A table and chair. On the table, a gizmo with wires, clipboard, pitcher of water and a glass. Fixed to the table, a shiny metal stand. A black drape covers something mounted on the stand.
At rise, we see a girl in a sexy maid’s outfit—short black skirt, high heels, low-cut white blouse with apron, a little paper hat. The MAID sings to herself as she mops what appears to be blood off the floor.
MAID: Jesus loves me this I know For the Bible tells me so; Little ones to him belong, They are weak but he is strong. (While the MAID mops and sings, a STAGEHAND dressed in black picks up the clipboard. On the machine, he checks the connections, plugs in a wire. There are three lights on top—green, orange and red. He flips a switch. The green light comes on. Another switch, orange lights up. And one more, the red light glows. He switches back to orange. A humming sound starts up, the orange light flickers. The STAGEHAND bangs on it. The noise stops, orange light steady. It flickers again, and again, the humming. He bangs harder. The humming subsides, orange light holds steady. He stands there watching it. The MAID dips the mop in the bucket-wringer and pulls the handle. The water runs red, the color of blood. Slapping the mop to the floor, the MAID goes on singing.) MAID: Yes, Jesus loves me, Yes, Jesus loves me; Yes, Jesus loves me, The bible tells me so.
(A church bell rings out: BONGGG!)
(The MAID drops the mop in the bucket, does a quick wipe-down of the chair, then scurries off, rolling the bucket with her. The STAGEHAND starts off. The orange light flickers, humming starts up. STAGEHAND turns and stares it down. The humming stops, light stays on. He quickly switches it back to green, then off. He backs away, watching it, then off he goes into the wings.
Enter MONTY to loud applause. All applause, whoops, cheers, laughter, etc., are achieved with 1950’s canned effects. The applause dies out as he comes to center and scans the audience.)
MONTY: Good evening and welcome to the The Faith Game! (Applause.) Where Belief meets Reality head on and we settle the age old question—how to tell one from the other! I’m your host—Monty! Thank you! Winners of our game and their families receive free tickets to the True Creation Theme Park in Dry Creek, Kentucky, where dinosaurs exist with humans, Jesus walks on water, and telescopes see the stars as they were meant to be seen, with the earth at the center of the universe! But that’s not all. Our winner’s package includes five fun-filled nights at the Comfort Suites in Dry Creek, compli-ments of The Faith Game!
(Frantic cheers and whoops, which gradually die down. Pause.)
Folks, did you hear the latest about the blackbirds? Well, somewhere in Arkansas, hundreds of blackbirds just fell out of the sky. And here to explain it is our next contestant, Howard P. Chitwood! Come on out, Howard!
(Applause and cheers. A man enters, 40’s, average, dressed in a suit.)
MONTY: Ah, there you are. Step up here, Howard, don’t be shy! (HOWARD walks up and stands beside MONTY. Smiles nervously as they shake hands.) I see you brought your cheering squad with you, Howard! (A burst of whooping, girls cooing, applause. HOWARD smiles and waves.)
HOWARD: That’s right, Monty. That’s my wife, Sheila, and my two lovely children, Babs and Little Buddy. (He waves to them, winking and smiling.)
MONTY: And I see your minister’s here, too! Uh, Reverend Meeks?
HOWARD: Yeah. Hey, Preacher!
PREACHER: (A voice in the audience.) Hey, Howard! (Canned laughter.)
MONTY: Very good. And you even brought your choir along!
HOWARD: Well, some of ‘em, yes, sir. I told ‘em they didn’t have to come all this way, but they insisted, you know.
MONTY: Well, of course they did. That’s because they believe in you, Howard!
HOWARD: (Shy smile.) Huh!—I guess so, Monty.
MONTY: Well, that’s just fine, we’re mighty glad to have them. So, you’re familiar with our little game and how it works?
HOWARD: I think so.
MONTY: Well, it’s pretty straight forward. Strictly pass-fail, no in-between. Either you pass with flying colors, or. . .you fail miserably! (He elbows HOWARD, they share a laugh with the Audience.) I understand it was Reverend Meeks who put you up for it, is that right, Howard?
