A Trip to a Village, a Path with a Hole, a Tavern with Seven Rooms and a Prince,
Saint, or King
Scene I ( Trip to the Village)
A: So, what do you think? what does it look like?
B: Mmmmm lovely! Yes, lovely, the loveliest.
A: Stop smiling, please. At a certain point, it ends.
B: Ends?
A: Yes, into a village.
B: What village?
A: A village. Should we go there? What for?
B: I hope you have a good reason to ask.
A: I am not asking; yes, I am asking, not really. It's the essence, the essence I miss.
B: My nose is sealed, at times, and it is not easy to express
lucidity in a nasal voice.
A: This is excessive.
B. What?
A: This and that, and again this. This place, the trip. This place.
B: Why do you want to know what is excessive. Isn't it enough
when it is?
A: Well, guess, so, if you say so.
B: Now, are you teasing me? how dare you? If I say what I say,
it means I know what I am saying. No use asking why I said it.
If I said excessive it means it is.
A: Yes! But I said it first.
B: Yes, actually; the place where a prince or king himself, maybe a saint, lives;
summing up...it is not a straight path,
not even curving, curiously, it melts, goes away, a bit
there, a bit here like freedom...sudden.
A: I think I understand; it runs, not outside, inside
and it melts, it happens. Believe me! It is not pleasant.
B: The mind minds or lies.
A: Lies
Scene II ( The Moon and its rough Butt)
A: But why should we go there if the path ends, melts...
B: I asked it.
A: You did? No, I did.
B: I's like holding the moon in your palms, pass your
fingertips on the rocks, the devil's steps.
A: Ha! The devil's steps. You can hold the moon?
B: WE can hold the moon, not I, or YOU not you. WE.
A: How come?
B: You lay on the ground on summer nights, close
the eyes, stretch your arms up, up. There you are.
No! Higher.
A: Like that?
B: Like that.
A: I feel its rough butt.
B: Now probe your fingers into it, dig the sand, skim
the rocks. There!
A: I feel nothing.
B: Don't make things hard. Figures speak clearly, the rest
is poetry.
A: We should have reached the village by now.
B: Yes, but keep holding the moon. It's in the seventh room...
A: The seventh room in the tavern on the shore. Right?
B: Yes, and he never leaves his room.
A: Might be a trick.
B: People say he is a saint
A: Or a Prince
B: Or the king himself
A: Maybe
B: Maybe
Scene III (The sinner)
A: There! Over there!
B:- There where?
A: Beyond there, on the right.
B:- Yes. By God! I see it, them. Three trees.
B: Three? But how long have we been in this forest?
A: To me, he must be a gardener .
B: Why?
A: Because he knows the names of trees. That's why
and all the rumors about him being a saint are rumors.
He wears a crown, though.
B: To cheat better.
A: To love better. Love is not simple.
B: It IS simple, a formula :Formula X Female with ovary glandular and
Formula X Male with testes glandular.
A: Testes huh? I don't get the X
B: And the amino acid histidine is metabolised into histamine. The release of histamine from mast cells in the genitals triggers orgasm.
X stands for X
A: I never make love standing.
B: Why not?
A: When the parameters get screwed up , my knees wobble. I limp on the floor.
B:Why don't you lean against the wall?
A: There are no walls in the seventh room.
B: Ha! Murus interruptus.
A: And he never shows.
B: He who?
A: The saint.
B: The Prince?
A: The king. He used to say how woman is two parts light and one of dark;*
A fallen angel with properties of pearl, of milk*
B: This sounds familiar.
A: It is not mine; I imagine the wall-less room with a swarm of bees...
B: And the Prince pollinates.
A: Surely not the saint.
All through this dialogue, A&B sit, their feet cycle, grind ( but not gain) terrain-air.
Their arms are stretched up; between their hands, a round nothing with
rocky edges and a yellow halo.
B: Here it ends.
A: What?
B: The path. Watch that white pool, it's what remains of the path.
A: It melted. It mel-ted. Look! There is the seventh room, just
under the surface.
A&B jump into the pool-hole. Exit the moon.
* lines from D. Taylor's poem.
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