Evening. The pond behind the mill. Nixie paces distractedly, unable to stand still. Lucien sits at her feet, watching.
Nixie. I can’t concentrate
I’m panting
I’m in love with the world
I can see everything
Taste it
Smell the earth
I’m going to cry
Lucien. It’s wonderful
Nixie. Go away
You can’t understand
You can’t participate
Screaming
Nostrils flaring
Squeeze eyes shut
Throw head back into the wall
Open mouth so wide
I can’t express it
I can’t get it out
I want to stay up all night and HOWL AT THE MOON
Lucien. I wish I were
As able as you to experience
The divine.
You are the idol of my existence.
Nixie. Oh
Am I human?
I feel human,
But so few are like me
Belly open
Spread
Scribble
I’m so hungry,
I’m so hungry for everything
Lucien. Please teach me,
I’m hungry for everything, too
I pay attention to the minute details
Of the mundane
But so unsuccessfully!
Give me this gift of sensation!
Nixie. My hair is soft
Toss my head
It’s too, too much
My hair
So much soft teasing
Curls
Wild
Fingers
Fingernails
Growl
Cry
Bite bite
Tear with teeth
Pull my hair
Pull me along, drag me
Snarl
Snap
Moan groan
Kill and eat
Raw flesh
Still warm and bloody
I’m hungry
I must eat
I must live
Lucien. Yes, even death is fascinating
Even death is an adventure!
How is it that we must die to live?
Nixie. Go outside
Howl howl
The blood-red necklace
Fast panting
Lick lick
Lick
Lap
Lap up
Bite your tongue
Mouth fixation
Salivate
Taste it all
My lips taste so good
Pant pant pant
Howl snarl
Swallow
Open up to swallow them all
Lick lips and taste them
Taste cool tears
Watery wet and salty safe
Lucien. When I glanced into the water
I was changed
My life was never so appealing
As the animal zeal I find without
Nixie. Every every sensation
Chew until it snaps
Crack crack bones
Slither and swirl
I have so many teeth
So sharp
Whimper high
My mouth is
So big
My throat is
Twist and turn
Lucien. Yes, let us dance!
Dancing is the music of the body
It is the science of the spheres
Nixie. Oh oh
Quiet
Shhhh
Quiet me down
Don’t let me
Stop me
NO NO NO
Wild and depraved
Wild
Wild
Wild wild
Round round
Spherical bulbs
Slam
Bang bang bang
Fist
Stomp stomp stomp
Ha
No no no
Eat
Taste
Bite my body
Whimper
Lucien. The sickness in you
Is, I fear, that for which I search.
Nixie. Sick romanticism?
Poor baby
We’re all sick and
WONDERFUL
Sniffle
Whimper
Cry
Smile at your cute, cute sniffles
Restless
Shame at enjoyment
Of the taste of blood
Sharp canine teeth
Shame and wonder
Hunger and fear
Am I sick and evil?
Is it wrong?
To enjoy sense?
To enjoy pain?
Oh, Paschal Victim,
What would you say
If you saw me in my torment?
Lucien. Oh, goddess, how may I serve you?
The luminous moon is rising
As sets the benevolent sun.
Nixie. Stay, stay
And try to see it
Not with your eyes,
For they are wise,
But see it with your ears
And hear it with the inside of your hand—
Nixie flings herself into the pond, disappearing under the water.
Lucien. She may be right—
Why do I long to follow her?
Down to death I would go
If she commanded.
But when she is gone,
I no longer think of her.
Can this then be honest love?
I think not.
She may be right—
Why does she shape my destiny?
I find myself unable to imagine
A future without her
But every moment with her
Torments me with inadequacy.
If I could get away I might be happy,
But never challenged.
She may be right—
Why do I blindly follow her?
She may be correct in surmising
That I am naïve.
But when she is gone,
I no longer think of her.
Can this be honest?
I think not.
Lucien sighs, returning to the house. After a moment, Marta enters, carrying Haven in a basket.
Marta. I waited and daydreamed, a Cinderella princess
I pictured you saving the day
I waited in anger for a knight in shining armor
To take all my troubles away
I know it’s an old theme, and one I esteem
Knee-high in garbage, but I had a dream
Covered by flies and all I despise,
I didn’t have much chance against the fury in their eyes:
The guilty lies
You came and I gave you an open-ended question,
Invited you into my sin
But you wouldn’t give me a sympathetic answer
I had to make you begin
Fighting with my pride, Right on our side,
Angry at evil, I laughed when they died
You could stay so calm with blood on your palm,
You didn’t hate it or love it, but it made you belong:
I think it was wrong
Now we are lying in guilt and shame forever,
But you want to leave it behind
I cannot leave here—how can I wish for comfort?