HOWARD: Yep, I’m afraid it was, Monty. Only because I was a little reluctant to handle the snakes.
AUDIENCE (Loud, unison): Oooohhh!
MONTY: Whoa! Did you say snakes, Howard?
HOWARD: I sure did, Monty. Cottonmouths!
MONTY: Whoo! Ouch! Well, it doesn’t get much realer than that, does it, folks! (Audience laughter, applause.) Well, I think the Reverend will find our little test a worthy challenge. (A cracked trumpet sound.) Oh—there’s Gabriel’s trumpet! (Brightly colored balloons descend from the rafters. Ooohs and aaahhs from the Audience.) This is your lucky day, Howard. Today marks our one-hundredth episode of The Faith Game! Which means that you are our hundredth contestant! Congratulations! (Thunderous applause. They shake hands again, as the balloons cascade down, dancing and bumping around the stage.) In addition to the prizes he’s entitled to if he wins, Howard will also receive a certified check from The Faith Game in the amount of ten-thousand dollars! (Wild applause, whooping, stamping feet.) How do you feel about that, Howard? Surprised?
HOWARD: Gosh, I sure am, Monty.
MONTY: And that’s just for showing up—win or lose! Now, let’s get back to those birds. I understand several hundred fell from the sky, is that right?
HOWARD: Oh, more like two or three thousand, Monty!
MONTY: Two or three thousand! Blackbirds, right?
HOWARD: Uh, yeah—blackbirds!
MONTY: And what do you attribute that to, Howard?
HOWARD: Well, it’s hard to know for sure, Monty. You got your scientists looking into it—your bird experts—and they have their theories. Like they do about everything! (Big laugh from the Audience.)
MONTY: But we don’t always believe them, do we, folks?
AUDIENCE: (Unison, loud.) HELL, NOOOOOO!! (An eruption of laughter, applause.)
MONTY: So what’s with those birds, Howard?
HOWARD: Well, honestly, it’s—
MONTY: S’cuse me, Howard, I just need to flip this little switch, here, get the old girl warmed up.
HOWARD: Oh, sure, sure! (MONTY flips the switch. Nothing happens.) Hm, that’s odd. Well, looky here! (Picks up a loose wire, holds it up.) Somebody back there’s not doing their job! Heh heh! (He plugs it in the back of the machine. The green light comes on.) Ah, there we are. Green means go! Now, what were you saying, Howard—about those birds?
HOWARD: Well, I was gonna say, I think it’s God talking to us, Monty.
MONTY: God talking.
HOWARD: That’s right.
MONTY: And the Reverend agrees with you?
HOWARD: Oh, yeah, our whole church believes it.
MONTY: Right. And what is God trying to tell us, Howard?
HOWARD: Well, He’s. . .He’s angry with us, Monty.
MONTY: Angry? With your church?
HOWARD: No, no, just certain people.
MONTY: Oh, I see. Certain people. And why is that?
HOWARD: Well, our morals have degenerated, Monty. You got people having sex out of wedlock. Men having sex with men. Women with women. They’re breaking all the Commandments. Plus you got your pro-abortion types. I tell you, Monty, the Almighty is not happy.
MONTY: So, he’s killing birds. Blackbirds.
HOWARD: Yep, that’s right.
MONTY: Why not bluejays, Howard? Why not sparrows or geese?
HOWARD: Well, that I couldn’t say. But Reverend Meeks, he says black represents darkness, you know? Evil.
MONTY: Ahhh, Evil. Of course!
HOWARD: And I hate to say it, Monty, but if all these people don’t straighten up and turn their lives over to Jesus, well, we know where they’re going.
MONTY: And where would that be, Howard?
HOWARD: (Slight laugh.) Where do you think? Everlasting hell, that’s where! (Huge applause, cheers. He shouts over them.) Am I right, Preacher?
PREACHER: Damn right, Howard!
(Audience laughing, applauding.)
HOWARD (Shouting): AND THE LAST I HEARD, HELL IS HOT!!
