Scott MacLeod
    Theater & Performance Texts

Home On The Range
with Jeanne Gallo

Stage dark, then soft blue light up stage right as if sunrise. Man seated down left reading newspaper which hides his face and torso. Wearing dark pants, white shirt, work shoes. Woman seen behind him, wearing floral print summer dress, bending over straw laundry basket. As light slowly brightens she picks up basket and meanders, pulling foot-high jersey cows from basket and placing them upright around upstage area. When basket is empty, she places it by the other empty chair, about seven feet from Man’s and at the same level. As she sits in this chair blue light fades slowly as yellow light, nearer to overhead, fades slowly up as if late morning.

Man:
There hadn’t been any reason to go on living since the year the cows died, but the people went on living anyway. They walked out in the chillblain-blue mornings season after season, staring at the smooth green hills and kicking at the brown soil as if there were anything they could do about the way things were. They stared at the ghosts of the cows and the ghosts of the cows stared back, patient and dull. The cows were out there, already staring and chewing, when the first blue light began to make a hollow out of the darkness. They were there when the gaunt farmers pushed open the rusty screen doors and spat wicked curves into the dew. They stared at the farmers and the farmers stared back. They were there in the afternoons when the farmers and their boys came trudging sidelong back from the fields. And they were out there, staring and chewing, long past the time when the last farmer’s wife hurried out to pull down forgotten washing from the wire line.

Man places newspaper down on stage. Light is now all yellow, and bright. Woman pulls vapor respirator from basket, places it over face and begins to breathe. After a while the Man, still seated, leans and stretches his arm out toward her, palm up. She hesitates but eventually leans and stretches, still seated, to pass the respirator to him. Only by concerted stretching can they make the exchange. When he finally has it in his grasp, they both return to upright seated position. He breathes through respirator for a few moments until Woman stretches out her arm towards him. Again reluctance but eventually he stretches it out to her. Upright, she breathes, soon he stretches, she passes. He breathes, she stretches, he passes. And again. And again. And again. Finally during one of their transfers the respirator falls to the ground accidentally, causing them both to jump up in shock and make abstract gestural and vocal maneuvers which derive from codes for disaster. At least two series of four distinct maneuvers for each. Finally she pulls scissors from the basket, runs to him, pushes him into his chair and begins to wildly cut his hair.

Man:
I’ve lost my sense of direction and I’ve ended up on top of a steep slippery cliff.

Woman:
Good intentions.

Man:
There are people, people that I know, lying scattered on the ground at the base of the cliff.

Woman:
Bad weather.

Man:
I’m worried because they’re not moving.

Woman:
Mistaken motives.

Man:
I’m worried because I’m up here and I’m all alone, and I’m not moving.

Woman:
High expectations.

Man:
And I’m worried because they’re all down there, and they’re all alone, and they’re not moving.

Woman:
Low energy.

Man:
I’m sure there’s been a disaster.

The scissors begin to take control of the Woman’s hands. They clip away furiously as they lead her downstage center, away from the Man.

Woman:
Lying in someone else’s bed.

Man:
It feels like there’s been a disaster.

Woman:
Lying in your own bed.

Man:
I feel like a disaster.

Woman:
Lying in any bed you’ve made.

Woman has succeeded in throwing scissors to the stage. The sound of their impact shocks both actors. Man jumps to his feet. They both stare at the scissors, stunned.

Man:
Somewhere between here and there is a disastrous event. Where did all the cows go? Why don’t those people get up?

As she speaks, Woman slowly walks back upstage to a spot against the rear wall directly behind her chair.

Woman:
Listening when you don’t want to. Talking when you really want to listen. Wishing someone else would say something for a change. Hearing things at night that aren’t really there. Worrying about something that’s already happened.

Man slowly backs away to a corresponding spot behind his chair as he speaks.

Man:
I just want to pick up where I left off. I just want to find out where I was before I started walking. I just want to go back to where I was before I started walking, and start walking.

They both begin to walk slowly back downstage, each with an arm stretched out towards the other.

Woman:
Sensations of loss can be handed down genetically.

Man:
Waking up in a strange room.

Woman:
Coming back only to find things have changed.

Man:
Waking up to a familiar face for the very first time.

Woman:
Coming back only to find things haven’t changed.

Lighting has changed as the daylight changes: high overhead and white, and now deepens into yellow as it begins to descend stage left. Man and Woman have arrived downstage, stand in front of their chairs. The respirator lies on the stage between them.

Man:
Walking out into a frost-covered garden. I can feel the turnips burrowing down.


Woman:
I can smell winter in the air.

Man:
There are rumors of floods in the valley. There are rumors of tornadoes. Cows keep the field from rising.

The Woman lunges for the respirator but the Man is quick and also manages to grab it. A brief tug-of-war, then a pause. They each have a hand on the respirator as it rests on the floor. They glare at each other, faces inches apart. They speak loudly and very rapidly:

Woman:
I’m on the other line, can I call you back?

Man:
Hello?

Woman:
The fact that you know my phone number doesn’t give you the right to call.

Man:
Hello?

Woman:
Can I call you back? I’m defrosting the freezer.

Another struggle, same result. Speaking yet more rapidly:

Man:
You wash and I’ll dry.

Woman:
You clean ‘em and I’ll cook ‘em.

Man:
You make the bed and I’ll sweep the floor.

Woman:
You find a job and I’ll find an apartment.

Man:
You work days and I’ll work nights.

Woman:
You pay for dinner and I’ll pay for drinks.

Man:
You pay for the movie and I’ll pay for the babysitter.

Woman:
You slop the hogs and I’ll water the garden.

Man:
You hitch the saddle and I’ll plow the field.

Woman:
You feed the cows and I’ll feed the chickens.

Man:
The cows are dead!

The yellow lighting has faded away and there is only bright blue from stage left, as in beginning but from opposite. This slowly dims, goes out by the end of next two speeches. The Man snatches the respirator from the Woman with one violent motion, turns away from her and starts to breathe through it, still on his knees. She leaps onto his back trying to reach for the respirator. He rears up and shoves her away. She falls to the stage then rises to hands and knees, facing away from him. He remains bent over, breathing.

Woman:
The cow is hit by the train. The train starts to slide off the bridge. The bridge starts to slide into the river. The river starts to slide into the ocean. The ocean starts to swell up into the air. The tears begin to fall like rain.

The Man turns to look at her. He holds out the respirator, which she takes, sitting to breathe through it. He sits slowly so that they are back-to-back.

Man:
The act of undressing. The pursuit of disaster. We offer prayers for this sort of delirium but cannot live long in such a state. This dome is a permeable one. Light slides through it and away. With relentless regularity. I can feel its damp tunnel-breathing. We are each a lung of it.

Lights completely out, stage dark.

posted by Scott MacLeod  # 7:59 PM