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THE SUICIDE CLAUSE
A
One-Act Play by Karl J.
Sherlock © 2003 Karl J. Sherlock |
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CONTENTS |
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Characters EVELYN
CLEARY: Once
a teacher of English literature; embittered; brash but honest; an atheist;
now at age 52 a retired, disabled stroke victim, partially paralyzed on the
left side. Because of
this, the character's dialogue is occasionally communicated in slurred
pronunciation. Still, the
character's insistence that a lifetime of teaching, preceded by a rigorous
education at Oxford, not be abandon results in the frequent use of vocabulary
that sometimes will seem incongruous with the character's physical abilities
to utter or even pronounce polysyllabic words. All this is intentional and an assertion of the
character's will over the effects of the stroke. [Note:
If the actor is more comfortable playing paralysis on the right side,
so mote it be; for the sake of continuity, though, the relevant alterations
to all directions should be made in advance; actors are encouraged to
interpret the effect of occasionally slurred speech in any manner
artistically interesting to them, provided the part is played with dignity
and relative clarity.] KELLY JESKI: A
first-generation, Georgia Southerner with a Polish-born father, though this
is the subject of some confusion:
KELLY's father married a Polish-American woman with Southern ties, but
this heritage has often been derided or mistaken. KELLY has tried with little success to reconcile the
cultural idiosyncrasies of both sides of the family; surely missed a calling
in life. (As what? Who can say?
Perhaps an article writer.) KELLY is an agnostic looking to believe in
something, but too busy by the causes and missions that have taken up daily
living. Oh, and, by the way,
KELLY is dying: glioblastoma
multiforme. It's just a matter
of time. TABLEAUX CHARACTERS: Several
men and women to wear the costumes and assume the tableaux of the stories
told by KELLY and EVELYN. Any
and all iconoclasm with regard to the gender of these actors is encouraged,
as the tableaux represent the imagination of the main characters and are not
necessarily factually accurate events.
The same actors may be used to stage multiple tableaux. Setting: Present
day; someplace in Southern California; in an older but somewhat shabby-chic
house or apartment. DOWN
STAGE CENTER are a small dinette and chairs; the table is strewn with
documents and bordered with several empty liquor bottles, a single, tall
prescription pill bottle, and a cheap tumbler. STAGE RIGHT, a swivel recliner with its back to the
dinette and a small lamp table to its right bearing an older lamp; a zimmer
frame walker is within arm's reach of the recliner. FAR STAGE RIGHT is the exit/entrance to bedrooms and
bathrooms. STAGE LEFT, an implied exit to the outside, indicated by a coat
and hat rack (or an umbrella stand) and a few bags of trash waiting to be
taken outdoors. DOWN STAGE LEFT,
a computer table the back of the VDT to the audience: cables and cords, more strewn papers
and books--in short, a typical desk.
UP STAGE is a typical Pullman kitchenette area with a door and a
large, opening onto the dining area; the action taking place in the kitchen
must be seen through these spaces and include an unencumbered view of
cupboards and counters, but the sink and stove areas are unseen, off to STAGE
LEFT. The
directions, "{BEGIN TABLEAU}" and "{END TABLEAU}", will
appear at times throughout the play. These tableaux, written to augment the
the family stories told by the characters, should be staged, alternately,
either UP STAGE LEFT or UP STAGE RIGHT.
The tableaux may, more elaborately, be framed in the style of old
photographs, or they may be very simply highlighted under spotlights; while
they are indispensable elements of the play, their content and their staging
are solely within the artistic discretion of the director. Len
Pellettiri (English, Grossmont College, 1968-1986), scandalized San Diegans
and his Grossmont College colleagues after assisting in the suicide of his
wife, Emma, in 1984. Len
Pellettiri and his son, in fact, were guests on the Sally Jessy Raphael Show
in 1987 as representatives of the San Diego Chapter of the Hemlock Society,
which, as some may already know, is an organization committed to advocating
the right of self-deliverance:
ending one's own life in the event of a terminal illness, usually with
the aid of physicians or family members. The following play was written,
in part, using Len Pellettiri's experience and cause as a starting point, but
inspiration also sprung from my own experiences as a caregiver and partner to
a seriously medically disabled man, and from the many books that have been
written on the subject since. |
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SCENE ONE At Rise: With exaggerated choreography,
KELLY enters with difficulty from STAGE LEFT carrying two heavy sacks of
groceries, wipes shoes on the mat, then steps out of the shoes, leaving them
behind on the mat. KELLY heads
for the kitchen through the dining area, still with bags in tow; setting down
the bags on a counter, KELLY begins removing items: some go directly into cupboards; other items remain out,
on the countertops. Soon, KELLY
reenters the dining room with a garbage pale and two unopened bottles of
vodka in hand, and a plastic cup in mouth. KELLY puts down the new bottles of vodka on top of the
papers scattered on the table and, still with cup in mouth, shovels the empty
bottles into the pale with an open arm.
