Family Dreams: A Modern Skit by Gavarre Benjamin

 

Family Dreams: A Modern Skit

by Gavarre Benjamin

 

® BENJAMÍN GAVARRE SILVA

If you want to put this text on stage, contact the author:

gavarreunam@gmail.com

 

 

CHARACTERS:

·       MAXIMILIANO EMILIANO (MAX): 17 years old. High school student, dramatic, innocent.

·       MOM (TERESA): 40 years old. Practical, elegant, very informed by internet media.

·       DAD (ARTHUR): 45 years old. The father, the man of the house, masculine, loving, sweet.

·       SOFÍA (SOFI): 20 years old. Older sister, unfiltered and detail-oriented.

 

SCENE I: The Shower in the Classroom

 

(The stage is MAX’s room, filled with books and classic heavy metal band posters. MAXIMILIANO EMILIANO wakes up with a jolt, pale, gasping. He covers his face with both hands.)

MAX: (Shouting, choked) The desks! The coconut soap! And the Chemistry teacher!

(MOM (Teresa) enters, with a designer coffee thermos. She calmly looks at her son.)

MOM: What’s wrong, Maximiliano Emiliano? What’s so urgent that you’re making me spill the FOAM FROM MY CAPPUCCINO?

MAX: I had a dream, Mom! A terrible nightmare. I was at high school, in the classroom. And... (He shivers) I WAS TAKING A SHOWER... In my underwear.

MOM: (Sipping coffee) A shower in an inappropriate place? Classic. It means you feel vulnerable in a social judgment environment. It’s in your Social Hygiene class syllabus.

MAX: And the worst part is I kept showering so calmly, like it was nothing. And I was yelling at everyone! “Bet you don’t even notice I’m in my underwear! Don’t you see me?”

MOM: They didn’t notice?

MAX: At first, they didn’t react, but then, in my dream, their faces distorted and they started laughing under their breath, hiding it with books, and making grimaces and sounds of terror. And the teacher, who stopped being the Chemistry teacher and slowly turned into a teacher with demon eyes and ears, approached my desk and whispered to me, as I was rinsing myself off very hard: “Why don’t you just take off your underwear and spare us the mystery?”

MOM: (Sighs, sits on the edge of the bed) Oh, Maximiliano. Don’t get caught up in so many details. At your age, dreams are pure hormonal mess. Have I told you about wet dreams? Me, for example... Last night I had a dream…

MAX: (Interrupts her in a panic) No, Mom! Don’t tell me your dreams!

MOM: No, let me. It’s relevant. Last night I dreamed I was in my spinning class, but the bike wasn’t moving. And instead of pedaling, the instructor forced me to sign fifteen documents in Mandarin Chinese about a company merger. Do you know what that means?

MAX: (Staring at her) That you have a lot of pending work.

MOM: Exactly! That work stress is manifesting in my subconscious as a stationary bike that won’t move! Your dream is the same: You feel overwhelmed by the responsibility of performing well academically and meeting the expectations of teachers and students… Now, let’s talk about your future.

MAX: My future is working in a call center if you keep explaining things I don’t understand… I think instead of studying, I’m going to go live on a mountain and raise goats and rabbits!

MOM: Oh, for God’s sake, with the goats and rabbits again! Did you know they’re not related?

MAX: Yes! I’ll sell cheese. And rabbit’s feet. I’m very cunning and I’ll get rich with my goat cheese. I want goats… and rabbits!

MOM: Goats cost money, honey. And did you know that to get rabbit’s feet… you have to knock them out, those little rabbits you like so much.

MAX: Don’t talk to me like I’m still a child… I’d already thought about it… I’m going to make rabbit barbacoa and goat cheese… And when I come to this city that stinks, I’ll sell fried rabbit, rabbit’s feet, and goat cheese… The city is rotting my soul… And yes, I need the simplicity of the countryside to be happy. That’s why I dream weird things…

MOM: I’ll tell you what rots the soul, Maximiliano: a recurring dream I had at your age. I dreamed my grandmother was chasing me through the supermarket with a giant cucumber, screaming that I would never find love. The cucumber had eyes and a mouth like… like that. (She makes a strange gesture with her mouth and then puts her hand to her chest, dramatically).

