Sharony Green

 

 

PLAY

Cast

QUINN: woman (late 20s or early 30s)

SONG: woman (late teens–early 20s)

BATU: pirate (middle-aged)

Setting: Southern town.

Time: Early 19th century

Place: Modest room in an inn, no more than a chair, bed, table holding a pitcher of water and a glass.

 

ACT I

Lively music is heard only to slowly fade. QUINN enters a modest room. She looks directly ahead.

QUINN

Batu was the only father I’d known. The story went I had wandered through an open gate. The coup was not entirely unexpected. A soldier scooped me up and saw me safely onto a ship being directed by one with a bad past. Your men fed me sliced mango and took turns playing patty cake on deck with me. When I cried, they fed me tiny pieces of sugar or dabbed a bit of rum onto my tongue. The sugar and the rum were loot from the plantations they had pillaged. The booty they amassed in their many rifts could feed a small nation. It was for the thrill that they did this. Not the riches. It was also for those who could not fight for themselves. Inspired by a character in a book he’d found inside one villa, he named me Quinn.

BATU enters.

BATU

I tied your hair with some yellow ribbon. I tied the same ribbon in my  hair. You’re me ship’s mascot, I told you again and again. A girl and a frightful bit of bad luck for the superstitious, but not for me.

QUINN

When I grew older, you put me in dresses made of Indian cotton and presented me with my very first embroidered cloth that you tied around the wild, curly hair you never could braid. “Down when I say down!” was your only instruction when you saw a ship you wanted to overtake. I knew that this meant –

BATU

– I needed you to find my place in my quarters below.

QUINN

I hid behind his red trunk with the metal dragon on it. I’d run the tips of my fingers against the dragon’s tail until things got quiet on deck. It took only a threatening look from you to steer the others away. Your real name is Edward. You are British, but –

BATU

– the prankster in me thought it might be more amusing to have an African name or some such. A seaman I met suggested Batu.

Video of sea water is projected now on the back wall of the modest room.

QUINN

He told everyone how he’d come across me. In Haiti of all places. Even after the revolution, there was one ruckus after another. In the middle of one skirmish, he saw me – I was about three or four – stooping beside some woman who had gotten herself killed during the fighting. That was Maman. You decided my pa was probably a Frenchman. You scooped me up under a barrage of bullets saying you could do better than a Frenchman.

BATU

I didn’t usually boast about this sort of thing. Rescuing people.

QUINN

No. You didn’t. You always said my life would be a poem, but a very vague one.

Video projects of the sea again. It grows rougher and rougher.

BATU

I said, “You will be a mystery for all of your days.”

QUINN

We were out in the middle of the Gulf then.

BATU

You are the big of the small.

QUINN

The rain of the field.

BATU

The whisper of the scream.

QUINN

The monkey of the caterpillar. This went on all night. The game was absurd and made the crew weary, but it was our special language.

BATU

The run of the bird.

QUINN

The shine of the lies.

BATU

Too clever. The dance of the dash.

QUINN

The link of the solo.

BATU

Ah, nice, so very nice. The question of the answer.

QUINN

The can’t of the could.

BATU

The may possibly of the try.

QUINN

The fear of the go.

BATU

This is where the game always ended with one of us telling the other what to do next. The answer would be either to stay or to go. This was the case whether it –

QUINN

– you trying to persuade me to do minor chores like unraveling the fishing nets or me telling you that I was not afraid to be left alone in your quarters while this or that ship approached. Then one day, you were

BATU

– saying that that you should take leave.

QUINN

And I asked, “Go where?”

BATU

Home. This is what I told you.

QUINN

Is there really such a place?

BATU

There is now, he said.

QUINN

There is now because you have brought home more than metallic flakes. You have brought home Song.

SONG enters and stands beside BATU and QUINN.

SONG

The streets in my homeland were strewn with furniture. The women and the children had to run. You saved me, too. And we became lovers. You trampled along rocks and walls with Quinn, but you will likely sit down by a fireplace with this one.

SONG touches her stomach.

BATU

It is the right thing to do. It was always the right thing to do.

Video projects images of water again, but now a shoreline.

QUINN

We were once in Mexico. Gifts of stoneware and a few pieces of gold kept the locals quiet. It was here that you yanked my ear for saying our hosts were the grandes cosas of the village. It was here that we met the American couple that gave me the one thing I never really had. A home. Miss Catherine’s long hair was always pulled back in a tight bun.

BATU

– I pulled her husband to the side. Make her proper, is what I said. You been on the prowl with us too long. Miss Catherine gave you a long jacket. Light in color so as to not show the dust from the traveling. Then, she presented you with a straw hat. I adjusted it onto your head and pulled your thick, knotty hair around your shoulders. You cried so hard, I could not let you go.

BATU raises his fingers to his ears and bobs his head from side to side like a clown. QUINN and SONG laugh only to look concerned. BATU looks ill. The lights dim. BATU gets into the bed and begins to breathe audibly until his breath is heard no more. The thick sound of a bell is heard.

