FELIX: I understand. I will certainly try to discuss it with him.
SKIP: He cannot scream on camera, sir; it would destroy the whole effect. And I’m afraid I’ll have to go further—I mean, sir, you have deposited our check, right? I mean as a man of honor . . .
FELIX: I will certainly do all I can to convince him not to scream.
HENRI, turning Felix by the elbow—sotto: What problem were you talking about?
EMILY: Well let’s not nail him, so screaming is not a problem, right? To both: I said is that right?
SKIP, to Emily: All I’m trying to say, dear . . .
EMILY: Mud. When Emily is sued her name is Mud, so make it Mud, please!
SKIP, momentarily put down: I am simply saying that even though he was nailed—the Original, I mean—he is always shown hanging up there in perfect peace.
FELIX: The paintings are not like it is.
SARAH, still with the phone: What about the little sign over his head?
SKIP: What sign?
EMILY: Say that’s right, they mocked him and stuck this hand-painted sign on the cross over his head—I believe it said “King of the Jews.”
SKIP: No!! Absolutely out of the question . . . this has nothing to do with the Jews! Or Jesus either!
HENRI: Excuse me, but it will inevitably have that connotation.
SKIP: Nonsense! This is simply the execution of a violent criminal!
HENRI: Yes, but isn’t that what they said the first time?
SARAH, phone to her ear: Speaking of Jews, they called him “rabbi,” I think.
SKIP: Stop it!—Excuse me, Emily, no reflection on your personal heritage, but I mean, this will run in like Mississippi and even the Middle East, like Egypt . . . we do a lot of business in Egypt and Pakistan, and there’s no point irritating the world’s largest religion—I mean, from their viewpoint it’s bad enough implying the son of god was Christian without making him Jewish, for Heaven’s sake.
EMILY: All right, but I’m just saying—he . . . was . . .
SKIP: You know it and I know it, dear, but what’s the point of rubbing it in worldwide, darling? Turning to Felix: Now sir, have you decided what time of the day you are going to . . . ah . . . there’s a question of the light, you see.
FELIX: I’m not sure we will be able to proceed today. It is possible, but perhaps not.
SKIP: I don’t understand, sir.
FELIX: He’s escaped.
EMILY: Our guy?
HENRI, a clap of his hands: Felix!
FELIX: He will certainly be captured, there’s no question, but it may be a day or two . . .
EMILY, to the crew: He’s escaped!
CREW: Attaway, baby! Hurray! etc. . . .
SKIP: Shame on you! The man’s a criminal! To Felix: This is terrible, terrible news, General! CNN, NBC . . .
Soldier starts up a screaming chainsaw.
FELIX: Para! Esta puta cosa. Para! [English: Stop that goddam thing! I said stop it!]
Soldier, dumbfounded, cuts saw.
CAPTAIN: No ves que están hablando? [English: Can’t you see they’re talking?]
Soldier salutes in terror.
Eres un imbécil? [English: Are you an idiot?]
Soldier salutes again.
HENRI, touching Felix’s arm: Listen, Felix . . .
FELIX, freeing his arm: I want to offer to pay for the extra time you will be here, Mr. Skip, but he will absolutely be found by tomorrow, maybe tonight.
SKIP: I am only concerned about our exclusivity, any delay is dangerous. To the crew: I want everyone at the hotel . . . we meet let’s say noon, or make it eleven, and we’ll see where we are. And don’t wander off in case he’s caught sooner.
FELIX: . . . I believe we will catch him even this afternoon, maybe.
As crew packs, preparing—with uncertainty—to
leave, he turns back to Skip.
Not to worry about the exclusivity, I have the Army blocking the only road up this mountain; no other crew can get up here.
SKIP: There are helicopters.
FELIX: I have forbidden any takeoffs.
SKIP: What about from over the border?
FELIX: They cross the border they will be shot happily down.
SKIP: Well that’s a relief. To Emily: How about lunch and let’s talk?
EMILY: I think I’ll have a look around the country for a bit . . .
SKIP: Don’t go far . . . please. To Felix: I’m expecting your call the moment you have any news, sir.