MAX: (Blinking) Mom, that’s... quite specific.

MOM: And in the morning, my grandmother would ask me: “Teresa, did you buy the cucumbers for the salad yet?” Fate laughs at you, son! Don’t take this giant underwear thing so seriously. You’re only seventeen.

MAX: (Blinking) Mom, I never said they were giant, but yes, they were two sizes bigger than mine… Like the ones Dad wears...

MOM: That explains everything.

 

SCENE II: The Last Straw

(At that moment, the front door bursts open loudly. DAD (Arthur) and SOFÍA (Sofi), the older sister, enter. They have been listening from the doorway.)

DAD: Teresa! For God’s sake! Were you talking about Grandma’s cucumber again?

SOFI: (Advances with a mischievous smile) I think it’s time to talk about dreams, Dad. And with no holds barred, I mean, to get into context. (Condescendingly) Max, your shower dream is sweet. But we need to give it some substance.

MAX: (Shrinks, embarrassed) Sofi, shut up! You shouldn’t have been listening.

SOFI: Of course, I should have. We have to be honest. I, for example, will give my dream testimony, that is… I’m going to speak my mind about my dreams… (Everyone makes a “Please no” face) Last night I dreamed I was on top of the Angel of Independence, but the Angel was a two-scoop ice cream, and I was the spoon. And pink seagulls were screaming things at me in French. (She laughs shamelessly).

MOM: (Looks at her with disapproval) Sofi, that’s too detailed a dream.

DAD: (Getting nervous) Of course, it’s detailed! Your dreams are always too detailed. Always erotic! Always with cucumbers or ice cream angels… and… scoops!

MOM: Alright, Arthur. And what did you dream about? (With double meaning) About the stock market crash?... Ha, ha… Or, I know, the collapse of the Latin American Tower. (Softens at ARTHUR’S offended look) No? Or… About your Excel report?

DAD: No, I dreamed about a... a buffalo. In the middle of the office.

SOFI: A buffalo? Ugh. That means: Repressed aggression. That’s a classic, Daddy.

DAD: It was a buffalo, but then it turned into a young, muscular bull! ...You know… (He clears his throat) And then, I had another dream. But that one… I can’t tell you… it’s more… personal. It’s very intimate.

MOM: Arthur, please! After the cucumbers and the spoons on the Angel, spill the beans. We’re a family!

DAD: (Blushing deeply, looks around, as if a pillar were listening to him) I dreamed that... that I kissed a Man. On the cheek. Well, maybe... on the mouth. One kiss. One. (He gestures with his finger, measuring).

MOM: (Shouts) Who with, Arthur?!

DAD: I don’t know! A friend! But it was an innocent kiss! Very chaste! Like the ones the French and Muslims give each other when they greet! There’s nothing wrong with it! You tell erotic dreams and I just told about a kiss!

MAX: (Shouts, grabbing an object from the table) Liar, Dad! The innocent kiss doesn’t exist! And a kiss on the mouth is never innocent!

(MAX throws the book Lazarillo de Tormes at Dad.)

MOM: (Shouting in a high-pitched, melodramatic tone, grabbing the coffee thermos) A kiss with a friend! A kiss on the mouth? Take your innocence!

(MOM throws the thermos.)

SOFI: (Laughing hysterically, grabs the nearest cushion) The buffalo turned into a bull and the bull kissed the friend! And it was with tongue, Daddy, was it with tongue?

(SOFI throws the cushion.)

(DAD covers his head with his hands as objects thrown by Mom and Max (book, thermos, cushion) fly towards him. MAXIMILIANO EMILIANO laughs and cries at the same time, liberated by the family absurdity. SOFI laughs out loud.)

