Mark Twain Interruption by Michel Stone
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This Play is the copyright of the Author and may not be performed, copied or sold without the Author's prior consent
ACT ONE
SCENE ONE
London, June 1897—- The desk of a large, posh hotel. Behind the
desk, a clerk, middle-aged, busies himself with whatever clerks do.
There's a package on the desk next to the clerk. A young American
reporter saunters down the stairs, perhaps writing in a notebook, and
approaches the desk.
REPORTER: He's dead.
DESK CLERK: What? Who?
REPORTER: Mr. Twain.
DESK CLERK: Who?
REPORTER: Twain. Mark Twain. The party in number 12.
DESK CLERK: 12 is Mr. Clemens.
REPORTER: It's the same.
DESK CLERK: Wait a minute. Did you—-were you just up in 12? Mr.
Clemens is ill. 'E's not to be disturbed!
REPORTER: He won't be.
DESK CLERK: And who are you, then? What were you doing up there?
REPORTER: (Showing his press badge.) New York Herald. Happened to be
in London, anyway, and heard the great man was in trouble. I just
came by to see what was up, maybe get an interview. Couldn't get
much, though.
DESK CLERK: Mr. Clemens has taken that influenza. The doctors were
just 'ere this morning. They left strict instructions 'e wasn't to be
dis—-
REPORTER: It's all right. He's attended. The men in white jackets
are up there now. Damnedest thing, really… He no sooner dropped off
the twig than the place was crawling with them
DESK CLERK: I'll ring up. (Picks up the phone.)
REPORTER: (To himself.) God knows, he had enough trouble lately.
Bankrupt with all those fool investments. And didn't his daughter die
last year when he was abroad? Now this. He was delirious at the end.
Kept talking about somebody named Henry.
DESK CLERK: (On phone.) There's a man 'ere says 'e was present when 'e
went.
REPORTER: Present, hell! It was the scoop of the decade! Mark Twain
interviewed on the occasion of his own death! Damn! Think what a
splash that would have made in the papers!
DESK CLERK: (Hanging up.) What would have made?
REPORTER: The last words of Mark Twain, straight from his deathbed!
DESK CLERK: You mean you tried to talk to 'im about that?
REPORTER: Hey, a guy's gotta earn the daily bread!
DESK CLERK: What did 'e say?
REPORTER: “No comment.” Can you imagine? No comment! This from the
man who had something to say about everything! Makes you wonder
DESK CLERK: I don't follow you, sir.
REPORTER: Well, it makes you wonder if he was all he was cracked up to
be. The celebrated author! I mean, you write a few books, tell a few
jokes. What is that?
DESK CLERK: The wife loved 'is stories.
REPORTER: Yeah, he was humorous, OK. I'll give you that. But was he
great? Was he as great as they all say? I mean, hell, you know what
the Press is. The Press makes names. The Press can . . . (Realizing
the import of what he's saying) . . . build up anybody.
(Lights down.)
SCENE TWO
A black stage. A spot up center. A puff of cigar smoke. Mark Twain,
dressed in black, emerges. Lights up to reveal what looks like a
teller's window.
MARK TWAIN: So. This is it.
SAINT PETER: (Popping up behind the teller's cage, embarrassed,
putting down a cheap magazine, perhaps.) Oh! And you are?
MARK TWAIN: Twain. Clemens as was.
SAINT PETER: (Checking his large book.) Hmm. Oh. Yes. You're early.
MARK TWAIN: Thanks. So, where does one go around here to get measured
for wings and a harp?
SAINT PETER: That's right. You're the funny one.
MARK TWAIN: Thanks again. (Another puff.)
SAINT PETER: There's no smoking here.
MARK TWAIN: Listen. Pete, isn't it? If you're trying to be
solicitous of my health, it's a little late for that.
SAINT PETER: Oh, it's never too late, here. We have all the time in
the world, so to speak.
MARK TWAIN: Well, take me to your leader, will you? I'm afraid I
don't have unlimited time before this month's supply runs out, and I
want to arrange terms.
SAINT PETER: Terms? Excuse me?
MARK TWAIN: I won't pay over four dollars a barrel for a passable
cigar, even if this is Heaven! It is, isn't it?
SAINT PETER: What?
MARK TWAIN: Heaven.
SAINT PETER: Well, not exactly.
