Satellites Out of Orbit by Chris Wind

Price $7.99 Add to cart

This Play is the copyright of the Author and may not be performed, copied or sold without the Author's prior consent

Epistles:

Eve (849w 6min) challenges her guilt for the 'fall of Man';
after all, she chose knowledge over ignorance, experience over
innocence
Lilith (280w 2min) challenges her exile from Eden for stealing
Adam's sperm and making demons with it
Abel (716w 5min) presents a more plausible story: Abel, tiller of
the soil, was a woman; Cain, slaughterer of animals, was a man; which
one would God favor and with what consequence?
Cain's wife (91w 1min) Her existence is never acknowledged,
and no surprise that she is the first battered wife
Noah's wife (417w 3min) Guess who does all the shit work on
the ark? (and she doesn't even have a name)
Hagar (534w 3min), according to legend, the first victim of female
circumcision, examines that practice from a feminist point of view
Zipporah (677w 5min) The Ten Commandments were clearly
intended for men
'The certain woman' (228w 2min) examines the politics of men
being killed by women, and the implications of that for war
Delilah (665w 5min) shows us a completely different, and
unflattering, picture of Samson
Eshta (913w 6min) A man offers his daughter to a gang of men,
to protect his male guest, telling them basically to do what they want
with her; I've given her a name, Eshta, and a voice
Ruth (85w 1min) considers what it means to be 'a virtuous
woman'
The Queen of Sheba (763w 5min) is not impressed with King
Solomon.
Vashti (483w 3min) has the nerve to disobey her husband, a King no
less.
Judith (563w 4min), part of the resistance, and an assassin,
speculates as to why her story isn't in the Bible.
Mary, the mother of God (1129w 13min) Imagine what it would
really mean to be the mother of a god
Mary of Bethany (1133w 13min) the thirteenth apostle
Mary Magdalen (756w 5min) much maligned as a prostitute, Mary
Magdalen sets her story straight with a close reading of Luke and
John
Thecla (398w 3min) the Reverend Thecla, if you please.
Satan (744w 5min) Who else but a woman would have reason to
rise up and rebel against the Almighty Father? And who but a woman
would bypass Adam in the Garden and approach Eve instead with the gift
of the knowledge of good and evil? Makes perfect sense.

Letters:

The Portrait (about 6 minutes) Mrs. Mozart writes a letter to her
daughter, Nannerl, Wolfgang's sister, explaining the second-class
treatment she has received, but asking her, nevertheless, to apologize
for her justified reaction
The Protest (about 3 minutes) Alethea, a fictional woman living in
4th century Athens, writes to Agnodice, her obstetrician-who has had
to disguise herself as a man in order to practice, but who is then
charged with corruption-to express her support and describe a
Lysistratian protest she has organized
The Ride (about 7 minutes) Lady Godiva writes to her fictional
sister, Gawaina, agonizing over her decision to ride naked through the
town (a decision she makes in order to secure her husband's promise
that he would lower taxes, thus alleviating the heavy burden borne by
the peasantry)
The Experiment (about 4 minutes) a milkmaid writes to Mrs. Phipps,
urging her not to let Edward Jenner inject cowpox into her son (since
it is already known, but dismissed as an old wives' tale, that
getting cowpox makes one immune to smallpox)
The Patent (about 7 minutes) Catherine Greene shares her
invention, the cotton gin, with Catherine the Great, rejecting the
notion of intellectual ownership for personal profit
The Model (about 3 minutes) Suzanne Fourment discourages her
sister, Helen, from becoming, also, one of Rubens' models, partly
because it would encourage young women to binge in efforts to achieve
the lush and unrealistic-for-most body that was in favour at the time
The Stone (about 5 minutes) Renaissance sculptress Properzia,
famous for her miniaturist sculpture of peach pits, writes to her
fictional friend Benetta criticizing her 'buying into' the
'bigger is better' view exemplified by her choice to work with
large blocks of marble
The Ring (about 15 minutes) Martha Bernays, Freud's wife, writes
a long letter to Lou Salome, Freud's mistress, about her marriage,
her opinion of Freud, and her opinion of his theories
The Grapes (about 4 minutes) Mary, one of Milton's three
daughters, writes to her sister, Deborah, urging her to leave their
abusive father

Soliloquies:

Ophelia (6p) questions the advice of her brother Laertes and her
father Polonius, accusing them both of projection, then extends her
criticism to Hamlet, examining both his words and actions, in the end
revealing that she did not kill herself, the weight of her dress
dragged her down.
Regan (1p) presents a fresh look at King Lear, showing how the pieces
fit a story of sexual abuse.
Portia (2p) is enraged that she is not allowed to use her fine mind to
choose her own husband and that she must disguise herself as a man in
order to practice law.
Desdemona (1p) examines the charge of infidelity brought against her
and finds it sorely wanting.
Kate (3p) examines what it is to be called a 'shrew' and then
recounts the events of the play, which show with frightening
plausibility that she was a victim of so-called 'domestic
assault'.
Isabella (1p) considers the choice before her and has no trouble
agreeing to sex for a life.
Juliet (2p) pooh-poohs love at first sight she just wants to have
sex.
Marina (1p) reveals the truth of her life as a child prostitute.
Miranda (2p) explores why mothers are so absent in Shakespeare's
world.