(THE END)

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Sueños en familia: Brevísima comedia. Por Gavarre Benjamin.

 

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Sueños en familia: Brevísima comedia

Por Gavarre Benjamin

® BENJAMÍN GAVARRE SILVA

Si quieres llevar este texto al escenario contacta con el autor: gavarreunam@gmail.com

 

PERSONAJES:

MAXIMILIANO EMILIANO (MAX): 17 años. Estudiante de prepa, dramático, inocente.

MAMÁ (TERESA): 40 años. Práctica, elegante, muy informada por medios de internet.

PAPÁ(ARTURO): 45 años. El padre, el hombre de la casa, varonil, amoroso, dulce.

SOFI: 20 años. Hermana mayor, sin filtros y amante del detalle.

 

ESCENA I: La Regadera en el Aula

 

(El escenario es la habitación de MAX, llena de libros y carteles de bandas de heavy metal clásico. MAXIMILIANO EMILIANO se despierta de golpe, pálido, jadeando. Se cubre la cara con ambas manos.)

MAX: (Gritando, ahogado) ¡Los pupitres! ¡El jabón de coco! ¡Y el profe de Química!

(Entra MAMÁ (Teresa), con un termo de café de diseño. Mira con calma a su hijo.)

MAMÁ: ¿Qué pasa, Maximiliano Emiliano? ¿Qué es tan urgente que me haces tirar la ESPUMA DE MI CAPUCHINO?

MAX: ¡Tuve un sueño, Mamá! Una pesadilla terrible. Estaba en la prepa, en el salón de clases. Y... (Se estremece) ME ESTABA BAÑANDO... En calzones.

MAMÁ: (Bebiendo café) ¿Una ducha en un lugar inadecuado? Es clásico. Significa que sientes vulnerabilidad ante un entorno de juicio social. Lo tienes en el temario de tu clase de Higiene Social.

MAX: Y lo peor es que yo me seguía bañando tan tranquilo, como si nada. ¡Y les gritaba a todos! "¡A que no se dan cuenta de que estoy en calzones! ¿Que no me ven?".

MAMÁ: ¿No se daban cuenta?

MAX: Al principio no reaccionaban, pero luego, en mi sueño, se les distorsionaba la cara y empezaban a reír por lo bajo, disimulando con los libros, y hacían muecas y ruidos de terror. Y el maestro, que dejó de ser el de Química y se convirtió como en cámara lenta en un maestro con ojos y orejas de demonio, se acercó a mi pupitre y me susurró, mientras yo me enjuagaba muy fuerte: "¿Por qué no te quitas los calzones y nos ahorras el misterio?".

MAMÁ: (Suspira, se sienta en el borde de la cama) Ay, Maximiliano. No te enredes con tantos detalles. A tu edad, los sueños son puro desorden hormonal. ¿Ya te hablé de los sueños húmedos? Yo, por ejemplo... Anoche tuve un sueño…

MAX: (La interrumpe con pánico) ¡No, Mamá! ¡No me cuentes tus sueños!

MAMÁ: No, déjame. Es relevante. Anoche soñé que estaba en mi clase de spinning, pero la bicicleta no se movía. Y en lugar de pedalear, el instructor me obligaba a firmar quince documentos en chino mandarín sobre una fusión de empresas. ¿Sabes lo que significa eso?

MAX: (Mirándola fijamente) Que tienes mucho trabajo pendiente.

MAMÁ: ¡Exacto! ¡Que el estrés laboral se está manifestando en mi subconsciente como una bicicleta estática que no avanza! Tu sueño es lo mismo: Tú te sientes abrumado por la responsabilidad de tener un buen desempeño académico y cumplir con las expectativas de los docentes y del alumnado… Ahora, hablemos de tu futuro.

MAX: Mi futuro es trabajar en un call-center si me sigues explicando cosas que no entiendo… ¡Yo creo que en lugar de estudiar me voy a ir a un monte a vivir y a cuidar cabras y conejos!