I don’t want a sanctified mind
You know that it’s your sin. How can you grin?
If you hadn’t come here, how could we begin?
And now that I’m in pain, drowning in shame,
I know it was my dream, but you take the blame:
You don’t feel the same
You say it would be better if I’d take a stand
Decide that I’m in charge and take my fate in hand
I’m too exhausted to let go of Fortune’s apron string
I don’t want to be responsible for everything
I wish I were fifteen, chasing that theme
Holding the promise of my self-esteem
Covered in flies and all I despise,
Waiting for someone who’s strong in my eyes:
The Furies and the lies…
Ah, if only I had self-control
Ah, if only he would not manipulate me so
Why could he not refuse to help me sin?
Why does he not want me to gain salvation?
What kind of love is so selfish?
He should have stopped me from destroying myself!
It is his responsibility!
But the guilt—the guilt is mine.
And I am so afraid of his knowledge—
What he could do to me with a single word—
In the earth, there is nothing so powerful,
Nothing so powerful as secret knowledge.
Ah, Child
This is one of the Hebrew babies.
Ah, Water
Take this baby and nurse him for me,
And I will pay you.
Marta places the basket on the water. It begins to sink. Horrified, she snatches it up out of the water.
Marta. Will nothing work properly?
I have no desire to watch him die!
Marta begins crying at the sky. Cato enters.
Cato. I thought you might return here—
It is a picturesque place for suicide, isn’t it?
Why are you here, and not celebrating
The birth of the kingdom’s heir?
Marta. The kingdom has no heir
When the birth is illegitimate.
Cato. Really, these medieval ideas
Are detrimental in the extreme.
Why is the baby in a basket?
Marta hands the basket to Cato.
Marta. I had hoped to send him floating away
To a kingdom once and future
That he may inherit
Cato. But, Marta, this is a pond.
It doesn’t lead anywhere
Except down, to death.
A pause as he realizes the implications of his statement.
Cato. This is appalling!
Honestly, I don’t understand
How you can be so horribly cruel!
Is there anything more immoral?
Marta. What else can I do?
Give me a viable solution!
Cato. It’s too late for viable solutions!
Why didn’t you think about the future
When you had the chance?
Marta. Can’t you offer me anything at all?
Cato. How can you expect me to solve your problems?
Go home! Get well!
Marta. I can’t go home now.
And I won’t take him there, either.
Keep him from me, I bet you!
Or I will do him some violence.
Cato. I will!
Marta walks out determinedly, in the direction opposite her entrance. Cato stands, holding the basket with the baby.
Cato. The Noble Savage
sacrifices herself
once again
on the small nail that she finds
in the books on the bookshelf.
drowning herself in the glass of water
used to wash the paintbrushes,
drinking the particular poison that can be found
only in the garden, the human body, and the human mind.
Nearby, I, the Byronic Hero
attempt to set my palms on fire
with the matches I found
in the music on the music stand.
My presence ruins the pathos
of her attempt at death
Her presence intrudes upon
the loneliness
My chosen loneliness.
I am Edgar Allen Poe, and she
is Isadora Duncan
We are but two
of the hundreds
of the thousands
who search in desperation
for the Honor
given only to the dead.
We starve in garrets,
we paint our eyes black and our skin pale
we burn at the stake.
Still we search for new venues, because
all of these have become
clichés.
Exaggeration of our plight
The depths of self-ignorance.
There are those who try to turn us from this pathos,
Who remind us that we are wrong—
they are right.
We beg them for help and
scorn their help;
It would better suit our purposes
if they refused us.
We tell ourselves that no one understands.
We may be wrong or not—
What matters to us is that we believe ourselves
Alone.
It is painful
But is necessary, to achieve
Honor, to achieve
the screaming pain of
Art.
Art can be gotten
by other means
but it is then
not
screaming pain.
Oh, child—
The world fills me with horror.
A place where mothers kill the children of their blood…
I renounce this art!
I renounce this Sublime Daemonic!
I hate this music,
This musica mundana,
This music of the spheres!
We will flee
To a land where we can make the world
Better and more beautiful
Together, we will feed starving children
And build homes for the homeless.
Reason will be our guide.
From now on,
Our world is Economic!