Again the yellow light flashes, then comes on again slowly and glows brightly, with the rest of the stage dark. It forms almost a perfect circle. In the center of the circle can be seen a very large sidewinder rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. The light seems to be coming from the snake itself. When stretched to its full length the sidewinder measures over six feet and looks like it weighs over thirty pounds. The eyes are ruby red and blink on and off. The tongue spits. The rattle rattles. The snake’s skin is bright yellow with black diamonds. It undulates in a mechanical rhythm. Its hissing grows louder and the rattle too. The head sways from side to side. Sound of a jet going across the sky very loudly, then into silence, then a sonic boom. Silence. Sound of a car passing on a highway. A MAN’S VOICE is heard.