Cup is put down, tumbler is taken up, and KELLY takes the pale to the
door STAGE LEFT, then returns to the kitchen with the tumbler. |
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KELLY (annoyed/amused) Jesus, those were hard to
find. Apparently, no one wants
pistachios without the shells.
That comes official from a fifteen year old at the Irvine Ranch Market
who claims customers "have more fun with the shells on." I said, "Is that what you do
with them?" Next I caught
him looking over my shoulder in the direction of the security guard. Then he bolted. I can't trust anyone but you to find
the humor in bad grammar. Have
you taken your meds? The
swivel recliner with its back to the audience now turns slowly in a sweep, to
face KELLY. It's EVELYN, pushing
the recliner around with the good foot.
EVELYN's left arm is kept close to the chest, and is not extended
except with the greatest difficulty. EVELYN At twelve? KELLY No your 2 o'clock meds for . . . . Oh for god sake, I set the timer. It
was supposed to have . . . (picking
up a pillbox timer from the lamp table) It went off forty-two minutes
ago. You didn't hear it? EVELYN I nodded off. KELLY And you didn't hear this timer
going . . . Well, okay, g'on then and take 'em now, while I'm . . . . (sees
EVELYN struggling to rise) Need help to the . . . ? EVELYN . KELLY Up and at 'em then. C'mon. Get a move on.
And there's a clean tumbler of water there. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the amount you
slobber in a day . . . EVELYN
rises slowly and with difficulty, and, using a walker, gradually begins to
relocate to the dinette. EVELYN (whilst
perambulating) Slobber and effluvia: it's all part of life. KELLY And don't touch any of that vodka,
please. If you won't tell me
when you need to go to the toilet, the least you can do is not piss the seat
cushions. That was fifteen dollars a yard this time. EVELYN Pissing these seat cushions would
be an improvement. I warned you
not to reupholster; I said it would be a waste of money. Besides which I've never cared for
flame stitch . . . KELLY No, Evie, a wheelchair van
collecting tree sap is a waste of money. I wish you'd made better use of that when you could. (distracted) Do you know what I heard in the
car on the way back? That cedar
closet I was keen to build, when we had the house? It was absolute nonsense, all of it. Not a single moth has ever fled from
cedar wood--unless it's on fire, I guess. EVELYN A fool and their money . . . KELLY Yes, well. More of the fool now, less of the
other these days. Anyway, never
mind. While I was out I got the idea to make something I haven't had in . . .
(counting) no, fifteen years? Pierogis[1]. EVELYN [shrug] KELLY We made them once, remember? Course you do. Tracy's . . . (again,
counting) 33rd birthday. Mashed potatoes and cheese. (a
command) I'm telling you, you remember. EVELYN [shrug] KELLY No, you . . . They're dumplings, right. Polish dumplings. It took us all bloody afternoon . . .
well, it took me all afternoon to make them. It took you all afternoon to get falling down drunk. It was the same with my father's . . . whatchama call her--I think the
word is "kurowa"[2];
"slut," basically--she used to make 'em. Dozens of 'em.
Jesus, when I think of my poor mother washing up that woman's dishes
afterwards! EVELYN Six long hours of vodka martinis. KELLY Ah, you see. You do remember that afternoon. Well that's what I said to myself by
the time I gathered the ingredients.
I thought, you know what?
I can PAY someone to make these?
So I did. (Produces
two packages from a paper bag.) I bought two dozen of them at the
Polish deli; 5.99, end of story.
Let me just plop them in some boiling water later and have a late
lunch. Okeydokey? EVELYN is
reticent, already preoccupied with shuffling around some of the papers on the
table, looking for something. KELLY Hello in there. Okay? EVELYN [shrug] KELLY All right. Now what's up? EVELYN Me. Sick ol' me.