FELIX: Rest assured. Skip exits. To Emily: Then may I expect you for dinner, Miss Shapiro? I was serious about your haircut, I find it very moving in a way that is particularly important to me.
EMILY: A moving haircut!—in that case, yes, I’d love dinner . . .
FELIX: Until tonight then, Miss Shapiro!
He gets to the periphery where Henri intercepts him—intimately.
HENRI: What happened?
FELIX: I can’t talk about it.
HENRI: Well, how did he get out?
FELIX: He paid off the guards.
HENRI: Where’d he get the money?
FELIX: How the hell would I know!—They’re trying to hand me this bullshit that he walked through the walls. They’re calling him a magician, but he paid them off and I’ve locked them all up and I’m going to find that little bastard if I do nothing else in my life!
He starts out; Henri grabs his arm.
HENRI: Felix! Do nothing! Thank your lucky stars, it’s a blessing.
FELIX, loudly, angered: A blessing? It’s chaos!—And I’m going to miss my analysis day in Miami!
Felix throws off Henri’s hand, goes to Emily, kisses
her hand.
Again!—Until tonight, Miss Shapiro!
With a gallant wave he exits. Henri starts to follow,
but halts and turns to Emily.
HENRI: You could stop this, you know.
EMILY: Me!
HENRI: Couldn’t you try to dissuade him? Seriously—he can be very affected by good-looking women. He’s undergoing psychoanalysis now. I’ve never known him to be quite this ambivalent about things—last year he’d have shot this man by now. And to be candid, I thought his reaction to meeting you was amazingly genuine . . . I mean his feeling.
EMILY: And he did like my haircut.
HENRI: He’s a big baby, you know; his mother nursed him till he was seven.
EMILY: I hope you don’t expect me to pick up where she left off.
SARAH, closing her phone: I’m pregnant!
EMILY: Oh, Sarah!
She bursts into tears.
SARAH: What’s the matter? Taking her hand as she weeps loudly, uncontrolled. Oh Emily, what is it!
EMILY: I’m so glad for you! I mean you look so happy and I’m all fucked up! Kisses Sarah. Drink milk or something . . .
HENRI: I do admire your irony!
EMILY: Yes, I’m famous for it. Miss Irony Mud.—Okay, I’ll margarine the General.
HENRI: Thank you, my dear.
EMILY: Tell me, Henri, as a truth-loving philosopher—wouldn’t you gladly resign from the human race if only there was another one to belong to?
HENRI: Oh, of course. But are we sure it would be any better?
Blackout.
SCENE 3
Stanley, an apostle, softly plays a harmonica in Felix’s
office. Sneakers, unkempt ponytail, blue denim shirt,
backpack.
Felix enters.
FELIX: Thank you for coming.
STANLEY: Well, I was arrested.
FELIX: What’s your name again?
STANLEY: Stanley.
FELIX: You know who I am.
STANLEY: Of course. You’re the head.
FELIX: Tha-a-a-t’s right, I am the head. I’m told you’re very close to him.
STANLEY, cautiously: You could say that.
FELIX: Asshole buddies.
STANLEY: . . . I never put it quite that way.
FELIX: I’m told you did some . . . service for us a while back.
STANLEY: I’ve made some mistakes in my life, that was one of the big ones.
FELIX: We need to know where he is. There’s good money in the information.
STANLEY: Thanks, but I really don’t need money right now.
FELIX: Then tell me gratis—where is he?
STANLEY: I’ve no idea. Honest.
FELIX: A neighbor claims he saw him going into your house in the middle of last night.
STANLEY: How did he know it was him?
FELIX: He’d seen him earlier, standing on the corner staring into space for over an hour like a crazy man.
STANLEY: He only stayed with me a little and left.
FELIX: . . . Tell me, does he think he’s the son of god?
STANLEY: That depends.
FELIX: Really! On what?
STANLEY: Hard to say.
FELIX: Let’s put it this way, Stanley, if you’re going to fuck around with me we’ll be happy to knock your teeth out, starting with the front. This would not be my preference, but we are a military government and I am only one of five officers running things. Now please answer my questions before some really bad personalities get into this. The question is whether he believes he is the son of god.