MAMÁ: ¡Ay, por Dios, otra vez con las cabras y los conejos! ¿Sabías que no están relacionados?

MAX: ¡Sí! Venderé queso. Y patas de conejo. Soy muy astuto y me haré rico con mi queso de cabra. ¡Quiero cabras… y conejos!

MAMÁ: Las cabras cuestan dinero, cielo. Y sí sabías que para tener las patas de conejo… les tienes que dar CRAN a los conejitos que tanto te gustan.

MAX: No me hables como si fuera todavía un niño… Ya lo había pensado… Voy a hacer barbacoa de conejo y queso de cabra… Y cuando venga a esta ciudad que apesta voy a vender conejo frito, patas de conejo y queso de cabra… La ciudad me está pudriendo el alma… Y sí, necesito la sencillez del campo para ser feliz. Es por eso que sueño cosas raras…

MAMÁ: Yo te voy a decir lo que pudre el alma, Maximiliano: un sueño recurrente que tuve a tu edad. Soñé que mi abuela me perseguía por el súper con un pepino gigante, gritándome que nunca iba a encontrar el amor. El pepino tenía ojos y boca así como… así. (Hace un gesto raro con la boca y luego se lleva la mano al pecho, dramática).

MAX: (Parpadeando) Mamá, eso es... bastante específico.

MAMÁ: Y por la mañana, mi abuela me preguntaba: "Teresa, ¿ya compraste los pepinos para la ensalada?". ¡El destino se ríe de ti, hijo! No te tomes tan en serio el asunto de los calzones gigantes. Solo tienes diecisiete.

MAX: (Parpadeando) Mamá, nunca dije que fueran gigantes, pero sí, eran dos tallas más grandes que los míos… Como los que usa papá...

MAMÁ: Eso lo explica todo.

 

ESCENA II: El Colmo del Colmillo

(En ese momento, la puerta principal se abre ruidosamente. Entran PAPÁ(Arturo) y SOFI, la hermana mayor. Han estado escuchando desde la puerta.)

PAPÁ: ¡Teresa! ¡Por el amor de Dios! ¿Estaban hablando del pepino de la abuela otra vez?

SOFI: (Avanza con una sonrisa pícara) Yo pienso que ya es hora de hablar de sueños, Papá. Y a calzón quitado, digo, para entrar en contexto. (Condescendiente) Max, tu sueño de la regadera es tierno. Pero hay que darle contenido.

MAX: (Se encoge, avergonzado) ¡Sofi, cállate! No tenías por qué escuchar.

SOFI: Claro que sí. Hay que ser honestos. Yo, por ejemplo, daré mi testimonio onírico, es decir… Voy a hablar sin pelos en la lengua de mis sueños… (Todos hacen cara de “No, por favor”) Anoche soñé que estaba en la cima del Ángel de la Independencia, pero el Ángel era un helado de dos bolas, y yo era la cuchara. Y unas gaviotas rosas me gritaban cosas en francés. (Se ríe sin pudor).

MAMÁ: (La mira con desaprobación) Sofi, ese es un sueño demasiado detallado.

PAPÁ: (Poniéndose nervioso) ¡Claro que es detallado! Los sueños de ustedes siempre son demasiado detallados. ¡Siempre eróticos! ¡Siempre con pepinos o ángeles helados… y… bolas!

MAMÁ: A ver, Arturo. ¿Y tú qué soñaste? (Con doble intención) ¿Con la caída de la bolsa?... Ja, ja… O, ya sé, la caída de la Torre Latinoamericana. (Atenúa ante la mirada ofendida de ARTURO) ¿No? O… ¿Con tu reporte de Excel?

PAPÁ: No, soñé con un... un búfalo. En medio de la oficina.

SOFI: ¿Un BÚFALO? Uf. Eso quiere decir: Agresividad reprimida. Es un clásico, Papi.