MARK TWAIN: What do you mean, not exactly?
SAINT PETER: Well, there has to be a certain vetting process, I'm sure
you understand. You can imagine the number of applications we get.
MARK TWAIN: Applications?
SAINT PETER: You'd be amazed at the number of subscriptions! People
who should know they don't have a chance in Hell, so to speak, still
insist on applying. Every year it's worse!
MARK TWAIN: Fine, but—-
SAINT PETER: We used to accept practically anyone. Number One was
building up the business, you see. We couldn't afford to be choosy,
was the way he put it. But you have no idea what it takes to run an
operation like this. Last year the budget for harps alone exceeded
the gross national product of England, France, Germany and the
Netherlands combined! At any rate,
adjustments had to be made. First, there was the presumption against
felons—-
MARK TWAIN: Real or convicted?
SAINT PETER: Then, all the unpleasantness about fornication. I can
tell you, that was a mess! Someone dug up the old committee book, and
we were off! No end of prohibitions!
MARK TWAIN: Committee book?
SAINT PETER: The Bible! My God, this job was a sweet dream of peace
until Number One got the idea of applying your own book against you!
Neat, he called it. Started out as ten
commandments and God knows where it'll end! Last week came the
absolute ban on
bankers and land agents!
MARK TWAIN: Let me see if I understand this. Now that I'm here, now
the train has already left the station and I don't have a return
ticket punched for anywhere, as far as I can see, now your people are
going to decide if I get to stay? Listen, Pete. I didn't exactly wear
the grass off the path to Sunday School, but I did go enough to
remember something they said about the
omniscience of you people, or angels, or whatever you are. Couldn't
you make these
determinations before passage is booked? What are you running up
here?
SAINT PETER: Well you were early, you see. Nothing was prepared. It
was on the books as a bout of influenza, that's all.
MARK TWAIN: All right, fair enough. So, where do we go from here?
SAINT PETER: The Council will meet. They'll review your record. They
may have some questions for you. After all, you're already here. In
the past, on these early calls, Number One has permitted the candidate
himself to participate in the process.
MARK TWAIN: What is this Council?
SAINT PETER: It's a triumvirate, really. Number One likes to think in
threes.
MARK TWAIN: Yes.
SAINT PETER: He takes part himself on rare occasions, but most of the
work is left to the Spiritual Prosector.
MARK TWAIN: Spiritual what?
SAINT PETER: Prosector. SP we call him. Like the medical person who
performs an autopsy. Think of it as a spiritual inquest into your
life.
MARK TWAIN: I see.
SAINT PETER: I'm afraid you have a bit of a hurdle, there. SP has
read some of your stuff. Not overawed, I'm afraid. Fact is, he had
that fruit boy book removed from the shelves of the middle schools in
B wing.
MARK TWAIN: Fruit boy?—-You mean Huckleberry Finn?
SAINT PETER: Yes. Yes, that's it.
MARK TWAIN: Remind me to send him a thank you note.
SAINT PETER: You're joking again.
MARK TWAIN: Not at all. All the librarians get a thank you note.
That's just business. Censorship is good for sales.
(Lights down.)
SCENE THREE
We're still in “Heaven,” but this appears to be a nursery in Twain's
former residence in Hartford, Connecticut. Susy Clemens, about 25,
answers the door.
SUSY: Papa! You've come.
MARK TWAIN: (Standing at the open door with flowers.) Susy.
SUSY: Where did you find flowers?
MARK TWAIN: Where do you not find flowers up here? You look good,
Susy. Death agrees with you.
SUSY: I wish you'd been there.
MARK TWAIN: Me too. Traipsing all over Europe, another damn speech in
every town. It about killed me when I heard.
SUSY: Me too. (A smile and the beginning of a laugh.) You look tired,
Papa. It was just last
year we were all in New York. (Runs her hand across his face.) I don't
remember all the
wrinkles.
MARK TWAIN: Ah, yes, the wrinkles. They will come. Well, if you're
lucky, they'll only show where the smiles have been. Hey, this looks
like Hartford, the old house.
SUSY: Yes. They work wonders here. You can choose the place. You can
choose your age, even.
MARK TWAIN: You chose Connecticut.
SUSY: That's where the smiles were, isn't it?
MARK TWAIN: Yes, plenty enough. All my girls and me together.
SUSY: Tell me about Italy.