Fairy Tales:

Gretel (658w 5min) Gretel reveals the gender stereotypes in
her tale and points out that she, not Hansel, saved them (though she
resents having to 'play dumb' to do so).
Cinderella (727w 5min) Cinderella's stepsister tells quite a
different story about what happened, and she doesn't think much of
Cinderella (but "Hey, if the (glass) shoe fits, wear it!")
Little Red Riding Hood (1056w 6min) An updated version of the
story has a girl accosted by a young man as she walks through the park
on the way to visit her grandmother, and she and her grandmother
manage just fine without the green archer coming to their rescue: she
breaks his kneecap, and her grandmother breaks his collarbone.
Snow White (728w 5min) Turns out Snow White is a prostitute:
first, maid, mother, and mistress to seven men, then she goes with the
prince ("You mean you didn't know the prince was a pimp? Oh come
on. He took one look at me and offered to buy me!"), then she goes
out on her own as an independent.
Alice (1831 12min) An amusing tale by Alice, the fisherman's
wife, who, once she becomes King, makes some big changes!
The Wicked Stepmother (305w 2min) Yes, she insulted her
stepdaughter, but only so she'd abandon her silly quest for physical
beauty.
Greystrands (1104w 7min) Greystrands is what became of
Goldilocks, of course.
Catherine (402w 2min) Whether she gets to keep her newborn
baby or not is decided by a guessing game?! A GUESSING GAME??!!
Sleeping Beauty (517w 3min) ""Is it you, my prince? I have
waited for you a long time." Give me a break!"
Thumb (1732w 12min) What happens when people can't figure
out if the little person is Tom Thumb or Thumbelina?

I am Eve

the bad girl, the evil woman.
I stand accused, and sentenced. Without a trial. For life.
Because of my single action, millions of individuals have been
born with 'original sin', have been guilty even before they acted,
doomed before they started. I alone have been held responsible for
this sad and pathetic fallen race. Therefore, let me begin by
correcting this: if I were free not to fall in the first place, they
were free not to fall after me; and if I were not free, then I can't
be held responsible-for my fall or theirs.
Now, let us further examine the charges, let us correctly
define that action.
I have been condemned for choosing knowledge over ignorance:
the fruit I ate came from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
In a society that praises pursuit of knowledge and honours men of
wisdom, why have I been viewed with disfavour? Had Adam reached out
first, would he have been so rebuked? Or is the state of ignorance
requisite for women only? (Histories pass on Socrates, they pass over
Aspasia.)
In the same vein, I chose experience over innocence. In a
context of attitudes that value experience, the disapproval of my
action can only imply the desire that women, like children, live in a
state of innocence.
I have also been condemned for disobedience. If that were the
issue, then why wasn't the tree so named-'the tree of obedience
and disobedience' or 'the tree of temptation'. By naming it what
it was not, God either deliberately tempted me or deliberately
deceived me. And he should be judged, not I.
Perhaps though, the tree really was a tree of knowledge. In that
case, one should wonder what insecurities led God to prefer obedience
over knowledge. Indeed, one should wonder why he went so far as to
forbid knowledge. The reason is evident in Genesis (3:22-23): he
didn't want us to equal him. He sent us out of Eden to prevent our
eating from the tree of life, because already we were as wise for
having eaten from the tree of knowledge, and if we had made it to the
tree of life before he found us, we would've been immortal as
well-we would've been as godly.
And that takes me onward, for counted among my sins is that of
pride. Considering that later, through his son, God commands us to
'follow in his footsteps', I find the label of pride odd for the
action that would do just that-make me like God. Furthermore, I find
it odd to be condemned for being like God when, after all, he created
us in his image (Gen 1:26-27). And God certainly is proud: to create
us in his image can be called narcissistic, and to prefer us to spend
our time admiring him rather than learning about him is equally
evidence of pride. (As an aside, I would think that my knowledge would
increase my admiration; that wasn't why I ate the fruit, but if it
was, would it have mattered? Did God ever ask my intent?)
I have also been charged with a lack of faith. Yet I took it
on faith in the first place that God told us not to eat from the tree:
remember, he gave the command to Adam before I even existed (Gen
2:16-17). (I don't rule out the possibility that the command
therefore was meant only for Adam-God knew that knowledge in the
hands of men is a dangerous thing.) Further, I had faith in the
serpent, I trusted the serpent to be telling the truth. Is it
dishonourable to trust?
And is it reprehensible to act on that trust, as I did then in
offering the fruit to another, to Adam? God commanded innocence, then
held me responsible for an act of innocent intent. For how could I
know my faith was misplaced? How could I know the serpent was evil
until I had knowledge of good and evil? By telling us not to eat of
the tree, he insisted on ignorance-but then held us responsible, for
an act of ignorance.
Lastly, I have been condemned for using my reason, for it is
through the exercise of reason that I decided to eat the fruit. The
serpent's explanation of God's motives, that the knowledge of good
and evil would make us godly and he didn't want us to equal him (Gen
3:5), seemed very reasonable to me. God's command on the other hand,
not even to touch the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil
because then I'd die, seemed so very unreasonable. Where is the
fault in using that faculty given to me by God? The fault is not mine,
but God's: he made reason guide our will and left our reason prey to
deceit.
Or did he? History has it that the serpent's words were
false, that I was deceived. But God's words after the fact (Gen 3:22
"Behold, the man is become as one of us") verify the serpent's
prediction (Gen 3:5 "Ye shall be as gods"): the serpent was
telling the truth. And in fact God lied: he said we would die (Gen
3:3) if we touched the fruit of that tree, and we didn't-at least
not for several hundred years. And so I stand condemned, for listening
to truth. And for offering that truth to others.