Medicare. Physical
therapy, not as yet paid. And
now they're sending the bills straight to me. KELLY Don't fret. It's the traditional tactic of health
management: if the insurance
company falls through, at any juncture, euthanize the patient; better still,
scare the patient to death. You
see, I told you. It's not the
doctors who play god; it's the medical billing departments. Never mind. I'm sure that college
student they just hired is to blame.
Wrong billing code, something innocent like that. EVELYN Innocent? My greatest fear is that a student I
failed once will now be totally in charge of my life. KELLY Believe me, your fears are
unwarranted, Evie: if they were
too lazy to pass your course, they're probably too lazy for acts of petty
revenge. (Sees
Evelyn wearing sneaker's with long, untied shoe laces.) And look at you, anyway. Lot of good P.T. is going to do if
you trip on those and break your hip.
Why not wear the booties my aunt[3] knitted. Ingratitude for a woman's hard work: it's a universal constant. EVELYN You honestly think those were made
by a victim of distaff? KELLY (Considers
it.) Fair enough. But, by god, Evie, they're safer than
walking around with untied laces! EVELYN
gives KELLY a withering and hurt look.
KELLY rummages under the front of the swivel lounger and produces the
booties. KELLY goes to EVELYN
and bends silently to replace EVELYN's sneakers with the booties. KELLY Try to put your left foot
out. No, Dear, your other left
foot. That's it. EVELYN It's not so easy. KELLY Bless your heart, no, it's not
easy. But why kill yourself in therapy just to keel over at home because of a
stupid pair of . . . ? EVELYN (belligerent) You would joke about me killing
myself? You think that's funny?. KELLY (clearly
backpedalling) Only in the poorest taste. It was bad joke. They all are. They're the only kind I know. Forgive me, Sweetie. EVELYN
eats the shelled pistachios.
Silence. More
silence. Then . . . KELLY Okay then. Do you know what? I thought I might want to go to my
aunt's party this year, but then I just smelled the gin on the invitation and
I said nahhh . . . EVELYN (interrupting) Oh, do go! For my sake, Kelly, please, go. Do something you enjoy. KELLY Enjoy?! Please! They're
like a monster-truck rally, a human monster-truck rally. Do you know, my Aunt Gwen still
thinks her birthday picnic's going to be at my mother's place, and she's been
dead for--what is it?--twelve years. She just keeps coming back, like a predator, who
feeds on the innocent. EVELYN (Silence. Resisting the temptation, then . . . ) Vaginasaurus . . . {BEGIN
TABLEAU} KELLY ... Rex. Yes, that's the one.
Eventually she did crack Uncle Lev across the face for that. Fair enough, I say. Never liked him either. Do you know, six years ago by the end
of the weekend it is was just Gwen, a gin bottle, and a pack of burnt out
Lucky Strikes crushed into the lawn.
Like watching a drag queen on a hay ride. EVELYN Hay ride? KELLY And this of course is when Lev
pulls out the Brownie camera he's been hiding behind his back. {END
TABLEAU} EVELYN If you hate it so, why did you
bother last year? KELLY Well, don't know really. I suppose--I'm loathe to say it--I
suppose it's out of tradition. EVELYN The Confederate Poles have their
traditions? KELLY Yes, in fact. It's not all moon-pies and R.C.,
Yankee child. EVELYN Now you've insulted me. KELLY My father always spun some yarn
about our connections to the Pulaskis. EVELYN And my pedigree is Edward II. KELLY Yes, well, as a Savannah
businessman, better to ankle yourself to the great Kasimir Pulaski than to be
branded a Freemason. EVELYN Say "Jew" if that's what
you mean. KELLY Oh please. No self-respecting Southerner comes
right out and says what they mean. EVELYN Especially the Georgia
Pulaskis. You just make these up
as you go, don't you. KELLY I make up traditions wherever they
are sorely lacking. They have a
way of concealing the worst of human nature . . . EVELYN (mockingly) With 'right charming
hospitality? Listen, to a cynic
like me, all human nature is the worst of human nature. There's no face charming enough to
hide that. Well . . . Except
yours, of course. KELLY (could
be cross) Oh you have paid attention,
haven't you, Evie. Anyway,
let me get back to what my sister and I used to call our "summer
infestation of aunts[4]." EVELYN Aunts![5],
I beg of you. Now who sounds
like a Yank. KELLY (not
insulted; examining the grocery packages) You know, when I was very young I
used to think--naively--that pulling out a hand-full of my sister's hair was
about as ugly as siblings could get.