PAPÁ: ¡Era un búfalo, pero luego se convirtió en un toro joven y musculoso! ...Ya saben… (Carraspea) Y luego, tuve otro sueño. Pero ese… No se los puedo contar… es más… personal. Es muy íntimo.

MAMÁ: ¡Arturo, por favor! Después de los pepinos y las cucharas en el Ángel, suelta la sopa. ¡Somos una familia!

PAPÁ: (Ruborizándose profundamente, mira hacia todos lados, como si un pilar lo estuviera escuchando) Soñé que... que me besaba con un amigo. En la mejilla. Bueno, tal vez... en la boca. Un beso. Uno. (Gesticula con el dedo, midiendo).

MAMÁ: (Grita) ¡¿Con quién, Arturo?!

PAPÁ: ¡No sé! ¡Un amigo! ¡Pero fue un beso inocente! ¡Muy casto! ¡Como los que se dan los franceses y los musulmanes cuando se saludan! ¡No tiene nada de malo! ¡Ustedes cuentan sueños eróticos y yo nada más conté un beso!

MAX: (Grita, agarrando un objeto de la mesa) ¡Mentira, Papá! ¡El beso inocente no existe! Y el beso en la boca nunca es inocente.

(MAX lanza el libro del Lazarillo de Tormes al Papá).

MAMÁ: (Gritando con un tono agudo y melodramático, agarrando el termo de café) ¡Un beso con un amigo! ¿Un beso en la boca? ¡Eso no tiene nada de inocente!

(MAMÁ lanza el termo).

SOFI: (Riendo histéricamente, toma el cojín más cercano) ¡El búfalo se convirtió en toro y el toro se besó con el amigo! ¡Y fue de lengüita, papi, fue de lengua?

(SOFI lanza el cojín).

(El PAPÁ se cubre la cabeza con las manos mientras los objetos que lanzan Mamá y Max (libro, termo, cojín) vuelan hacia él. MAXIMILIANO EMILIANO ríe y llora a la vez, liberado por el absurdo familiar. SOFI ríe a carcajadas).

(FIN)

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FRIAR BLUSH FOR I HAVE WINGS TO FLY: AN INTERLUDE By GAVARRE BENJAMIN

  

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FRIAR BLUSH

 

FOR I HAVE WINGS TO FLY: AN INTERLUDE

By GAVARRE BENJAMIN

 

 

This work has been published for free and open dissemination, although all intellectual property rights are reserved. Public use of this work requires permission from the author and for permission contact bengavarre@gmail.com or gavarreunam@gmail.com (Reg. Prop. Int. Expte. Inbox)

 

 

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Characters:

·       SCAR (THE WISE PIMP): A retired pimp who no longer practices but now tells bad jokes.

·       FRIAR BLUSH: Young and sexy; receives harassment from everyone.

·       TINY TINKER (The Madman): Talks to himself: "Tinker, Tinker, the light has arrived, the light has arrived..."

·       FATHER QUACK (THE HYPOCRITE): The worst priest in the Church; wants to get rid of his young pupil, Friar Blush.

·       MAD NAN: The village madwoman who everyone 'has a go at' on St. John's Night. She lifts her skirt at the slightest provocation.

 

Setting:

 

A liminal space, between an orchard and a graveyard: No Man's Land. This corner is a usual refuge for the mad and the vagrants who come to sleep, drink, or engage in other activities. By day, it is a pretty, sunny spot. By night, it is a gathering place for all kinds of vagabonds, outcasts, or those retired from "The World" who seek safety or a place to spend the night. It is situated near a market or a church. This corner is the home of Mad Nan, Tiny Tinker, and Scar, but it is always open to unexpected guests.

 

Scene One:

 

NO MAN'S LAND: The Open-Air Cloister

(MAD NAN, TINY TINKER, and SCAR are in their respective spots. FRIAR BLUSH enters, seeing them with fear and shyness. Behind him, almost simultaneously, enters FATHER QUACK (hereafter QUACK), who has a leash attached to Friar Blush, like the kind used today for dogs, which extends and can be locked with a simple device.)

