Soul of a Whore and Purvis Read online

  Don’t balk—we understand, and we approve:

  Only a natural monstrosity

  Uh uh uh uh uh

  Or penitential masochist endures

  Eight hours in the Greyhound totally sober.

  CLERK: I’m in agreement with you there! I quite agree!

  SYLVESTER: Well—save a drop for company!

  Can’t have the citizens dispatched along

  The routes by a comptroller in a state

  A state of uh uh giddy inebriation—

  Who knows uh uh how things would uh! end up?

  CLERK: They’d end up just exactly like they are,

  With no one getting anywhere. Go on,

  Kill it, sir, it’s Everclear—

  Seems like she’s calmer—

  JOHN: Honey, just lay back.

  SYLVESTER: Entranced and uncommunicative…

  MASHA: LEMME DO THE HULA FOR YOU, BABY.

  SYLVESTER:…She’s fainted.

  JOHN: Doctor, why is her voice like that—

  SYLVESTER: She’s coming out of the physical part of it now.

  We’re entering the most important phase,

  Prognostications, uh uh soothsaying—

  BILL JENKS: Soothsaying? Buddy, what the hell is sooth?

  SYLVESTER: We’ll see a period of trancelike, “twilight

  Semi-consciousness” we uh uh uh

  Physicians like to call it, during which

  —Does anybody have a racing form?

  —I happen to have a racing form myself!

  —I’m going to whisper names and races so

  Our patient hears them in her twilight state

  And then I think you’ll uh uh be intrigued—

  Intrigued, I say—all right, we’ve got the fifth

  At Manor Downs. A lovely uh uh uh—

  Outside of Austin there. They’ll go the mile.

  THE FIFTH AT MANOR DOWNS. THE FIFTH. Luke’s Luck.

  Blue Streak, Destroyer, Dark Delight, Shazam.

  MASHA: Idiot of ages!

  SYLVESTER: “Idiot—”

  Uh, no, the six: Shazam. Shazam, in fact,

  Is six, and number five is actually—

  MASHA: Idiot idiot idiot! This one heals!

  SYLVESTER: Settle down and pick me out a winner—

  JOHN: This is William Jennings Bryan Jenks…

  SYLVESTER: Jenks! The Shameful Shaman! Traveling?

  I do enjoy a Greyhound trip myself.

  It’s magical. You get to see the country.

  BILL JENKS: Who are you?

  SYLVESTER: I asked you first.

  BILL JENKS: I didn’t hear you ask.

  MASHA: SYLVESTER…

  BILL JENKS: O! Sylvester!—

  SYLVESTER: Uuh uh uh—

  BILL JENKS: Sylvester’s Big-As-Texas Topless Lounge!

  SYLVESTER: Back off!—Who is it now addresses me?

  MASHA: You know me.

  SYLVESTER: Give me now predictions three.

  MASHA: Nothing for you.

  SYLVESTER: Nothing? Uh. Huh. Huh—

  MASHA: You’ve let her go, you fool. She’s found the healer.

  SYLVESTER: This guy? uh uh uh—this guy’s a fraud.

  Predictions three…

  MASHA: Get rid of him.

  SYLVESTER: Give me now predictions three.

  MASHA: Get rid of him, or I abide in silence.

  SYLVESTER: Aw, come on, demon! Gimme couple races!

  Look at the odds on uh uh Dark Destroyer!

  …We’re getting nothing here. [To BJ] You’ll have to leave.

  Now, please. You’ll have to uh uh uh to leave—

  BILL JENKS: Sucker, I been trying to leave all day.

  You put me on a bus, I’ll disappear.

  JOHN: This is a demon, brother! You can heal her.

  SYLVESTER: You are jinxin’ my routine! Now blow!

  GRANNY BLACK wakes.

  GRANNY BLACK: Hot! Hot! Why do they say it’s air-conditioned?

  BILL JENKS: I wish I could nap as sound as you, young lady.

  CLERK: Go grubbing on a grave all night;

  Gnaw the dirt above a killer’s corpse

  While Huntsville lies in bed. Next day you’ll nap.