MARK TWAIN: Ah, Italy. Beautiful country. Of course, the beauty was a
sarcasm to me after I got the news of you. But when I first went to
Italy, years ago, it was a revelation. Paintings,
statues, churches, all designed and executed by Michelangelo, it
seemed, or by his pupils.
You couldn't spit without hitting a Michelangelo. When I first got to
Italy, I was full of
regret that Michelangelo had died. But after I'd been there a couple
weeks, I was only sorry
I hadn't seen him do it.
SUSY: Papa, how could you tire of those beautiful things?
MARK TWAIN: I don't know, Susy. I've traveled so many places. In
Italy, the Church dominates everything, including the art. As you
know, this firm you're with now has a principal branch office in Rome.
But there's so much poverty everywhere!
SUSY: Yes, I remember the boys in the street in Naples, begging. Their
eyes so big, their bodies so small and frail.
MARK TWAIN: And their hands always outstretched! There it is. A land
of such riches. And the art, most of it, made for the Church, and
just lying about in the open air. They're not like us;
anything of artistic merit in America is locked away in some museum
vault, for fear somebody might touch it. In Italy, the kids in rags
bathe at lunchtime in fountains commissioned by the Pope. And it's
not just the statuary and frescoes and paintings, but the very land
from which comes their bread is owned by the Church. And benefits no
one but the Church. And finally you have to ask, Sons of Italy, where
is your backbone? Your children are starving! Why don't they rob
their churches?
SUSY: Papa, you're incorrigible!
MARK TWAIN: Yes, I suppose this kind of talk may not be just the
ticket where I'm headed.
SUSY: Where you're headed?
MARK TWAIN: You see, I'm not a full-fledged member of these precincts
quite yet. There is to be a sort of inquest into my spiritual
qualifications for harp-playing. I'm not sure I can carry the tune.
SUSY: Papa, do you remember the letter from Santa Claus, when I was
three?
MARK TWAIN: Do I remember? Hell, I helped him write it.
SUSY: Would you read some of it?
MARK TWAIN: (He laughs for the first time in Heaven.) For you,
anything.
(Susy goes to a desk and retrieves the letter. Twain settles in an
armchair, she on a divan at
his side.)
MARK TWAIN: (Reading.) Christmas Morning. Enchanted Palace of—-
SUSY: Saint Nicholas in the Moon!
MARK TWAIN: (Reading.) My Dear Susy Clemens, I have received and read
all the letters which you and your little sister have written me. I
will call at your kitchen door about nine o'clock this morning to
inquire. But I must not see anybody and I must not speak to anybody
but you. When the kitchen doorbell rings, George must be blindfolded
and sent to the door. You must tell George he must walk on tiptoe and
not speak—-otherwise he will die someday. I will go to the moon and
get your things and in a few minutes I will come down the chimney to
the fireplace in the hall. If I should leave any snow in the hall, you
must tell George to sweep it into the fireplace, for I haven't time to
do such things. George must not use a broom, but a rag—-else—-(Twain
and Susy speak in unison.)—-he will die someday. (He chuckles.)
Good-by for a few minutes, till I come down to the world and ring the
kitchen doorbell. Your loving Santa Claus whom people sometimes call
(In unison.) “The Man in the Moon.” (He puts the letter down.) I
guess I was kind of hard on old George. Is he here?
SUSY: Yes.
MARK TWAIN: Well, that's all right, then. Many's the time I came
close to throttling him for leaving snow all over the landing. I
could never break him of the habit of using a dry broom! Attempted
mayhem, I called it.
SUSY: Maybe it was just his lumbago, from all those years working in
the fields.
MARK TWAIN: I suppose. Still, I never asked him to get down on his
hands and knees. No law in Connecticut against using a mop.
SUSY: So you had Santa get an innocent little girl to tell George to
use a cloth instead of a broom!
MARK TWAIN: None of us could deny you anything, sweetheart. I figured
if it came from you it would carry more weight. Besides, you could
read better than George even at that age.
(A pause.)
MARK TWAIN: So, do you have, uh, male companionship, here? Is that on
the program?
(A tall, handsome young man, about 27, enters.)
MARK TWAIN: Oh! You only have to ask!
SUSY: No! I mean, yes, but—- Papa, this is—-
LANGDON: I'm Langdon, sir.