SONG and QUINN stand, looking straight ahead. QUINN pulls dark kohl from her pocket and begins to draw it under her eyes. She looks as if she is an athlete or is a member of the military who is about to enter a battle.

SONG

He just stopped breathing.

Now, QUINN pulls a white cloth from the pocket of her caftan and ties it around her head.

Video shows a burial ground. Dirt is falling onto a grave.   

QUINN

We shall call the men to bury him.

SONG rubs her belly.  

SONG

We will. We must move along before this one comes. But first, did your mother visit last night? The dead come when we are at a crossroad.

QUINN

No, she did not visit.

SONG

My mother took a long time to come, too. For years, I saw her walking with the other ladies. They would walk carefully in the water and say ah-ha! over and over again.

QUINN

Did they?

SONG

They did. In the city streets, they would lift the hems of their dresses and then they would fly to Liverpool and have a party.

QUINN

Did they?

SONG

They did. I promise they did. In Liverpool, my mother danced with another little girl. She was trying to make her happy. She told her not all women and girls cry. That if they do, it is at their own bidding. Sometimes they play very sad music to make the tears come. Girls especially have power like that.

QUINN

Did your mother really say that?

SONG

She did. She did.

QUINN

Good. Good for your mother. Did this girl listen? Did the girl listen to your mother?

SONG

Yes, she did.

QUINN

Did this girl dance?

SONG

Can a rainbow prance?

QUINN

Rainbows can’t prance.

SONG

Sure, they can. And when they do, they leave long shadows colored purple, green, and blue.

QUINN

Do they?

SONG

And this the others do not understand. They try and dance with them, but they do not dance the same even if they think they do.

QUINN

Shall we have chocolate ice cream before we set out?

SONG

That might be nice.

QUINN

Actually, I’d rather like strawberry if this is alright.

SONG

Well, that can be arranged. Most things in life can be.

QUINN

Yes. But tell this to the ones who wear different clothes now. Mostly old sweaters torn at the elbows. Pretending to be poor. How wearying, these who want to save are not tasty like ice cream.

SONG

Ice cream.

QUINN

Yes, ice cream.

SONG

And I am calling on Mama. Granny. Standin’ ‘side Margeaux and Miss Amira.
And I have heard of Quinn.

QUINN

Here.

SONG

Where is Marie?

QUINN

Here.

SONG

Nazareth.

QUINN

Here.

SONG

Tell me, Vivian –

QUINN

Here.

SONG

Laura.

QUINN

Laura was the one with which they had become most enchanted. Pretty girls give grief to most onlookers, but pretty black girls give grief to themselves and those around them exceptionally well. Laura was no different. She had been found in the musty folder. In a now-brittle, yellowed letter, Laura had written in which she told her ole man what she would and wouldn’t do. She would fetch his water, but she would not set the daffodils in the vase on his writing desk. She believed something yellow needed to stay in the ground. Needed to keep on standing. His children cited this act of defiance as one reason she shouldn’t be freed as stated in her master’s will upon his death.

SONG

I have heard of Miss Ruthie.

QUINN

Here.

SONG

Step lively, lady from Boston.

QUINN

Step lively, Havana.

SONG

Step lively, Miss Rachel.

QUINN

Standin’ ‘side Loretta.

SONG

And I have heard of Lottie.

QUINN

Here.

SONG

Are you ready?

QUINN

I am.

QUINN and SONG

And we began to hum songs that only dead women and girls who run could hear.

Lights dim. QUINN and SONG walk over to touch BATU. QUINN leans down to hug him – hard. The two women exit. Only falling dirt is projected now.

(CURTAIN)

 

 

PLAY SOME MORE

Cast

CARLA BETHEL, a woman (40s)

CHLOE PARKER, female Airbnb host (60s)

NATALIE ELLIS, a woman (40s)

Time: Present day

Setting: A British neighborhood

Scene: Stage is alternately a studio apartment and an outdoor pub. Projected video with minimal furniture and décor suggests these two scenes.

A table, two chairs and one bed with a side table are rolled on and off as needed.

 

SCENE 1

CHLOE enters a studio apartment with CARLA beside her. They are breathless as they set down CARLA’s luggage.

CHLOE

The stairs can be hard the first time you make it up three flights but it gets better. Keep the shades down as you would on a plane if you want to keep it cool. Heat rises. Turn on the A/C if you wish. I also have a fan. You may open the terrace door for fresh air. I come in to tidy once a week if that’s okay. I have a washer and dryer in our quarters that can be used for your laundry. Let’s see, I bought you a few things to get you started. Tea, coffee, granola, yogurt, brioche. The market is a block away if you want wine and beer. Lots of restaurants and shops within walking distance and of course, the train. The library is just –

CARLA

– two blocks away.

CHLOE

Oh, yes. I forgot you’ve been here many times. Let me know if you need anything.

CARLA

Thank you.

CHLOE

You’re under a flight path. It gets quieter after 3pm. I hope you don’t mind the noise. They start up again around 4am. Okay, I’m downstairs if you need anything. Just lock the door when you’re leaving. Separate the recycling and use the cans out front for your rubbish and I think that’s it.