  GRANNY BLACK: I never grubbed on a grave! You slander me!

  I think you’re addled by the heat!

  I think you’re positively shatterpated!

  MASHA: ARLENE.

  GRANNY BLACK: Lonnie?

  MASHA: ARLENE.

  GRANNY BLACK: Is it… ? Lonnie…

  MASHA: I’ll see you tonight.

  GRANNY BLACK: Lonnie…

  MASHA: Sleep, sleep, Arlene. I’ll see you tonight.

  GRANNY BLACK: All right, Lonnie. Yes, my love…

  SYLVESTER: My Lord.

  I’ve never seen her do like that. Uh…Uh…

  BILL JENKS: DEMON!…DEMON!…DEMON! NAME YOURSELF!

  MASHA: In whose name do you cast me out, Healer?

  SYLVESTER: That’s a damn good question. Who exactly

  Asked you to the party, anyway?

  In whose name do you cast out demons?

  BILL JENKS: I cast out demons in my own damn name.

  JOHN: That ain’t gonna work.

  BILL JENKS: You’ll watch it work!

  SYLVESTER: Now uh uh this disturbed young gal and I

  Have got a sort of system up and running,

  And your insertion of uh uh yourself

  Is absolutely unacceptable.

  BILL JENKS: NAME YOURSELF!

  SYLVESTER: JACKHAMMER!

  BILL JENKS: …What?

  I beg your pardon? Demon name yourself?

  SYLVESTER: Jackhammer Jake! I batter this man’s throat.

  SYLVESTER howls and shakes.

  BILL JENKS: To tell the truth, I wasn’t expecting this.

  Hold him down, John.—Don’t let go of her!—

  Pry them jaws. Wider…Jackhammer Jake!

  BJ spits on his finger and touches it to SYLVESTER’s tongue.

  SYLVESTER: Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh

  BILL JENKS: Jackhammer Jake!

  As Jesus promised in the Gospel of Mark

  That we shall cast out devils and lay healing

  Touches on the sick, I touch you now!

  Unloose the string on this man’s tongue! Begone!

  [SYLVESTER calms.]

  …Now tell me, what did Peter Piper pick?

  SYLVESTER: He picked your nose, you meddling piss, and I’d

  Pay money to see him shove it up your hole…

  Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled

  Rubber baby buggy bumpers—wow.

  This Mumble-Stumb’s red-dogged my vocalize

  From minute one. I had full-on, obscene

  Tourette’s till Mama whipped it out of me.

  But let’s just stop this tent revival here—

  Before you get me past the point of cure

  And on into the tongues and rattlesnakes.

  You gotcher cookies. Come, girl, let’s go home.

  BILL JENKS: DEMON! NAME YOURSELF! NOW!

  MASHA: Dark

  Delight.

  Dark Delight at Manor Downs. Fifth race!

  SYLVESTER: One down! All right, now, where’s my sheet—

  Back off now. Give her room. Give me my sheet!

  I’ve lost my light—Don’t you turn the lights on?

  CLERK: Once in a while. But I never like what I see.

  BILL JENKS: Let me do my work.

  SYLVESTER: I need that demon!

  MASHA quakes at BJ’s approach.

  JOHN: You can’t expel a demon in the name

  Of nothing but yourself—it’s blasphemy.

  BILL JENKS: Just let me take a whack at it. You’ll see.

  JOHN: It’s blasphemy. The Bible’s clear on that.

  Mark says, “In my name cast out devils.”

  BILL JENKS: Your good ol’ brother Mark?

  JOHN: Come on! />
  BILL JENKS: All right, I will. I’ll call on old JC.

  …Jesus Christ, they crucified you, huh?

  Holy Jesus, they crucified you good.

  Jesus Christ, they threw you in the pit

  And fed you meals of Spam and Wonder bread…

  But the crucifiers never ride the Greyhound.

  Jesus Christ…

  [He falls to his knees.]

  It’s Bill Jenks, fresh from prison.

  Been out half a day, and my report

  Says, Lord, it’s still the world they killed you in.

