pt 65: I HAVE LONG BEEN A SLEEPER BUT I TRUST

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Scampi: Antarctica is full of snow.

 

Peter: What’s this?

 

Scampi: Valleys and plains, all made of snow. Lakes of snow.

 

Peter: Oh, really? Have you been?

 

Scampi: You know I have not.

 

SCAMPI REFLECTS UPON THESE AND OTHER FACTS FOR ONE OR TWO, PERHAPS SEVERAL DAYS.

 

Scampi: I am in the air on the subject, like a weather balloon.

 

Peter: What subject?

 

Scampi: I have been thinking.

 

Peter: Laudable.

 

Scampi: Is it?

 

Peter: Well, I suppose.

 

Scampi: You suppose so. Do you?

 

Peter: I suppose I do.

 

Scampi: Suffused with supposition. That’s you.

 

Peter: Where’s this going, now?

 

Scampi: Where do you want it to go? To the mountains?

 

Peter: Onward and upward.

 

Scampi: As they say.

 

Peter: They do. Wait, who does?

 

Scampi: They say it all the goddam time, Peter. You know this.

 

Peter: Are you in a violent frame of mind this morning?

 

Scampi: Who, me? I am a dove, a dove.

 

Peter: [PERTURBED]

 

Scampi: [ATTEMPTS THE QUIET OF MOUNTAIN RANGES.]

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Would you like to play a game?

 

Peter: Unlikely. What sort of game?

 

Scampi: A parlour game. An old-fashioned rigamarole of a time.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: This diversion is called “Fill in the blanks”. Ready?

 

Peter: I suppose.

 

Scampi: Ahem. The death of a loved one is ______?

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: You’re supposed to fill in the blanks.

 

Peter: I don’t understand this game.

 

Scampi: Why not?

 

Peter: It doesn’t make any sense.

 

Scampi: No. It doesn’t.

 

Peter: I would like to clear my throat.

 

Scampi: I support that.

 

Peter: Thank you.

 

Scampi: Have a clearance sale. Folks will come for miles. PETER’S BIGTIME THROAT-CLEARANCE SALE! EVERYTHING MUST GO!

 

Peter: I don’t know what manner of amphibian is setting up shop in there.

 

Scampi: In your throat?

 

Peter: Indeed. But I feel he should select a different habitat.

 

Scampi: Sometimes one has to move.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: Sometimes one is in the wrong spot.

 

Peter: Quite.

 

Scampi: The significance of this is not lost on me. For example.

 

Peter: Oh, very little is.

 

Scampi: Very funny.

 

Peter: I thought so.

 

Scampi: I could tell.

 

PETER CLEARS HIS THROAT.

 

Scampi: Did we ever make it to Mexico?

 

Peter: I don’t know.

 

Scampi: Are we leaving them behind? Or are they leaving us?

 

Peter: Who?

 

Scampi: Our loved ones.

 

Peter: I don’t know.

pt 76: BLACKPOOL

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Scampi: What if you had been there and heard it on the radio?

 

Peter: And? What if I had?

 

Scampi: Actually, let’s abandon this line.

 

Peter: That should be quite simple.

 

Scampi: I don’t want to talk about the bombing of Coventry.

 

Peter: Okay.

 

Scampi: Horrible stuff.

 

Peter: What brings this up?

 

Scampi: Who cares?

 

Peter: Right.

 

Scampi: I don’t want to think about it, hearing the war on the radio.

 

Peter: I’m sure it would be nicer than hearing the war in your ears.

 

Scampi: What do you listen to the radio with? Your nose?

 

Peter: No.

 

Scampi: Well then.

 

Peter: SIGHS.

 

Scampi: It’s too hot.

 

MUSICAL INTERLUDE.

pt 63: DUNKIRK

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Scampi: I had heard – Peter, are you listening to me?

 

Peter: Hm?

 

Scampi: Peter. I’d heard that Jane Austen.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: You know who that is, right?