MARK TWAIN: (He is struck.) Ah. Yes. Langdon. I never could picture
you grown up.
(They shake hands awkwardly. It turns into an embrace.)
MARK TWAIN: You favor your uncle.
LANGDON: Orion?
MARK TWAIN: No. Henry. He died before you were born. Steamboat
accident.
SUSY: You should visit him, Papa.
MARK TWAIN: Henry's here? (To himself.) Of course he's here. Hard
to get up to much sin before your twentieth birthday. Sin that
counts, anyway. (To Langdon.) I'm sorry I missed your
growing up, son.
LANGDON: I had your books, anyway.
MARK TWAIN: Invaluable guides, I'm sure.
LANGDON: And your sayings. (Reciting.) “Always obey your parents.
When they are present.” That was my favorite.
MARK TWAIN: Oh, yes. Livy and I weren't present, so you've had a free
hand in the matter.
LANGDON: I was proud of you. Proud to be your son. I've read every
one of your books.
MARK TWAIN: It figures. Henry was always the bookish one, too. Read
constantly. Orion and I relied on him whenever we fetched up in a
place that required some fact or other. Do you like cats?
SUSY: Langdon has a house full of them! Dogs, too.
MARK TWAIN: Whenever we had a rabid dog or an injured mare that needed
shooting, I was elected. Henry was the one when a stray kitten or
chick needed nursing.
SUSY: Henry's not far, they've kept us all in the same quadrant.
MARK TWAIN: Quadrant?
SUSY: Of this part of this galaxy.
MARK TWAIN: Well, that was a kindness!
LANGDON: I could take you over there, now, if you like.
MARK TWAIN: No, I—-
LANGDON: We could be back by dinner. I think Susy has something
special planned.
MARK TWAIN: No, thank you, son, I have that interview with the
committee, the troika, or whatever they call it. I have to get ready.
(Pause.) Tell me something. You've read all my books?
LANGDON: Many times over.
MARK TWAIN: Life on the Mississippi?
LANGDON: Yes.
MARK TWAIN: So you know about Henry. About what happened.
LANGDON: Yes, Papa.
MARK TWAIN: (A pause.) You weren't even two, when we lost you.
(Pause.) How do you keep time straight up here?
LANGDON: Time, Papa?
MARK TWAIN: Everything seems to exist at once. Every experience seems
to draw on every other. There's no sequence. No before, no after.
Where are the seasons? The passing of years? It's all jumbled up,
like New England weather. No night, no day. There's no sunrise on the
river,
is there?
LANGDON: No, Papa.
MARK TWAIN: No. (Pause.) No, I shan't be seeing Henry today.
(Lights down.)
SCENE FOUR (partial)
A courtroom, or committee room. A long table, on one side of which
Mark Twain and Sandy are seated.
SANDY: Now remember: Try to accentuate the positive. Stay away from
the early days as much as you can. Especially Nevada.
MARK TWAIN: What's wrong with Nevada?
SANDY: You were banned from Nevada. Have you forgotten?
MARK TWAIN: Oh. Wasn't much of a place, then. I've been thrown out of
better.
SANDY: It was dueling, wasn't it?
MARK TWAIN: Well, you could call it that. It wasn't serious. It wasn't
like an Austrian duel. More like a French duel. No danger of anyone
really getting hurt. It was a question of honor. I was young, I
thought I had some.
SANDY: You were even younger on the River. Stay away from the River.
MARK TWAIN: I was happy on the River.
SANDY: You were young, and sometimes violent. Usually drunk and
generally profane.
MARK TWAIN: I was young when I served in the Civil War.
SANDY: For two weeks. And saw no action. And ran away to Nevada.
Look, Sam. These people are serious. They're looking for serious
people. Jane Austen got in easily. Why? Well,
leaving aside the obvious facts that she writes like an
angel—-(pointedly) and uses good
grammar—-she didn't try to carry in the baggage of a wastrel youth.
MARK TWAIN: Did Louisa May Alcott get in?
SANDY: Of course.
MARK TWAIN: Damn! I hope she's not a voting member. She said if I
couldn't give boys and girls a better example than Huck, I might as
well stop writing for them altogether.
SANDY: It may come down to Huckleberry Finn. That's the book we're
going to have to justify.
MARK TWAIN: Hm. That's what Livy always said.
[end of extract]
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