  Says, Lord, the world is desperate and mean.

  Lord, come on now, turn an ear to me.

  Your Catholic priests are pederastic homos.

  Your preachers are sluts. They clutch your Book

  In one hand green from moneybags and poke

  Your Word with fingers reasty from young cunts.

  The sonsabitches crucify

  Occasionally a savior while revering

  Prophets their fathers lynched. The motherfuckers

  Live unchallenged, prosper, die unpunished.

  God, I hate them. Jesus hated them, too.

  Don’t dispute me—Jesus Christ reviled them.

  He saw who held the hammer and the nails.

  He recognized who would and wouldn’t hurt him,

  And so he palled around with dwarfs and whores,

  People everybody hated—tax collectors,

  Lepers, urchins, strangers, widows, dummies…

  Come on now, Jesus, turn an ear to me.

  Jesus Christ, I am a criminal.

  I am a tax collector, whore, and midget:

  You have nothing to fear from the likes of me,

  And nobody else in here is gonna hurt you,

  For the crucifiers never ride the Greyhound.

  Jesus Christ, I beg you for the power.

  I beg you for the power and cry…DEMON!

  [He lays hands on MASHA; she writhes and screams.]

  DEMON, I BANISH YOU TO—

  MASHA: HEAR ME, HEALER!

  …Spare me banishment to the pit of Hell,

  But leave me to the world of things and men,

  And I will grant you prophecies three.

  SYLVESTER: YOU WHORE!

  JOHN: Bill Jenks: Something good will come of this!

  SYLVESTER: Masha—demon—buddy—talk to me—

  MASHA: Only spare me the pit, and I will flee.

  Spare me the pit, and I will prophesy…

  BILL JENKS:…OK, I’ll take the deal. No pit of Hell.

  MASHA: Hand on the cross.

  BILL JENKS: Hand on the cross. No pit.

  Prophesy away, and walk the world

  As long as men and things inhabit here.

  SYLVESTER: He’s got my damn predictions! I’m a pauper!

  MASHA: Hear me, William Jennings Bryan Jenks:

  I prophesy that you shall meet your mirror.

  I prophesy that you shall raise the dead.

  I prophesy one more: That like all men

  William Jennings Bryan Jenks shall die,

  And on his death an innocent shall be killed.

  [BJ lays his hands on her.]

  I FLEE!

  JOHN: …She’s limp. That thing is gone.

  SYLVESTER: Three predictions? That’s your total score?

  Three predictions worth exactly zero?

  Son of a bitch. She could’ve made you wealthy

  Ten times over. What a rube you are.

  [A siren; pulsing red and blue light that continues until blackout.]

  Here comes the ambulance to the whore hospital.

  BILL JENKS: I shall meet my mirror? I keep clear

  Of mirrors. I don’t like their face.

  I guarantee I’ll never raise the dead.

  And naturally I’ll die. But all the rest

  Is nonsense. Let me see your racing form.

  Maybe she’s just handicapping horses.

  CLERK [holding radio]: Hey there—John Cassandra—on the news:

  They set your mother’s date an hour ago.

  Isabel Cassandra: Death by poison!

  JOHN wails.

  Lights narrow: GRANNY, the cross, the sign: SURPLUS STORE.

  HT sings as he enters from Surplus Store.

  HT: If you ever get to Houston

  Boy you better walk right

  You better not gamble

  And you better not fight

  …What’s all the fuss? Where’d everybody go?

  Ma’am, I heard my friend I’m waiting on

  Raising his voice in here. I know his voice.

  GRANNY wakes to see HT standing before the cross.

  GRANNY BLACK: Whose ghost are you? Which one? Which murdered angel?

  HT: Do I look like a ghost? I’m not a ghost.

  (Am I a ghost?…I don’t remember dying…)

  I’m waiting on a friend, a friend—I know his voice—

  GRANNY BLACK: Harold Thomas Watson! I see you!

  I feel your fangs sinking into my soul!

  I didn’t tell him to! Nobody told him!

  Demons sent and fetched him, slapped him, rocked him—

  Everybody knew he’d kill somebody.