 

Peter: Of course I do.

 

Scampi: (Yeah, right.) Anyway, she signed her letters, “your affectionate sister, JA”.

 

Peter: Did she sign all of her correspondence in this manner? How unusual.

 

Scampi: Ugh. I mean her letters to her sister. Not her letters to like, the Archduke of Mumbleford or whatever.

 

Peter: Oh? And how did she sign those letters?

 

Scampi: Humph. Well, think about this: Seventeen thousand Senegalese people died defending France in 1940. Did you know that?

 

Peter: I did not.

 

Scampi: I find it very upsetting.

 

Peter: You do seem agitated.

 

Scampi: Thank you.

 

SOFT PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Oh god.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: The air is full of snowflakes.

 

Peter: So it is. Is there a problem?

 

Scampi: I don’t know, Peter. Sometimes the massive beauty of the world is just too much for me. I don’t know what to say.

 

Peter: I don’t understand your use of italics there.

 

Scampi: Peter!

 

Peter: Am I missing something here?

 

Scampi: Pay attention! Seventeen thousand troops from Senegal were killed defending France. The air is full of snowflakes.

 

Peter: There you go with those italics again.

 

PETER RUBS HIS FOREHEAD.

 

Scampi: I was quoting myself. I was summing up.

 

Peter: What’s the difference between quoting yourself and repeating yourself?

 

Scampi (valiantly): Please look out the window.

 

Peter: The snow is falling.

 

Scampi: Or are we falling? Peter.

 

Peter: We seem fairly stable, as compared to the snow.

 

Scampi: (snorts)

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: Oh, you can have your opinions. Oh, certainly.

 

Peter: (offended)

 

Scampi: My tea is cold.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Peter, I wonder –

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: I’m not sure.

 

Peter: With whom are you speaking?

 

Scampi: You.

 

Peter: I see.

 

Scampi: Peter, I’m adressing you.

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: Like a letter. Haw haw.

 

PETER POLISHES HIS GLASSES. SCAMPI PIROUETTES.

 

Scampi: You know what we should do?

 

Peter: I do not.

 

Scampi: We should go to church!

 

Peter: Pardon me?

 

Scampi: I know that you heard me.

 

Peter: I confess, I did.

 

Scampi: Confessing already! Let’s go find a church.

 

Peter: Why would we do that?

 

Scampi: I think it could be a fun adventure.

 

Peter: Don’t we have enough adventure in our lives?

 

Scampi: HA! That’s rich. The last tweed-covered person who had as many adventures as you was Sherlock Holmes. Ha ha.

 

Peter: I have no idea what you’re speaking of.

 

Scampi: Imagine: a church in the midst of all these snow flurries. So quaint. We will pretend to be foreign emissaries. We will receive a hero’s welcome.

 

Peter: From the rector?

 

Scampi: The rector! Hilarious.

 

Peter: What do you want to visit a church for?

 

Scampi: I want to light candles.

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: I want to see in the dark.

 

Peter: But it isn’t dark out.

 

Scampi: In a church it is.

pt 134: DETAIL

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Scampi: Well, your hands are in good condition.

 

Peter: As is the top of your head.

 

Scampi: Yes. And a bowl of tangerines by the window.

 

Peter: A green bowl.

 

Scampi: Sea green.

 

Peter: The light perhaps hurts my eyes.

 

Scampi: You should perhaps get your eyes checked.

 

Peter: Perhaps.

 

Scampi: I dreamed of open water.

 

Peter: I dreamed of a coastal village.

 

Scampi: The fishermen are mending their nets.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: You look flushed.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: And yet your hands are very pale.

 

Peter: Not very pale.

 

Scampi: White. Like the bleached bones of sardines.

 

Peter: My hands are white.

 

Scampi: The sea off the coast is green. Green as a bowl of tangerines.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Fruit ripens in the sun.

 

Peter: By the window?

 

Scampi: And one day we ourselves become dust.