QUACK:

Souls of good faith! I have come to request assistance for this poor boy, a portent of bad habits and inappropriate conduct. I want you to show FRIAR BLUSH how badly he might end up if he continues with his folly. What better mirrors of a miserable future than those of you who have fallen into Perdition?

SCAR:

(Ignores the insults Quack has casually thrown. He raises a hand and puts it away, having made quick mental calculations). Hmph... I don't see him as so inappropriate. He looks a bit skinny, but he has good looks... If he fed himself a little better, he could take charge of some girls I know... who need a strong lad to take their money... of which I would be due a fair share.

MAD NAN:

(Rises abruptly). You want to make the boy a pimp, so you can be the pimp's pimp... Jesus, what nerve! Can't you see that in this territory, I am the one who keeps all the profits? Come on, boy, turn around! We want to see your package and your backside to see if you're good as merchandise or merely a merchant's clerk!

QUACK: (Struggling with Tiny Tinker, who is writhing).

Hold steady, son! Look, holy man! They've got their eye on you and recognize you're sexy and capable, if a little skinny!

TINY TINKER: (Openly harasses Friar Blush, smelling and touching him).

Come on, you gardener's dog, why are you tied up by that man wearing a shit-colored gown...? Tell me, skinny little angel... (Now he harasses Quack). And who is this pompous old turkey-face? Why does he tie you up like a pig? He looks more like a pig himself, after gorging on scrawny chickens and a possum stuck in a bush! Nahhh, I can't stand him. He's the color of a boiled louse! Woof! Woof! Tinker, Tinker, Woof!

QUACK: (Terrified).

I am not a dog, so do not bark at me... I am the servant of my flock! I am a holy man...

TINY TINKER:

Nahh... you're a waste of time. I'd rather interview this unusual boy... What have you got for me... Heh heh.

FRIAR BLUSH:

I just want to be a free farmer, I want to sell potatoes and onions... I am a poor, vulnerable boy, oh dear...

TINY TINKER:

Well, I am the king! And I declare this handsome boy my godson and protected one... Tinker, Tinker, the light has arrived, the light has arrived... (With prophetic wisdom). If anyone dares to touch him, I will fill their head with lice myself! And I'll eat them one after another, like a mother orangutan cleaning her babies... (Speaking madly to himself). Tinker, what do you say, Tinker...? Is that not right?...

MAD NAN: (To Tiny Tinker).

I know you will protect us from ill omens. Take that leash off the Friar-dog, I want to show him what I'm wearing. (She lifts her skirt and shows her undergarments to Friar Blush). Look, little Friar, you are so pretty I wish I could take you to the fields with me... there we will grow potatoes and onions and cabbages and cucumbers and watermelons and papayas... (She tries to be sensual). Do you like what you see? Because I can show it to you inside-out...

FRIAR BLUSH: (Terrified).

Merciful God the Father, you have brought me here to hell on earth. I don't want to be a martyr, I don't want to go with this saintly woman, and I no longer want to grow potatoes or onions... I want to go to a beach in the Caribbean and be taken care of by a Grand Duke or a feudal lord.

TINY TINKER:

You should have said so earlier! I am a Duke, I am a feudal lord. I am a Prince, even better, I am God! I'll take you to Cancun or the Canary Islands and buy you a lemon ice cream while we watch the sunset and see the divers throw themselves from the Cliff... Let's all go to Acapulco, my treat...!

FRIAR BLUSH: (Shouting).

That makes no sense! I don't want to go with you because you are very mad. You all frighten me, and I want a normal life, with a cottage in the shire and I want to have some chickens and a piglet and grow potatoes and onions.

SCAR:

Potatoes and onions... you said it... and then you took it back, who can understand you... But come on, boy, with those looks, you could get a Duchess, a Marquess, or a beautiful prostitute... I can be your protector too, if you like... I can take your money, but you know: 85% is mine!