CARLA

Thank you.

CHLOE exits. Lights down.

 SCENE 2

 

CARLA enters, carrying Chinese takeout.

CARLA

The wine. I forgot wine.

There is a knock.

CARLA

Come in.

CHLOE enters with towels in her hand.

CHLOE

I brought fresh towels. You may run out sooner than we do laundry. Did I mention I am happy to do your laundry? And I couldn’t help but hear that you forgot to buy wine. I have a bottle I just opened. White okay? I’ll bring it right back.

Before she can answer, CHLOE has placed the towels down on the bed and exits. She returns with wine.

CHLOE

Here you are! Sweet dreams. You must be tired.

CARLA

Thank you.

CHLOE

What brings you here? I mean really?

CARLA

Er, uh, research.

CHLOE

My late husband met years ago what you might call one of those clueless Americans. A professor, too. Just walks into a roundabout, not looking both ways. My husband didn’t care much for them. But he couldn’t let this man die outside this pub. It was called the Spotted Dog. There, my husband surveyed the West Indians, the South Asians, the Irish, wondering, “What has happened to my neighborhood?!” But he asked this American over for supper after yanking him just in time from the path of a bus. Next thing, he’s bringing home someone from Pakistan, too. May the old fella rest in peace.

CARLA

Wow. That’s some story.

CHLOE

Anyway. I’m around if you need me.

Lights down.

SCENE 3

CARLA sits at a table in the pub alone, nursing a beer. Her eyes perk up when she sees her friend NATALIE approaching, purse on her shoulder.

CARLA

Get over here now. It’s been too long!!!

CARLA and NATALIE hug.

NATALIE

Be careful.  The husband is under the weather. Can’t stay long. Let’s get dinner this weekend. Salute this latest project? Or are you just spending your university’s money as a vacation?

CARLA

Not answering. Let me get you a beer. Or will it be wine?

NATALIE

I mustn’t really.

CARLA

Okay then. Have a sip of something!

NATALIE complies.

CARLA

God, I miss you. How many years?

NATALIE

Five.

CARLA

Feels like a lifetime. Do you think you made the right move?

NATALIE

Of course. I never wanted to be a professor anyway. (beat) I remember when the bananas came from Cuba. We’d stand in the line for hours waiting.

CARLA

But you and your shoes!

NATALIE

Can you believe I left most of them in America?

CARLA

Imelda.

NATALIE

Capitalist, I was.

CARLA

All that stuff you had in the shopping cart on your first visit to Target! I was like, “Girl, this is America. That stuff will be here when you get back. You betta make that $18,000 stipend last. Peel them dollars off.”

NATALIE

Was I that bad?

CARLA

Yeah. And do you remember that night you made me a cocktail. New Year’s I think it was. You had the best bar for a grad student. I asked what you put in it and you said, “I dunno. A little bit of this and a little bit of that.” And I went stumbling with you out the door. We danced all night.

NATALIE

We did.

CARLA

You, know, I tried to marry a black man.

NATALIE

I did marry a black man.

CARLA

I remember. I was there.

NATALIE

You read a poem about a ladybug.

CARLA

You remember that?

NATALIE

I do. You wrote it by hand on yellow stationery paper. You used a pencil. Something about the bug crawling and climbing, trying to get somewhere.

CARLA

Is that what we’re doing?

NATALIE

For the ancestors.

CARLA

The ancestors. I married a white man, you married black one, for the ancestors?

NATALIE

No, silly. We stay alive for them.

They hug. NATALIE exits. CHLOE enters, carrying a beer.

CHLOE

I was sitting at the bar indoors when I saw you. Have you made a friend?

CARLA

We go way back. Grad school.

CHLOE

The world’s so small.

CARLA

That it is.

CHLOE

You know, this may sound strange but I had the worst fibroids for years. Never thought I could have our daughter.

CARLA

Where’s she?

CHLOE

Off at college. Anyway,  I had these fibroids and my doctor said somewhere in my ancestry I must have, well, I must have… Well, essentially, he said only black people have them. Can you imagine?

CARLA

No, I can’t.

CHLOE

It’s something, isn’t it?

CARLA sighs again.

Lights down.

SCENE 4

CHLOE and CARLA struggle to carry CARLA’s luggage. CHLOE presents a wrapped gift to CARLA.

CARLA

What is this?

CHLOE

Nothing big.

CARLA

Thank you.

CHLOE

Two weeks. It goes fast. Hope you got something good from it.

CARLA

We’ll see how it goes. Listen, my friend is coming to meet me. My cab is on the way.

CARLA

And I must get the room ready for the next guest. It was lovely to meet you.

CARLA

Thank you again. Cheers.

CHLOE

Cheers.

CHLOE exits.

CARLA unwraps the present. It is a copy of  Virginia Woolf’s Kew Gardens. She runs her fingers along the thin orange ribbon still attached to the wrapping paper and sighs.

CARLA

For the ancestors.

NATALIE approaches

NATALIE

What?

CARLA

Never mind.

Lights down.

(CURTAIN)