(Frenzy of cheers, clapping, stamping feet.)
AUDIENCE: HELL IS HOT! HELL IS HOT! HELL IS HOT! . . .
MONTY: Hmm, sounds pretty serious, Howard.
HOWARD: It is serious, Monty. My wife, you know, she’s—real concerned about this abortion thing. All these women out there killing their babies. I hate to say it, but a lot of us Christians. . .we’re thinking maybe they oughta be locked up.
MONTY: Oh, lock ‘em up, huh?
HOWARD: At least till they can give birth, you know.
MONTY: Oh, I see. But suppose they have the abortion, Howard, then what?
HOWARD: Well, then, maybe they should be tried for murder. And then, I guess maybe—executed. Or something.
MONTY: Right. And you think God wants that?
HOWARD: Well, yeah, I do, Monty. I think God would smite them. Did He not smite the Sodomites? And the Canaanites? Look what He did to Lot’s wife, and all she did was look back! Deuteronomy, Chapter 20, 1st Samuel, 15—it’s all there. The Hittites, the Amalekites, the Jebudites, He smite ‘em all— men, women, children—just wiped ‘em out!
MONTY: Ah, yes, well, we—
HOWARD: I mean, you gotta protect the baby, don’t you? How you gonna do that if you don’t lock ‘em up? Look, Monty, you got all these women thinking they should have dominion over their bodies? But I ask you. Man to man. Since when did we ever allow that? The only one who has dominion over life is the Lord God Almighty!
(Huge outburst of cheers and applause. He shouts over them.)
Am I right? Only God has dominion over life! I know these women don’t want us men in their wombs. Sure, I get that. Even sympathize with ‘em. Up to a point. But maybe we oughta to be in their wombs, you know?! Our preachers, our congressmen, somebody oughta be in there! I mean, look at it this way. Once you get all your illegals rounded up and deported, who’s gonna put the roof on your house? Who’s gonna mow your lawn, pave your streets and work at WalMart? And who’s gonna fight your wars? We rely on those babies, Monty. We need those precious babies!
MONTY: Well, that’s, uh— (The church bell—BONGGG!!) Ah, there’s the—!
HOWARD: Right, and, oh yeah, we got a neighbor down the street?—I won’t name anybody, but. . .his boy wants to be a girl!
MONTY: You don’t say.
HOWARD: And these are members of our church! His daddy’s a deacon! And there’s his kid trooping around in dresses! And wears jewelry and makeup! What do you think, Monty?
MONTY: Hmm, well, I—
HOWARD: I mean, we don’t want that around our kids, do we? We can’t let ‘em in our church! Our Sunday schools! Our Bingo games! Really, what’s your honest opinion, Monty?
MONTY: Well, it’s—it’s a funny old world, Howard.
HOWARD: I can tell you this much. No son of Howard Chitwood is ever gonna be a goddamn girl! Not while I’m alive!
(Raucous cheers, applause. Again, the church bell, urgent—BONGGG! BONGGG!!)
MONTY: All right, well that’s the—
HOWARD: I mean, we know where this leads, don’t we? Unnatural acts! Boys with boys! Boys with beasts! The Bible’s real clear on this. Leviticus 20: They shall surely be put to death and suffer eternal fire. And it’s no different if you have it with your sheep or your pig—it’s the same damn thing! Both parties put to death—you and the pig! Or—whatever it is—your mule, your sheep, your ox—it’s all the same, they’re just as defiled as you are. Just as guilty!
(Again, the church bell, louder, more urgent—BONGGG! BONGGG! BONGGG!!)
MONTY: Ah! Well, really impressive, Howard. (Cheers, applause.) I’m sure we’re all deeply moved by your moral clarity! But that is the bell, and that means it’s time to. . .
AUDIENCE: IT’S TIME TO PLAY THE FAITH GAME!! (Applause, cheers.)
MONTY: Are you ready to play, Howard?
HOWARD: You bet I am, Monty!