STANLEY: Some days he’s sure of it and then he . . . suddenly can’t believe it. I mean it’s understandable.
FELIX: Why is it understandable?
STANLEY: Well, a man facing crucifixion’d better be pretty sure what he believes.
FELIX: Why? If he’s the son of god crucifixion shouldn’t bother him too much.
STANLEY: Yeah, but if it turns out he’s not the son of god it’ll bother him a lot.
FELIX: What’s your opinion? Is he?
STANLEY: . . . I better fill you in before I answer that. I’ve ruined my life believing in things; I spent two and a half years in India in an ashram; I’ve been into everything from dope to alcohol to alfalfa therapy to Rolfing to Buddhism to total vegetarianism, which I’m into now. So you ask me do I believe he’s the son of god, I have to be honest—yes, I believe he is . . . kind of.
FELIX: Kind of.
STANLEY: Well, with a background like mine how do I know what I’m going to believe next week?
FELIX, thinks for a moment: What did you talk about with him last night?
STANLEY: Last night? Well, let’s see—women, mainly. They’re a mystery to him. Men also, but not as much.
FELIX: He’s bisexual?
STANLEY: I would say he’s more like . . . tri.
FELIX: Trisexual.
STANLEY: Yes.
FELIX: Well let’s see now—there’s men, and women, and what?
STANLEY: Well . . . vegetation.
FELIX: He fucks cabbages?
STANLEY: No-no, he loves them.
FELIX: Loves cabbages.
STANLEY: Well they’re alive.
FELIX: I see. What about a girlfriend?
STANLEY: Well, yeah, one. But she jumped out of a window recently.
FELIX: . . . You don’t mean Henri Schultz’s daughter.
STANLEY: Oh, you know him?
FELIX: We’re cousins.—So this son of god is banging Schultz’s daughter?
STANLEY: I don’t think so, frankly. My impression is that it stays kind of—you know—remote. Although I picked him up one morning at her apartment and she looked like a woman who . . . you know . . .
FELIX: Had had it.
STANLEY: But I think it was different. I think he may have just . . . laid down next to her and . . . you know . . . lit up. —Because you know he can just light up and . . .
FELIX: I know, I saw him do it. So you mean if he lights up it makes her . . . ?
STANLEY: Definitely.
FELIX, truly fascinated: Huh! That’s very interesting. That’s one of the most interesting things I’ve heard lately.—And how long can he stay lit up?
STANLEY: Seems like . . . I don’t know . . . a few seconds.
FELIX: Is that all.
STANLEY: Well of course I never actually saw . . .
FELIX: So it could have been longer.
STANLEY: Who knows? I mean . . .
FELIX: Yes. Exhales, blows out air. This is really amazing. Worried but curious. I was wondering why Schultz was so fascinated by him.
STANLEY: Oh but I doubt she’d have mentioned Jack to her father.
FELIX: That’s his name—Jack?
STANLEY: Well one of them. Jack Brown. But he’s got others . . . depending.
FELIX: We believe his name is Juan Manuel Francisco Frederico Ortuga de Oviedo. Although up in the villages some of them call him Ralph.
STANLEY: Possible. He changes names so he won’t turn into like . . . you know . . . some kind of celebrity guru.
FELIX: Well, that’s unusual, isn’t it. Now tell me how he escaped from jail.
STANLEY: I really can’t talk about that.
FELIX: How did he get out, Stanley?
STANLEY: He doesn’t like people talking about it.
FELIX: About what?
STANLEY, conflicted, shifts in his chair: I’m really not comfortable talking about that part of it.
FELIX: I don’t want to have to persuade you, Stan. How did he escape?
STANLEY: Well . . . is this something you’re insisting on?
FELIX: This is something I’m insisting on.
STANLEY: . . . He went through the walls.
Pause.
FELIX: And how did he do that?
STANLEY: You’re asking me so I’m telling you, right? He has terrific mind control, he can see space.
FELIX: Anybody can see space.
STANLEY: No. What you see is the borders, like the walls of a room, or mountains. Pure space is only an idea, so he can think it out of existence. But he doesn’t want it spread around too much.