The Zeppelin Spoke (4)

Woman Tramp: I had a dream. We were in the Highlands. Not the pretty Highlands. The other ones. The ones with the rain that rains sideways. And a castle. A stupid castle. With a stupid flag. And I said: "That flag is stupid." And the castle agreed. The castle spoke, penguin. It said: "Yes. I hate this flag. Take me." Penguin: Castles don't speak. Woman Tramp: The zeppelin spoke. In Hamburg. Penguin: That was a Tuesday. Tuesdays don't count. Fliss (from under the tricycle, painting a spoke gold): Every day is a Tuesday if you're brave enough. Sssssera: I w-w-w-want to s-s-s-see a c-c-c-castle. A r-r-r-real one. With s-s-s-stones. And g-g-g-ghosts. And a k-k-k-kitchen where they m-m-m-make… (she squints at her own fur) …h-h-h-haggis. What is h-h-h-haggis? Penguin: Don't ask. Eat it. Regret it. Write a poem. That's the Scottish way. Woman Tramp (throwing off her top coat, revealing the second coat underneath): We will conquer the castle. No weapons. Just confusion. We will walk in. We will sit down. We will play chess. But not normal chess. Sicilian opening. Every move wrong. Every move a question. The castle will surrender from exhaustion. Fliss (crawling out, gold paint on her nose): I don't know how to play chess. Woman Tramp: Perfect. Neither do I. We will play the Sicilian Opening of the Absurd. We will move the king first. Then we will promote a pawn to a toaster. Then we will ask the castle: "Is this a game or a metaphor?" And the castle will cry. And we will comfort it. And then the castle is ours. Penguin: The Highlands are far. We have no horse No vehicle. We have a tricycle. A fur-snake. Three coats. And me. I am a penguin. Penguins do not hike. We waddle. Waddling to Scotland would take approximately— —forever. Forever is acceptable. But we must leave now. Before forever changes its mind. Fliss: I can fix anything. I can turn the tricycle into a— (she stops) No. No more flying. We walk. Or we waddle. Or we slither. (looks at Sssssera) Can you slither uphill? Sssssera: I c-c-c-can ssssslither ups-s-s-sideways. And d-d-d-downs-s-s-sideways. And in c-c-c-circles. Circles are my ssssspecialty. Woman Tramp: Circles are the fastest way to anywhere. Because you never arrive. And if you never arrive, you never have to leave. That's geometry, darling. Look it up. (Overlap starts – word tsunami. All four speaking at once, chaotic, loving.) Fliss: I will paint the castle pink— Penguin: You will not paint history, you will negotiate with it— Woman Tramp: Negotiation is boring, we will confuse it into submission— Sssssera: I will sh-sh-show the c-c-c-castle my ssssymbols and it will f-f-f-fall in l-l-l-love— Fliss: Love is a type of paint— Penguin: Love is a type of Tuesday— Woman Tramp: Love is a tricycle with gold spokes that wants to fly— Sssssera (stuttering violently now, but happy): L-l-l-love is a b-b-b-bat that sssssays n-n-n-no and then l-l-l-leaves and that's f-f-f-fine because sssssomeone has to sssssay no— (The typewriter dings five times.) (Cello. Warm. A single note held too long.) Voice offstage (dry, small, winged): No. Penguin: You are invited. Bat: No. Fliss: We have a castle. Bat: No. Woman Tramp: We have the Sicilian Opening of the Absurd. We move the king first. We promote a pawn to a toaster. We ask the castle if it's a game or a metaphor. Bat: That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Woman Tramp: Thank you. Bat: I'm not coming. I'm a bat. I hang upside down. I eat mosquitoes. I don't do… gestures vaguely at everything …this. Whatever this is. Goodbye. Sssssera: I l-l-l-liked him. He sssssaid n-n-n-no with sssssuch… c-c-c-commitment. Penguin: We will remember the bat. In the castle. When we raise our flag. A flag that is just a drawing of a bat saying no. Fliss: I'll paint it. Pink, of course. (Train whistle. Long. Then a second whistle.) Woman Tramp: So. The Highlands. We go. We waddle. We slither. We roll the tricycle. We carry the fur-snake when the uphills get rude. We find the stupid castle. We sit at its stupid table. We play the stupid Sicilian Opening. We move the king. We promote the pawn. We ask the question. Penguin: What if the castle doesn't cry? Woman Tramp: Then we cry for it. And that's the same thing. Now. Ready? Fliss: No. Sssssera: N-n-n-never. Penguin: That's exactly why it will work. Together (overlapping): We will conquer the castle with confusion— We will play the game that has no rules— We will remember the bat who said no— Because no is also a yes— If you turn it upside down— Like a bat— Like a tricycle that wants to fly— Like a fur-snake whose symbols finally say: "You are already home." And home is not a castle. Home is a dead ship. Home is three coats. Home is a penguin with a gray bow tie. Home is the walk to the Highlands. Home is the Sicilian Opening. Home is the pawn that becomes a toaster. Home is the question: Is this a game or a metaphor? (Pause.) Woman Tramp (whisper): It's both. It was always both.