 

Peter: Aye.

 

Scampi: Pale bones.

 

Peter: Including the top of your head.

 

Scampi: Your hands.

 

Peter: The tangerines.

 

Scampi: The light in the window and the bowl and the sea?

 

Peter: The sea contains dust.

 

Scampi: Silt. S’il te plait.

 

Peter: Also, crustaceans.

 

Scampi: Of course, at night the water’s black.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Can you do me a favour?

 

Peter: Such a thing may be within my powers.

 

Scampi: Next time, light a fire on the beach.

 

Peter: What beach?

 

Scampi: Of the village.

 

Peter: To what end?

 

Scampi: Just curious.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: I want to know how far I am from shore.

pt 10: WHAT PEOPLE SMELL LIKE, AND THEIR HAIR

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Scampi: Let’s talk about how I would ask just anyone to dance.

 

Peter: [QUIETLY READING].

 

Scampi: Hey Peter, remember when ________________________________________ ________________ __________________ ___________________________________________?

 

Peter: [SIGHS.]

 

Scampi: Anyway, I would ask anyone to dance. That’s the whole point of it. I would ask a toadstool! I would ask your mother, on your sister’s wedding day, and she would weep upon my shoulder. Eh? How do you like that?

 

Peter: I really don’t think that seems plausible.

 

Scampi: Ha! Naturally! And that shows just about how much you know. I don’t see anyone weeping on your shoulder. Unless those flakes of skin are really the tears of a loving mother on her daughter’s wedding day. Which I do not suppose they are. Not even for a second! This is simply not the case! I would dance with ANYONE. ANYONE.

 

Peter: Yes, I think we’ve all apprehended that.

 

Scampi: I should hope you have. Because it’s true.

pt 20 ¾: PETER DABBLES THROUGH THE VALLEY

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Scampi: Ok, Peter, let’s get some things straight.

 

Peter: My mouth is like, full of pizza.

 

Scampi: Why are you talking that way?

 

Peter: There is pizza sauce on each one of my fingers.

 

Scampi: Disgusting.

 

Peter: God, I feel good.

 

Scampi: You rococo thumbprint.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: What’s up with your freshly minted tackiness incarnate?

 

Peter: Is this what passes for belligerence these days?

 

Scampi: You know what’s hilarious? Someone trying to say shit while his mouth is full of nasty old pizza.

 

Peter: It’s funny you should mention that.

 

Scampi: Oh yeah?

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: Why?

 

Peter: I think you know why.

 

Scampi: Maybe you don’t think at all.

 

Peter: I think that I am eating pizza instead of talking to you.

 

Scampi: I think you’re wearing suspenders.

 

Peter: Yes. You’re correct.

 

Scampi: You anachronism.

 

PETER STUFFS HIS MOUTH WITH SHITTY PIZZA.

 

Scampi: It looks good on you.

 

Peter: Tomato?

 

Scampi: Another time.

 

Peter: Melted cheese?

 

Scampi: No, the trappings of the past.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: They’ve trapped you, all right.

 

Peter: Hm.

 

Scampi: But that suits you.

 

Peter: I’m gonna get a cellphone and a girlfriend. Once I’ve got a cellphone and a girlfriend, I’ll never get off either.

 

Scampi: Yeah.

 

Peter: I will drive the word pedestrian right through your cerebral cortex with a darning needle. I’m gonna paint this town taupe with mediocrity.

 

Scampi: I bet you’ll miss the ocean when you’re gone.

 

Peter: What ocean?

 

Scampi: You thrive on that shit. You like missing the ocean sixty four percent more than you like swimming in it.

 

Peter: Whatever, Scampi.

 

Scampi: You’ll be licking the salt off your skin.

 

Peter: My skin is none of your business.

 

Scampi: And you’ll remember how it carried you.

 

Peter: Perhaps I will be using my newfound social capital to purchase a flotation device. This will likely carry me far more efficiently than the unpredictable saline depths.

