Act 1 Scene 1a

dramatic spoken word, cinematic ambient score, historical / biblical storytelling

+ Show full styles

ARRIVAL IN BABYLON

[NARRATOR] 
The exiles look up at the city looming over them. A long silence. The grandeur is monstrous.

[SABA ELAN - old man, deep gravelly voice] 
Don't look at it too long. Don't let it in your eyes. A city like that gets into a man and never leaves.

[SOLDIER - adult man, rough]
 Move! Down by the water — that's where your kind belongs. The king has no use for you yet.

[NARRATOR - adult man]
 The exiles are driven down to the riverbank — willow branches above, dark water below. The soldiers withdraw into the shadows.

SCENE ONE: BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON
[NARRATOR - adult man]
 Time has passed. This is now an established camp, threadbare but alive. Exiles move through the slow business of survival — grinding grain, mending nets, hauling water. There is a worn dignity to it. Saba Elan sits apart, a harp wrapped in cloth across his knees — the same harp from the temple, carried all this way. He unwraps it slowly, as if uncovering a face.

[SABA ELAN - old man, deep gravelly voice] 
You and I played for the King of Heaven once. In His own house. The smoke went up straighter — she used to say that. I'll not play you for the king of this one. Not one note. Not if they whip me for it.

[NARRATOR - adult man] 
He rises, crosses to the willow, and lifts the harp up into the branches, where it hangs. One by one, other exiles come forward and do the same — harp after harp, lyre after lyre, hung silent in the trees, until the willows are heavy with instruments. It is a graveyard and a vow at once. Among them, Miryam — older now, worn — crosses to a small fire away from the others, and sits with a bundle in her arms: a baby.

[MIRYAM - adult woman] 
You were born by the wrong river, little one. I keep thinking I'll wake up and smell the cedar. The oil in the lamps. I was your age — well. Not your age. A girl. When it burned. My father told me to keep the songs. As if I could put a city in my mouth and carry it.

[NARRATOR - adult man] 
She looks down at the child. The grief she has held for years rises before she can stop it.

[MIRYAM - adult woman] 
But before I can sing you the sweet one... your mother has to put something down. Just once. Just tonight.

2207/7500

ARRIVAL IN BABYLON [NARRATOR] The exiles look up at the city looming over them. A long silence. The grandeur is monstrous. [SABA ELAN - old man, deep gravelly voice] Don't look at it too long. Don't let it in your eyes. A city like that gets into a man and never leaves. [SOLDIER - adult man, rough] Move! Down by the water — that's where your kind belongs. The king has no use for you yet. [NARRATOR - adult man] The exiles are driven down to the riverbank — willow branches above, dark water below. The soldiers withdraw into the shadows. SCENE ONE: BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON [NARRATOR - adult man] Time has passed. This is now an established camp, threadbare but alive. Exiles move through the slow business of survival — grinding grain, mending nets, hauling water. There is a worn dignity to it. Saba Elan sits apart, a harp wrapped in cloth across his knees — the same harp from the temple, carried all this way. He unwraps it slowly, as if uncovering a face. [SABA ELAN - old man, deep gravelly voice] You and I played for the King of Heaven once. In His own house. The smoke went up straighter — she used to say that. I'll not play you for the king of this one. Not one note. Not if they whip me for it. [NARRATOR - adult man] He rises, crosses to the willow, and lifts the harp up into the branches, where it hangs. One by one, other exiles come forward and do the same — harp after harp, lyre after lyre, hung silent in the trees, until the willows are heavy with instruments. It is a graveyard and a vow at once. Among them, Miryam — older now, worn — crosses to a small fire away from the others, and sits with a bundle in her arms: a baby. [MIRYAM - adult woman] You were born by the wrong river, little one. I keep thinking I'll wake up and smell the cedar. The oil in the lamps. I was your age — well. Not your age. A girl. When it burned. My father told me to keep the songs. As if I could put a city in my mouth and carry it. [NARRATOR - adult man] She looks down at the child. The grief she has held for years rises before she can stop it. [MIRYAM - adult woman] But before I can sing you the sweet one... your mother has to put something down. Just once. Just tonight.

0/500