  I’m the one he should have killed—he loved me!

  I’m the one he should have killed—I loved him!

  I swear I’m leaving town. I’m bound for Dallas.

  I won’t be here among your children nor

  Your children’s children on the Huntsville streets—

  They’ll never have to look at me again!

  Leave this poor old woman to the black

  And miserable damnation love has earned her.

  Her wailing blends with ambulance’s siren.

  BLACKOUT

  Part II

  About a year later.

  Split scene: Left, hospital waiting room. Right, hospital room.

  Lights up stage right:

  Hospital room. Early summer morning. Dark but for the light of the monitors, and a bit of dawn.

  SIMON lies in bed, a silhouette.

  SIMON: I have kissed your prayers kissed your prayers

  Roller coaster rollin’ through the rain

  The oceanic shoulders of the throng

  Undulating slowly breakfastward

  Mobile tit!

  NURSE has entered. She opens the window.

  NURSE: A lovely one is coming!

  Lovely! I’ll just crack the jamb before

  The hot of the day, so’s you can breathe the morning.

  …O, Lordy God, it smells so sweet and green

  It almost nearly stinks.

  SIMON: Soft fuck-me music

  Plays the little baby radio

  Bare room shaken by a passing train

  NURSE: The little baby radio. That’s cute.

  She turns on radio. While she fluffs his pillows, records his vitals, etc.:

  JIMMY BOGGS [sings on radio]:

  All your promises

  The things you said

  NURSE: That Jimmy Boggs is just untalented.

  JIMMY BOGGS [sings on radio]:

  Using grand words

  Like eternity and love

  NURSE: A singing voice like garbage cans turned over.

  She cuts the radio.

  SIMON: Your holy pussy your precious cunt

  There’s never been a sweeter ride to Hell

  NURSE: How quiet and delicious is the air.

  Like anything can happen in the world.

  What an atmosphere…Ah, God. Ah, God…

  They mow the lawns, it drags me back to Dallas…

  I wish they had the ice-cream trucks again…Meanwhile,

  WILL BLAINE has entered in medical smock.

  WILL: You wish they had the ice-cream trucks again.

  SIMON: The generous wide feet of pachyderms

  NURSE: We’re almost done here, Doc.

  WILL: I’m not a doctor.

/>   Just a tech.

  NURSE: Blood?

  WILL: In a sense.

  NURSE: Let’s see—

  SIMON: Geezing bugspray in the slimy night

  NURSE:—Do you have orders? I don’t seem to have—

  WILL: Uh—no. I’m not your colleague. Actually,

  Simon is my brother.

  NURSE: Simon’s brother!

  But it’s a little early, don’t you think?

  Official hours—

  WILL: I drove down from work.

  Been floating on that road since midnight, after

  the post-injection wrap-up drinks at Mursky’s

  Bar and Grill but definitely mostly Bar,

  Drifting through the general emptiness

  From Huntsville: Seven hours in the rain

  and more than slightly drunk, and I saw never

  A single car. Or house. Or tree. Or star.

  NURSE: O well, that’s Texas! It’s a long old ways

  Between and not a whole lot when you get there…

  My niece got married to a Huntsville man.

  WILL: I’m over at the Unit. At the Walls.

  NURSE: The Walls?

  WILL: The prison?

  NURSE: O. The prison? O!

  They executed someone there last night!—

  Some crazy feller killed his wife and all

  His little children…Well, my niece’s husband

  Thomas Hill works at the Walls. I guess

  He goes around confusing people, too,

  Looking like the uniform of something else.

  …Well now, since you’re a tech, you’re probably…

  There’s things to do the family might not…

  We like to avoid unsightly sights—

  WILL: The bag.

  NURSE: I’m gonna change the bag, and such.

  WILL: OK.

  NURSE: His little children! God Himself can’t tell you

  Why that feller killed them. Well, he did,

  And now it’s eye for eye and tooth for tooth.

  They strapped him to the slab and—life for life.

  WILL: I’d say that’s pretty much it, in a nutshell,

  That’s what we do.