 

Scampi: Yes, Peter.

 

Peter: I’m glad you see reason.

 

Scampi: I do.

 

Peter: Good.

 

Scampi: I see it floating away.

 

Peter: I often neglect to shave.

 

Scampi: We are a delicate race.

 

THIS SILENCE WILL GO UNEXPLAINED.

 

Peter: My eyes are changing colour.

 

Scampi: They always do that.

 

Peter: So, what’s the big problem with me eating pizza? I’m not allowed to feed myself?

 

Scampi: No.

 

Peter: Is that it?

 

Scampi: No, that’s not it.

 

Peter: Well?

 

Scampi: Well, nothing. I don’t even know how tall you are.

 

Peter: I am six feet tall.

 

Scampi: That’s what you say.

 

Peter: It is.

 

Scampi: Go to sleep, Peter.

 

Peter: I’m already sleeping.

pt 19: SCIENCE IS OBVIOUS

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Scampi: Is this a good time to talk about beauty?

 

Peter: What are you talking about?

 

Scampi: [glares]

 

Peter: Okay, okay. What do you mean?

 

Scampi: You know what I mean. Maybe you don’t.

 

Peter: Maybe I don’t.

 

Scampi: No.

 

Peter: Well. That’s settled, then!

 

Scampi: I don’t believe a word of it.

 

Peter: Do you think I’m lying?

 

Scampi: You’re a sucky liar, for a liar.

 

Peter: Don’t call me a liar!

 

Scampi: What was that, liar? I mean, uh, Mr Lying-Pants.

 

Peter: I object. I really do.

 

Scampi: Peter’s mad and I’m glad.

 

Peter: [is livid.]

 

Scampi: Have some more coffee. Here, I’ll pour it for you, all nice. And, I mean, you see that bird? At the top of the tree out the window? I don’t even know what kind of bird that is. See it? What is that?

 

Peter: We have already ascertained that none of us know what kind of bird that is.

 

Scampi: And all the leaves. What do you call that?

 

Peter: Foliage.

 

Scampi: But it’s spring, it’s springtime. I can feel it in the muscles of my arms. Aren’t you excited?

 

Peter: I am unamused.

 

Scampi: Liar! You’re totally amused!

 

Peter: [stony silence]

 

Scampi: Oh. Sorry. (Pause.) You know that wasn’t on purpose. Come on.

 

Peter: Well.

 

Scampi: I told you. I wanna talk about like, beauty. Like, mercy in the world. You know?

 

Peter: Que la vie est dur.

 

Scampi : You look nice today.

 

Peter: Thank you.

 

Scampi: I want to touch you and those green leaves at the same time.

 

Peter: There have always been leaves that are green. There have equally been leaves of other colours.

 

Scampi: Not to mention no leaves at all.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: I like your plumage just fine, Peter. I think you are nicely plumed.

 

Peter: Hm. Ah.

 

Scampi: It’s the season. It’s the season to march out the door in your feathered best.

 

Peter: I don’t have a feathered vest.

 

Scampi: What? What’s wrong with you?

 

Peter: Excuse me?

 

Scampi: I said feathered best. BEST.

 

Peter: Oh.

 

Scampi: You and your eyelashes. Don’t get so cagey with how gorgeous things can be. Open up your eyes, baby. Drink up.

 

Peter: W—

 

Scampi: I’m talking about everything. I’m talking about how good everything looks, or at least some things, at least right now. I’m saying you should pay attention. I’m telling you to effing pay attention to this shit.

 

Peter: Sometimes, you are very noisy.

 

Scampi: Goddammit Peter.

 

Peter: Don’t swear at me.

 

Scampi: But you have such beautiful hands.

 

PETER INSPECTS HIS HANDS.

 

Scampi: No wonder you have no money.

pt 17: CANYONS

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Scampi: Today I would like to speak about Natural History.

 

Peter: I can hardly contain my anticipation.