MONTY: All right! Let’s get your coat off, shall we? (HOWARD removes his coat.) There you go. Just put her on the back of your chair and have a seat. (HOWARD takes a seat beside the little table with the gizmo.) Now, you see before you a machine, a device. I’m sure you—
HOWARD: I know—it’s a lie-detector, Monty! (Laughter.)
MONTY: There’s just no fooling you, is there, Howard? Yep, it’s a lie-detector—with some slight modifications. Now, with your permission—uh, just open your shirt, if you don’t mind, Howard. (HOWARD loosens his tie, unbuttons the top buttons of his shirt. MONTY tapes a wire to HOWARD’S chest and attaches another to his index finger, talking as he works.) Really something about those birds, huh? Uh, roll up your sleeve, there, Howard, either one. (MONTY attaches a blood-pressure cuff to HOWARD’S arm, pumps it up.) I guess it’s kinda like Noah and the flood, isn’t it? Only, instead of taking it out on a few birds, the Almighty just went ahead and killed everyone on earth. Smite them, I mean.
HOWARD: Except for Noah!
MONTY: Oh, right you are, Howard! Except for—
HOWARD: And his family. And—and—don’t forget the animals!
MONTY: Oh, yes, yes. But just the immediate family, though, right? No aunts, uncles, grandparents, allowed into the Ark? None of their friends or their children? No orphans, either, I suppose. Though there must have been quite a few around that time, with the lack of medical care, mothers dying in childbirth, fathers done in by routine infections, fevers, plagues, famine, dengue, dropsy, snakebite, syphilis, tooth decay, hydrophobia, and so on. But the children are born in sin, and you can’t save them all, can you? So, that just leaves Noah, his sons, and their wives—
HOWARD: Shem, Ham, and Japheth!
MONTY: Out of whom sprung the whole human race!
HOWARD: That’s right, Monty!
MONTY: Which, I guess means the offspring of Shem, Ham and Japheth—sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews—were all getting it on at some point. All true, right, Howard?
HOWARD: Uh, well—
MONTY: Not just a story someone made up, like Harry Potter or Hansel and Gretel?
HOWARD: Nah—no way, Monty. The Bible says it and I believe it! (Cheers, applause.)
MONTY: Good man! Look, Howard—Reverend Meeks is giving you a “thumbs up”!
(MONTY and HOWARD answer with a cheery “thumbs up.” Cheers from the rooting section.)
MONTY: As it happens, that could become part of our little test today. With the aid of this device, we should know within a 99-percent certainty what you really and truly believe. Now, before we begin, Howard, before you answer a single question, let’s be clear. Very important we understand each other. We’re not talking about make-believe, right? We’re talking about what you absolutely know is real. Do you understand what I’m saying, Howard? Quite clear on that, are we?
HOWARD: Oh, yeah, clear as. . .as. . .
MONTY: Speak up, Howard, I didn’t quite—
HOWARD (Louder): I said yeah, I’m clear on that!
HIS WIFE (Calling out from the Audience): You go, Howard!
(Laughter.)
MONTY: Just so we understand each other.
HOWARD (Bristling): Hey, I’m rock-solid on reality, don’t you worry about that! I know what’s real!
(Audience cheers, applause.)
MONTY: Well, of course you do, Howard. Glad to hear it! Uh, before we start, can I get you anything?
HOWARD (Losing patience): No, I’m good! Come on!
MONTY: A glass of water? A cigarette, maybe?
HOWARD: No! I’m all right!
(Rooting section, joined by the Audience: “GO HOWARD, GO HOWARD, GO HOWARD, GO HOWARD. . .!!)
(Chanting continues as MONTY crosses to the table. He suddenly whips the drape aside, revealing a pistol, a shiny .45, clamped to an armature on the stand, the pistol pointed directly at HOWARD’S head. His face goes slack, the chanting abruptly tapers off. A long pause.)
MONTY (Dramatic whisper): Well, there she is, folks. . .in the flesh. . .the one and only. . .Ol’ Betsy. Yep, that’s what we call her around here. Just a nickname, a little endearment. (The cracked trumpet plays softly, with a tinkling triangle. HOWARD sits there, staring.) Really something, huh, Howard? Kinda puts everything in a whole new light, doesn’t it?