TINY TINKER: (Gives free rein to his madness, changes the subject).

Tinker, Tinker, the light has arrived, the light has arrived... (Laughing, while pretending to brush dust off his shoulder). I have a joke for my grandmother's empty cupboards! What did a pious lady of the court do when she couldn't pay the tailor?

MAD NAN: (Quickly enters his game).

What did she do?

SCAR: (Also inserts himself into the chain of bad jokes).

I know: She prayed to all the saints to sew up the holes in her stockings!

ALL: (Sound of a rimshot, "Ba dum tss," and immediately followed by general disapproval). Ugh!

MAD NAN:

I have it, I have it: The pious lady ate her snot and smeared snails on the windows so no one could see what was happening inside. She never paid the Tailor and soiled the fine clothes...

ALL: (Tiny Tinker and Scar exchange a look of comic disapproval). Oof! That was worse!

QUACK:

I believe that good woman of the court worried about the neighborhood children and tied a rope around their necks as if they were dogs to turn them into martyrs and thus achieve salvation in heaven.

FRIAR BLUSH: (Clutching his head, ignoring the jokes and mockery).

Everyone here is a demon! This is an infernal competition of nonsense...! I want to live in a cottage, with some sheep and a dog, and I want some goats and to eat goat cheese...

MAD NAN:

And you would need a woman, a woman to cook you potatoes and carrots... what do you say? I'm on sale.

TINY TINKER: (Returns to the string of jokes).

I have a joke for the lonely men who live with their dog and their sheep... Do you want to hear it?

FRIAR BLUSH: (Giving in a little).

Fine. I want to hear the joke about the sheep...

TINY TINKER:

A little shepherd like Friar Blush lived in the country with a dog and many sheep. One day, a friend from the city came to visit and asked him: — Hey, are you one of those who sleeps with sheep? — Disgusting!... And the little shepherd, very calmly, replied: — And if you saw the threesomes I organize with the dog...

FRIAR BLUSH:

Help, where are you, my God?! I don't want to go to the country anymore, I don't want sheep, I don't want dogs... I want a holy life and a vow of poverty in a Hermitage! I want to be an anchorite and for no one to bother me! (He starts what is clearly a long, pathetic speech about his destiny). My destiny in the World, in the Century, is no longer for me, nor is the Cloister where wicked monks live... I prefer to be a solitary hermit, an anchorite, a servant of God in the Desert... just as Jesus, our Lord, walked through the...

(Fed up with the speech, Tiny Tinker, Mad Nan, and Scar, without a word and coordinated, interrupt him and playfully hit him — three quick, rhythmic taps on the back or head — with mild, comic violence.)

FRIAR BLUSH: (Voice of a scolded child, high-pitched and trembling).

Ah! You have struck me! You shall be punished! (He clutches his neck. His gaze falls on the leash. Dramatic pause. He looks at it with terror, then disgust. He tears it off with a yank and throws it to the ground like a dead snake. Use of the Leash) Look! I am free! I no longer have the leash that tied me to that miserable Father Quack, the worst of all religious men...

(His voice transforms, becoming deep, theatrical, and resonant. Emphasis on the Contrast of Voices)

Now... now I know what I am. I will be a malignant aberration, I will be an Angel of Hell! I will be like Satan, and I will lead all of you to the abyss of Evil. (He stares fixedly at Mad Nan and Scar). Now, you will be my slaves, you will be my dogs... I! I! I shall be the most infernal of all demons! (The shift from victim to demon is complete.)

(FRIAR BLUSH, after this dramatic action, has an episode of convulsions and collapses, rigid, next to the leash.)

QUACK: (Desperate, trying to calm the atmosphere).

Gentlemen... Madam... have you seen what I have to deal with every day...? Friar Blush suffers from an indisposition of the pneuma... and the humours of the bile and melancholy collide, and every so often he is possessed by the demonic spirit... and I try to convince him he can be a saint, a martyr... so I take him along the paths of God, to see if there is a cure for his diabolical possessions...