 

Scampi: Natural History is all about birds, fish, the tips of trees that you cannot see because you are on the ground, and the human heart, that maudlin manic fist.

 

Peter: It does not take a top-notch prepschool education to disprove such nonsense.

 

Scampi: Peter, why don’t you open up your ribcage and breathe in some possibilities? You are behaving like a sucking chest wound.

 

Peter: I often have difficulty with the imagery you employ.

 

Scampi: We are all eminently employable, at heart.

 

Peter: Can I mention something about science fiction classics here?

 

Scampi (graciously): Yes. Now, on to brighter climes. Existence, like being a waitress, is a dance. It is a waltz, it is a foxtrot. It is a moshpit, and a bathroom overdose on the side, and it is a prayer, a softshoe jazz routine and a humble request to not fall over, please. It is a pickup truck, for god’s sake. It’s all a dance. Give me your hand.

 

Peter: You may look at it, but you can’t keep it.

 

Scampi: Peter’s fingers are surprisingly slender. I have known men with longer, thinner fingers than this, but those fingers were attached to longer, thinner men.

 

Peter: Are you insinuating something about my appearance?

 

Scampi: I insinuate nothing. I am toxic with infatuation.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: From the solar system right on down to the paint scraper in my pocket, I am idiotically infatuated with this world. You have no idea. It even hurts. It hurts like your stomach hurts when you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, but you still can’t stop. That’s how I feel about this world.

 

Peter: Hurt?

 

Scampi: Don’t mind if I do.

pt 12 ½: SUMMER STORMS (OR, HOW SCAMPI AND PETER ARE TRANSPARENT, LIKE ACETATE)

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Scampi: What do you call it when the air snaps and cracks – is that electricity, or dust?

 

Peter: Uh.

 

Scampi: You know what I mean. Don’t you? You do. You know – when the air makes that sort of crackling noise, like static on a carpet.

 

Peter: When dust particles suspended in the air have sunlight passing through them they look kinda crackly. Or, um, fireflies? Is that what you mean?

 

Scampi: No.

 

Peter: I have only ever experienced what you’re describing subjectively, before a thunderstorm.

 

Scampi: Oh.

 

 

Scampi: Are you asleep?

 

Peter: No. Reading.

 

Scampi: I am watching the spectacles on your nose. They are sitting like, right at the end. And your hair on your forehead, like a young man.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: When your hair is on your forehead like that, it makes you look more like a younger man, or maybe someone from a hundred years ago.

 

Peter: That would make me an older man.

 

Scampi: Shut up. That’s not what I meant.

 

Peter: Did you just tell me to shut up?

 

Scampi: No. Cross that out.

 

Peter: [Scampi: Shut up.]

 

Scampi: You know what’s really stupid? Feminist organisations that are stuck in some stupid thing like the second wave, or maybe the third. Wait, what wave are we on now?

 

Peter: Well—

 

Scampi: Like some dumb feminist organisation in 1997. I hate that shit.

 

Peter: Why did you decide you hate 1997 feminist organisations today?

 

Scampi: That’s not what I said. That was three weeks ago, in the morning. This is three weeks later, and it’s dark out.

 

PETER, QUIETLY READING, LETS IT GO.

 

Scampi: Do you want some potatoes? Or beets?

 

Peter: No.

 

Scampi: Because there are some.

 

Peter: Really?

 

Scampi: Yeah.

 

Peter: Are they delicious?

 

Scampi: Pretty much.

 

PETER GLOWS IN SCAMPI’S DIRECTION

 

Scampi: Are you pregnant?

 

Peter: (stares at his stomach, and makes it pop out more) Yes. I’m carrying our love child.

 

Scampi: Because you’re glowing.

 

Peter: I’m glowing? I shaved today.

 

Scampi: No, that’s not it.

 

PETER LEAVES THE ROOM.

 

PETER RETURNS.

 

Peter: Your potatoes and beets are internationally renowned for their deliciousness.

 

Scampi: (blush).