HOWARD: Yuh—yeah, really. . .something.
(MONTY releases the clamp and removes the gun. Ejects the clip into his hand. Snaps the barrel forward, looks into the chamber, snaps it back, shoves the clip home. MONTY stands there absently holding the pistol.)
MONTY: There’s just no fooling her, you see? You can try, I suppose, but I wouldn’t recommend it. (He clamps the pistol back onto the frame.) This one’s something of a rarity. Almost has a mind of her own. Like my ex-wife! Heh heh! But she can also be rather obtuse, if you know what I mean. The old girl just doesn’t speculate. Doesn’t appreciate finer shades of meaning. Like, whether Adam and Eve were real or just a fairy tale. Ha! Metaphor—what the hell’s that, right? Was Jonah swallowed by a big fish and regurgitated, or was he really swallowed by the free market and spit out like a gob of phlegm? The Beast—uh, I mean, Ol’ Betsy—heh-heh!--doesn’t get into these little nuances. Just can’t make subtle distinctions. (Looks down, notices the same wire hanging off the machine as before.) Well, I’ll be—will you look at that! I’m not surprised. This old girl’s been around awhile. Not her first rodeo! (He plugs it in.) There. Oh—! Mustn’t forget this one!
(He picks up another loose wire and deftly hooks it to the trigger of the gun.)
Very important, that one! On the other hand, she’s no respecter of doubt, either. An atheist might do perfectly well on this test. An agnostic can just say, “I don’t know,” and skate through with ease. But a mystic? Hmmm, imagine someone like that coming in here. (As he lines the barrel up with HOWARD’S head.)
I climbed into the plum tree and ate the grapes I found there. The owner of the garden called out to me: “Why are you eating my apples?”
Ha! That one just kills me! Oops—Bad joke! Nope, I don’t think he’d get too far with that answer! (Makes slight adjustment.) Ah, perfect! So, how we doing? I do hope you didn’t think I was actually questioning your uh. . .S’cuse me, I’m just going to reach up here and. . .pull this little thing back, so. . .be calm. . .keep your seat. (He cocks the pistol. HOWARD flinches. Slowly scoots his chair back.) Ah, there we go! Whoa—where you going, Howard? (He pushes HOWARD’S chair back into position.) Nooow, that’s better. Really, you have nothing to worry about. (He moves to HOWARD’S left, as HOWARD watches him warily. MONTY shows his hands.) You see? I’m just an observer here. Ol’ Betsy just responds to one thing. Only to you, Howard. She simply reacts to the answers you give. It’s just a matter of how certain you are, that’s all. I mean, it’s not like you just bought into a collection of myths and legends. Your thoughts are real. “Rock-solid,” right?
(He gives HOWARD a “thumbs up” and a wink. HOWARD’S eyes are glazed over. He has slowly sneaked his chair back again.)
MONTY: Would you like that glass of water, now, Howard? (HOWARD nods. MONTY pours him a glass of water. Holds it out. As HOWARD reaches for it, MONTY pulls back.) Uh-uhh. Gotta scoot forward first. (Pause. HOWARD scoots forward.) Teensy bit more. (HOWARD scoots some more.) Excellent!
(Hands him the water. While HOWARD drinks, the sexy MAID comes out, rolling the mop bucket. She takes a position beside the machine, stands there, chewing gum. Now and then a bright pink bubble swells from her lips and pops. HOWARD flinches. He looks at her over the glass, hands shaking as he drinks.)
There’s a stout fellow! Little moment of doubt, there, huh? Small crisis? Perfectly normal.
(The MAID takes out a compact and touches up her makeup. HOWARD tries not to stare, but can’t help himself.)
