Mr. Burns and Other Plays. Anne Washburn

Isn’t this part of Manhattan so nice? It’s like a village. Like a little village.

      A: So far I like all of the parts of Manhattan I’ve seen

      B: . . . Slow motion—

      A: —from our hotel

      E: Remember I was so nice to Martin? And Martin hated me on sight and that proved my point.

      C: If you say “microwave” or anything related to the microwave, like rubbermaid, brodware, or tupperware—

      B: Well I feel like—

      F: Well that’s good—

      A: If you have a hundred dollars—

      E: Mommy, it’s really fun but it’s scary.

       Beat.

       But it’s really fun.

      D (Singing lightly):

       “dust in de wind”

      JEREMIAH:

       The young lions roar upon you, and yell

       and they make your land waste

       your cities are burned without inhabitant

      C: This girl Bowen right?

      A: Oh god not this again

      C: Fucking tits. Perfect rack right?

      D (To a child): Yeah that’s the Verrazano Bridge. You can see it all the way from here because it’s big. It’s a Big Bridge.

      F: That hurt, I mean she really bumped me.

      C: Right. Whatever. I still say you’re gay.

      G: I’m gonna stop off here at the restroom

      JEREMIAH:

       They that did feed delicately

       are desolate in the streets:

       they that were brought up in scarlet

       embrace dunghills

      C: Whoops! Are you okay?

      F: Uh . . . yes. Yep. Yes I am.

      E: They can hear your voice saying “shit” on the first reel

      F (To a child): And he’d love it—about the hobgoblins and everything

      D (Precise): Yes, he would.

      C: We’re not really free. The government tries to trick us.

      JEREMIAH:

       Thus saith the Lord:

       Behold,

       I will give this city into the hand of the King of Babylon

       and he shall burn it with fire.

      E: I always have the same strange sick sad feeling when I see a mad prophet which is this: what if he is right. I always sort of think: he’s right!

      B: I know. I do too. I think: that’s my own mad spirit, cut loose somehow from my own body, striding through the streets expressly to warn me.

      E: Oh. I don’t think that. But that’s interesting.

      B: I do, actually, sort of. For fun, mainly. I always stand far back. I think—what if he grabs me, what if he looks into my eyes, what if they’re my eyes. And then I have to leave off everything I’m doing and wear bad clothes and go barefoot through the street raving too.

       Bit of a pause.

       I don’t really believe this. But I think it for fun.

      E: I like it. I like it. It’s exciting. I might start thinking that too.

       You never know do you. It could be true.

      JEREMIAH:

       Therefore thus saith the Lord concerning the prophets that prophecy in my name;

       I sent them not

       neither have I commanded them

       neither spake unto them:

       they prophesy unto you a false vision

       and a thing of nought:

       the deceit of their heart

       they say: Sword and Famine shall not be in this land . . .

       by Sword and Famine shall those prophets be consumed!

      THE NON-PROPHET: What people don’t realize (Takes a sip from his little espresso cup) is that you do have a choice.

       You do not have to become a prophet.

       And I’m not saying that God isn’t insistent . . .

       . . . he is very insistent . . .

       And persuasive. But you can, ultimately, if you are determined, you can say:

       take this particular cup from my lips, I won’t do it. And He will pass on.

       What are the consequences of this. Well I don’t pretend to know. My features look the same, my skin, I don’t see it in my eyes; the world sounds as it always has, I dream as before, I don’t smell . . . unusual.

       It may be that now, none of my prayers are answered. I don’t know. I haven’t dared to pray.

       What I know is that He is Resistible, and that those who become prophets, agonize though they might, have on some level made a decision.

      B: But what is it like to be a prophet?

      HANANIAH: It’s a delight.

      E: You can’t ask that question!

      HANANIAH: No I don’t mind. It’s a delight. I’ll suddenly find myself speaking. The only part I mind is the waiting, and wondering when I’ll speak next.

       But it’s like: at a party when the tray comes around and you take something wonderful from it. And then you think: when will the tray come around again? And what will be on it?

       But it’s like a good party. Where there’s an endless supply of trays. And the waiters are efficient.

      B: Are the waiters angels?!

      E: You can’t ask that!

      HANANIAH: Why not?

      E: What are the waiters?

      HANANIAH (Laughs): I don’t see them. I don’t know. I don’t know much, honestly. I only know what I know after I’ve said it.

       A serene—for Hananiah—pause in which no one says anything.

      THE NON-PROPHET: Do you know, I had dinner with the Devil once. I was in an inn, and he was in the inn, and the inn was full, so we ate dinner at the same table.

       He didn’t say a word, he was exhausted. I ordered beef, he ordered lamb.

      F: How did you know it was the Devil?

      THE NON-PROPHET: After dinner they brought round a brandy and, he had eaten a lot very quickly, and he revived a little and he made a sort of half play for my soul. I think, just, nothing serious; out of habit.

       Hananiah and the girls have been listening in to this conversation.

       Hananiah smiles in a quicksilver meaningful sort of way.

      HANANIAH (To the girls): These are strange times to be alive.

      THE NON-PROPHET (Whipping around to speak to him directly): I’ll say.

       They look at each other for a moment.

       The sound of breakage. Everyone freezes, then turns toward:

      BARUCH: The light glitters off the freshly sharded off of the

       infinitely