But then you see . . . (exaggerated) your own Mum and her sisters have
at it, over, say, who paid the most for Papa's Barko lounger; and caught in
that kind of crossfire, we kids knew just what kind of rank amateurs we
were. Except, though . . . Except
that one year, when my Cousin Boogie . . . EVELYN Oh stop now! Boogie? KELLY It's too horrible. Christian name, Bogolzata.[6] Don't ask. EVELYN Ah. I see now.
And am I correct in assuming there are no vowels in the Polish
alphabet? KELLY (back-stretching
a little) I did say not to ask, but, no,
there are a few. And sometimes
"Z". Anyway, Cousin
Boogie was one of these old souls trapped in a ten-year-old's body. The aunts, they just mostly avoided
her like she was the imp of the perverse, which of course she was. Overheard one of my Aunt Lucy's japes, (turning
up the Southern accent) "For graduation, I'm gonna
buy that child bail bonds 'stead of savings bonds." But, . . . but then at one of those
infamous picnics . . . EVELYN The picnic that was "no
picnic" . . . KELLY You're catching on now. One summer, at one of those picnics,
I had twisted my ankle, how d'ya do, and was stuck in a lawn chair and just
got to drink lemonade and watch people and was blissfully left alone. But there was Cousin Boogie. And one of her favorite games was to
make those paper things, like . . . what were they? Fortune telling, was it? Origami lotus thingies . . . (makes
an open-and-close diamond out of two hands, then pulls them apart) Cootie-catchers, I think called
them. where you'd pick a number,
then a color, then unfold a petal and . . . EVELYN Thus spake the Great Oracle of
Bogol . . . Bgzhbgzhbgzh . . . KELLY Don't embarrass yourself,
Dear. Anyway, the whole
routine's as harmless as Miss Cleo, let's face it. So, Boogie was famous for pestering the aunts to play this
with her. And there, poor,
eccentric Aunt Peony, thinking someone actually wanted to talk to her, picked
out her favorite color . . . {BEGIN
TABLEAU} EVELYN (smiling,
talking over KELLY, almost sotto voce) Mine's Kelly green. KELLY ... and her lucky number. Well, you know how it goes. It's usually--"Kelly green"
my ass--it's usually some rubbish about, you are a kind person, you like
Billy from church. Blah, blah,
blah. But when the moment of
truth arrives, (gesticulating) Aunt Peony turns from giggles to
absolutely stone faced, grabs sweater and purse, snaps her fingers at Aunt
Mildred, and growls, "Idjemy do autobus[7]
", and off they went to catch the No. 49 home. {END
TABLEAU} EVELYN Two aunts down, how many to go? KELLY You have no idea! See, Boogie, all those years
pretending to be the bashful introvert--in reality a consummate
listener. And unbeknownst to the
aunts, she made up one of them
thingies for each of them, custom written-like. And when (coming
to join EVELYN now, and nibble at the pistachios) you opened the flaps, instead of
fortunes, she had written down all the things the aunts were saying about
each other over the years. EVELYN What do you mean? KELLY Like whenever she went with them
to St. Hedwig's Bingo, or played croquet with them, Labor Day out the
backyard, you know what I mean.
She must have kept an absolutely wicked diary. Because--listen, here it
comes--"Aunt Lucy tells people that you're a lesbian"; or
"Aunt Mildred said she'll take your amethyst brooch when you kick the bucket;"
and "Uncle Lev stares at
the way way your bra cuts into your fat when you're playing
Euchre." Getting the
picture? EVELYN Yes, but that last one's not an
aunt. KELLY (short
fused) I'm just improvising now. EVELYN Was any of it true, then, what she
said? KELLY You mean what the aunts said? Well, touchˇ, that's it exactly. Down South, we say, a true gossip
won't lie if the truth will do more harm. My Aunt Mildred is a lesbian, you see. Point of fact, that's one of the
reasons I call my grandmother "The Troll" so often. This is off the point, but . . . EVELYN Hardly. Besides which I have a theory that Margaret Thatcher made
the despicable English granny au courant. What's your granny horror story then? KELLY Grandmother Matilda--Busia[8] Matty, we called her sometimes--with
the generous support of her church pastor and the local pork butcher . . . Well,
I don't know how else to put it, so I'll just say it: the three of them abducted my aunt
and put her in an institution. {BEGIN
TABLEAU} EVELYN Her butcher? What the blazes? KELLY |