Scrumptious water, eh? Dasani, I think. They’re selling it at McDonald’s now. Loaded with life-giving minerals! Did you know that McDonald’s fries contain 19 ingredients? Besides potatoes, I mean. One of which is found in Silly Putty. Yeah—Silly Putty! Imagine that! Well, you never know what you’re being fed these days. That’s right, just drink it down, Howard. Your brow seems a tad moist. (HOWARD raises his sleeve to wipe.) No, no, allow me!
(The GIRL interrupts her makeup to flourish a handkerchief. MONTY takes it, mops HOWARD’S brow.)
HOWARD: Uh—who—who is she?
MONTY: Oh, I’m sorry, Howard, this is Lila. Don’t mind her. She does little odd jobs around here—dusting, mopping, that sort of thing. She’s actually finishing her degree in Biology. Ph.D., Lila?
(LILA pops another whopper. HOWARD jumps.)
LILA: Yeah, Ph.D.
MONTY: Really a bright girl. (MONTY takes the glass.) More? (HOWARD shakes his head. MONTY sets the glass down. HOWARD impulsively reaches for the handkerchief. MONTY paces as he talks.) Now, we all want something out of life, don’t we? And what do you want, Howard? Fame? Fortune? Sure, why not? But before that, long before, what’s the real thing? Acceptance, right? Love.
(As MONTY drones on, HOWARD glances at LILA. She smiles flirtatiously. He quickly looks away, but, soon enough, can’t resist looking again.)
By whom? Your mother, father, grandparents, your teachers, minister, your buddies in the choir. As soon as we can string words together, a few lines of gibberish, there they are, hovering over the crib, paddle in hand, shoveling gruel into our mouths, loaded with phosphates, corn syrup, all kinds of—well, you know—TV, nursery rhymes, random thoughts, little boy’s thing foreskin sliced off, TV, tag-you’re-it, little girl’s thing different from yours, breasts, turnips, forbidden fruit, TV, brassieres, lust, sin, preservatives.
(Lila’s flirtations become more overt, striking seductive poses, stroking her hair, her breasts, and so on. HOWARD all but drools as he stares.)
Think of it! Here we are in this funny old world, each of us furnished with our very own experts, representing the whole. . .did I mention your minister? Well, your scoutmaster, football coaches, swimsuit models, the Easter bunny. And we do so want to please them, don’t we? Of course we do. So difficult to think for oneself these days. Indeed, few people, I daresay, have had an original thought since they were in grade school. How could they? How could we—when the instinct of the herd is to crush all who are different, to side with the mighty against the weak? (He stops pacing. HOWARD stares at LILA, grinning like a Cheshire cat.) Um, I’m sorry, did you say something, Howard?
HOWARD: Hm? Oh, uh, no.
(Smiling at him, she pops a bubble. MONTY suddenly flips a switch on the machine. The orange bulb lights up, the machine leaps to life with a loud hum. HOWARD almost jumps out of his chair.)
MONTY: Oh, sorry, Howard! Stop it! Stop that, goddamnit! (He bangs on the machine. The humming stops.) Sorry, Howard. You know how these things are. They all have their little quirks. (Again, the humming. He bangs again. Each time he whops it, HOWARD jerks.) Heh, guess I’m a little nervous, myself. You never know how this game’s gonna— (Again, humming, MONTY bangs.) Well, we know in your case, of course! But not everyone is blessed with your certainty, Howard. Believe me, you don’t know how lucky you are.
(Pause. He looks at the machine, his hand raised. HOWARD braces for it, but the machine is finally quiet.)
MONTY (Nervous laugh, refers to his notes): So, you’re married, I believe. Your daughter—Babs, was it?
HOWARD: Yuh—yeah, Babs.
MONTY: Ah, sweet sixteen. Wonderful! And Little Buddy—just turned four, didn’t he?
HOWARD: Yeah, four. No—five! Or—or is it four?
MONTY: Right. So here’s a question, Howard. No, no, this isn’t the test. Just a preview. See this orange light? That means we’re in Pre-Test mode. Orange is Pre-Test! This is really my favorite part, ‘cause it’s like you get a free pass, you see? You can say whatever the hell you want—without fear of—of. . . (Soft humming.) Huh-uhhh! (Humming stops.)