TINY TINKER: (With great rhythm, speaking to himself as Tinker).

I know some words for exorcisms... Listen, Tinker, Tinker, cast the devil out of this little madman!

SCAR:

No, Tiny. You're the mad one. I know another remedy for the possessed by tremors... When I was a pimp in Andalusia, one girl... she would get St. Vitus' Dance and convulse all over... it wasn't the devil at all. It was because she didn't eat, I think... or because there were too many men... a doctor told me it's a disease that even kings get...

QUACK:

I must leave, (To Scar, who is watching him with wide eyes). Mr. Pimp, if you can get him some of those remedies against the convulsions, I will be infinitely grateful.

FRIAR BLUSH: (Rises weakly, looking at Quack with contempt).

Yes, yes, I heard you want to abandon me like a dog after treating me like a dog... I will stay here if you abandon me, you miserable friar-abandoning wretch... Begone and never return!

MAD NAN: (Strangely maternal).

You may spend the night here, my son. I promise not to lift my skirt and not to try to molest you.

TINY TINKER: (Affectionate with the Friar, in his own way).

I also promise not to molest you and to play no sword fights... (He laughs). Now, a joke, what did one cucumber say to the other cucumber...

SCAR: (Obscene).

I know that one: "It's time we talked man-to-man," ha ha...

TINY TINKER:

Ah, you're not so far off, Pimp, but no.

SCAR:

So, what did he say?

TINY TINKER: (Loses his mind even more).

Tinker, Tinker, you look like a polecat... Ha ha, hee hee... I have a joke, do you want to hear it...?

FRIAR BLUSH: (Interested in the joke, but still reluctant).

Well... And then what? What happened to the cucumbers? Did they fight, play sword fights, take a nap?

TINY TINKER:

Ah, I don't know that... I have a joke, do you want to hear it...?

FRIAR BLUSH: (Fed up with the situation. Rises determined to leave).

May the devil confound you and take you to hell, but not with me! I'm going to the richest city, where there are no madmen telling bad jokes or shameless women lifting their skirts! Farewell!

(The Friar walks away slowly, trying to retain his dignity.)

TINY TINKER: (Shouting his prophetic words, aimed especially at Friar BLUSH, who is still walking towards the exit).

I know the truths of the past and the future, Friar! (With prophetic delirium). In the past, clergymen married, and then the Pope took that privilege away...! In the future, epileptics will have a cure, and no one will think they are mad... as they do now! Medicines like opium and ergot fungi will be taken in pills and magical drops! Come into my arms, Friar Blush! I am the king! Handsome boy! I will care for you when your fits come, I will control your tongue... and Mad Nan will put lotion on your head and give you warm milk to calm you!

(Mad Nan gives Tiny Tinker a gentle pat on the backside. She then waves affectionately from her spot to Friar Blush, who, like a masterless dog, slowly returns, in need of tenderness and protection. They all hug him and welcome him into "their new home." SCAR joins the collective embrace. QUACK, realizing he is no longer in the "running," walks away SLOWLY AND SILENTLY into the background, looking back with contempt before disappearing.) (Quack's exit is solemn, contrasting with the chaos.)

SCAR: (Conciliatory).

There you see, my son! The mad and the poor always have a place for the most screwed up. I will get you the herbs, the fungi, and the ointments so you can sleep soundly. The priests' sanity is the true sickness. Our madness is honest.

MAD NAN:

Here you will have the safest spot. (Looks at the audience with a gesture of blessing). The madman will care for you, for he is the king; money will roll in... for it comes and goes... We will all wrap you up and care for you. Blessed are you among the poor madmen, and may you find the only peace in our place that the outside world would not give you! (She treats him like a baby, touching his forehead in a sign of blessing.)

(They continue their collective hug. Magnificent music, like Mozart's Requiem, is heard. The final action is slow, majestic, and in contrast to the previous chaos.)

Blackout.

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