So, a simple for-instance. Say your little boy, Little Buddy, is—well, let’s say he’s run over by a car—heaven forbid, right? Heh heh. You’re out in the yard, planting—what? Roses, maybe? (HOWARD nods.) Ah, I thought so. You look like a rose man. My wife preferred hyacinths. My ex-wife. She was always after me to do the weeding. Well, there’s just some things I won’t do, Howard. So, I handed her the keys to the Jeep! Heh heh!
(LILA moves behind HOWARD, starts massaging his neck and shoulders.)
Ah, thank you, Lila. Yeah, help him relax—he’s all tensed up, there. Is that better, Howard?
HOWARD: Yuh, yeah, better.
MONTY: Good! So, there you are, planting roses. You see it happen. Nice sunny day, birds singing. Blackbirds, maybe. You hear the bump, the scream. Look up, see Little Buddy go down, car zooming away, leaving him in the street, broken, bloody. And you, the only witness, the only one who can help him. Is he dead? Maybe. Or maybe he’s only hurt. You don’t know. All you know—he’s not moving. You may have seconds to act. So, what do you do? You say you believe in God? Okay, swell. God exists. So, do you send up a prayer? Or dial 9-11? Well, which is it? Moment of truth, Howard. Prayer or 9-11?
(HOWARD looks conflicted, but on the verge of answering.)
Yes, I see you thinking. That’s good, take your time. But why? What’s to think about? Just say what you believe. You say it all the time. Spreading the word—isn’t that what it’s called? The Gospel? The “Good News”? But now, it’s no longer a wafer or wine, but real flesh and blood. Flesh from your body. But he’s safe, isn’t he? Of course he is. So, why call 9-11? Would Jesus call the ambulance? Would the Messiah file an insurance claim? Hell, no! Not with miracles at his fingertips! Well, let’s have one!
(LILA now massaging HOWARD’S temples. His eyes close, head droops back.)
We have to stand for something in this old world, otherwise, what have we got? Chaos, that’s what. A world out of control, governed by—what?—the whims of fate? Our tawdry appetites? Imagine—people running around, thinking for themselves. What next? A world free of sin and punishment? Prisons with no one in them? And what happens to the guards, all those jobs? What will they do, then? Become teachers, librarians, social workers? Don’t be absurd. We’ll always have the rich and the poor, the Godly and the Godless. Therefore, we’ll always have criminals. Hence, we need prisons to contain them, guards to keep them, and priests to absolve them of sin. Consider the beauty of that! Perfect symmetry! All part of God’s Plan, is it not? How can you have the saved without the sinner? But enough philosophizing. Suppose you—
(He looks at HOWARD, whose eyes have rolled up in his head.) Uh, are you with me, Howard? (Snaps his fingers) Hey! (He whistles sharply. HOWARD snaps to attention.) All right, suppose you send up a prayer and the boy dies?
HOWARD: Huh? What boy?
MONTY: Why, your boy, Howard! Your Little Buddy—run over by a car!
HOWARD: What? Where? Where is he?
MONTY: Out there! In the street! There goes the car that ran him down and drove away, and left him for dead! See it? See it?!
HOWARD: No! No! (He sits there, blinking.)
MONTY: So, what do you do, Howard? Do you send up a prayer?
HOWARD: Yeah, prayer!
AUDIENCE: PRAYER! PRAYER!
MONTY: Yes, by all means. But suppose he dies anyway? What does it mean? Well? Come on, think!
HOWARD: I—I, uh. . .
MONTY: All right, possibilities. One! (BONGGG! HOWARD jumps.) God didn’t answer your prayer because your faith wasn’t strong enough. (HOWARD looks troubled.)
AUDIENCE: OOOHH. . .!
MONTY: So it’s your fault and God is an egotist. Your faith is more important to the Almighty than your boy’s life. (HOWARD reacts.) Two!
(BONGGG!)
MONTY: God simply ignored your prayer and let your boy die, just as He ignored the prayers of the Jews at Dachau, and is now ignoring the prayers of Palestinians slaughtered by Zionists in the tens of thousands. (HOWARD bewildered.) Three!
(BONGGG!)
Well, it was just your boy’s time. Why should your child be any different from all the other children massacred, butchered, starved, killed, for no reason? (HOWARD frowns.) God can’t save everyone. People die, that’s the way it is. Again, the Divine Plan, right? (Suddenly HOWARD looks up, teeth bared, enraged.) So how does He determine that, exactly—who lives, who dies? From the looks of it, I’d say it’s a dice-shoot. Although, statistically, rich white people in developed countries do seem to find greater favor with God than all the other poor schmucks. (HOWARD troubled, frustrated.) Fourth possibility!
(BONGGG!)
Your son died, but it’s nothing personal. Reason? God gave us Free Will. He left us in charge, which means whatever happens, good or bad, we have only ourselves to thank. But if everything’s up to us, then, where is God? And what of his “Divine Plan?” The answer is simple. There is no plan, divine or otherwise. God has no more idea how things will turn out than we do. And since He had no clear vision of what was in store for us, it would seem His creation of us was somewhat ill-conceived. So, where is He, now? Well, He’s just—somewhere else. A happy-go-lucky creator-wizard blithely minding His own business, expecting us to do the same. Hence, all our prayers, sermons, incantations, our ceaseless building of churches, feverish worshiping, tithings, threats of hell, inquisitions, witch burnings, crusades, have all been for naught. A lot of fuss and feathers piled up over centuries, all in praise and worship of a god who, at best, would be utterly baffled if he knew it was all in his honor. So, does the Old Man care about us or doesn’t He? Perhaps the real question is, do we care? You could, of course, follow the path of most people—call the ambulance and pray on the way to the hospital. That’s reasonable, isn’t it? Sure, reasonable and practical. Although—let’s not kid ourselves—it does rather smack of a paltry faith, wouldn’t you say, like having it both ways?
(He stops, looks around.)
Uh, where were we? Oh! Little Buddy! Did you get the make of the car? The license number? No? So, what do you do? Pray or dial 9-11? Well? Speak up! We don’t have all day!
(HOWARD sits there, chest heaving, broken out in a sweat. Answers his minister with a feeble “thumbs up,” opens his mouth to speak.)
(BONGGG!)
MONTY: Oops! Time’s up. See? Nothing to it, Howard. Piece of cake!
(MONTY marks something on the machine. Forgetting the handkerchief, HOWARD starts to wipe with his sleeve. LILA takes the hanky from his hand, leans in and wipes his brow. He manages a smile. She plants a kiss on his forehead, leaving a bright red lipstick print. Then resumes her place by the mop. HOWARD eyes her, smiling, but now she looks off, idly chewing her gum.
Clouds, Howard. Think of clouds. That’s right. Just think about the test, how simple it is. (Looks at his watch.) So, feeling brave, are we? Bet you’re glad we had that dry run, huh? Yes, it’s always better to do a little practice run before the real thing. And I’ll tell you something, Howard. Between you and me, I think you did a pretty swell job, there. No, really!—way above average!
(Audience, feeble clapping.)
Now, don’t be nervous. Nothing to worry about. Just remember how confident you are. Remember that? Hmmm? Rock-solid, right?
(HOWARD tries to smile.)
Nevertheless, I do recommend you take your time. Don’t answer too quickly, don’t be glib. And—just so you know. . .you are free to say whatever you want, Howard. After all, you’re among friends. Your rooting section is ready to cheer you on. Your wife, your minister, your buddies in the choir, they know they can count on you. Would they be here otherwise? It’s just a matter of giving the right answers. As long as you answer truthfully, you have nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear. (Pause.) So. . . Ready?
(HOWARD looks at him, then nods. Blowing a bubble, LILA reaches for the mop handle.)
MONTY: No take-backs, right?
HOWARD (He swallows): N—no take-backs.
MONTY: All right. Here we go!
(He flips a switch. The red light comes on with a soft, high-pitched— TINGGG!)
BLACKOUT.