*****

The Portrait

My dearest Nannerl,
Of course you have a right to be upset about the portrait.
After all, you performed right alongside your brother; in fact, your
father had the bills printed to read "Two World Wonders." Two, not
one. You were with Wolfgang on the 1762 tour through Passau and Linz
to Munich and Vienna; I remember Count Zinzendort called you (not
Wolfgang) "a little master". And you went again through Germany,
in 1763, this time to Augsburg and Ludwigsburg as well as Munich, on
to Paris, and then to London where the two of you performed that
sonata for the Queen of England. And in 1765 you performed in Holland.
No, do not doubt yourself, Nannerl: you were quite correct in calling
Carmontelle's portrait inaccurate because it shows Wolfgang at the
keyboard, your father at the violin, and you merely holding the music
for them. And he said you insulted him! I do know how you feel about
the matter and I am completely on your side. Nevertheless, I must ask
you to apologize.
And I know that your father's recent decision to leave you at
home and take only Wolfgang on this next tour doesn't make it any
easier. Though I admit to being glad not to be left at home by myself
for once, I know it is terribly unfair. And I am writing this letter
not to excuse or justify your father, but to explain. Nannerl, you are
not to take his decision personally. It is not, as you first thought,
that you are not good enough. Recall the Elector of Munich insisted on
hearing you play the clavier, not Wolfgang; and there are many who
share his high regard for your abilities. Nannerl, you are an
excellent musician, a great performer. Nor is it that you have fallen
out of favour with your father; he loves you as much as he ever did.
(Which is, unfortunately, not as much as he loves Wolfgang. He is a
man of his times. Didn't you ever wonder why he started Wolfgang on
lessons at a younger age than he started you? Surely you noticed he
spent more time with Wolfgang? And it wasn't until Wolfgang was
ready to appear in public that he let you perform. You were young
then, and perhaps did not notice… All the better. But I know
Wolfgang had a head start right from birth and-but enough, I am
getting ahead of myself.) Nor is the reason for your father's
decision, as you also suggested, that he considers you too frail to
withstand life on the road. Wolfgang too came down with typhus in
Holland.
Then why, you must be crying out! Let me try to explain. There
is a time in every girl's life when, suddenly, people stop treating
her as a person-and start treating her, instead, as a mere woman.
All of the doors that until that time were open are suddenly shut. All
except one. It happens to every one of us, some time between twelve
and twenty. It is happening now to you. (And later, when that door has
been passed through, it too will close, and there will be nothing
left: nothing left open to go back to, and nothing open yet to go
forward to. As soon as I gave birth to a boy, your father's
attention rapidly shifted: I was of no more importance and Wolfgang
was everything-but again I digress.)
This time of life is particularly difficult for someone like
you, someone for whom the open doors promised such glory and richness.
Why, when still a youth you were performing in all the great centers
of Europe, you received excellent reviews and return engagements, you
were meeting with all the important musicians of the day, you had a
knowledge and experience of the outside world forbidden to others of
your sex and age. And you were beautiful too, I know enough of the
world to know this is an asset. Oh Nannerl, you had it all! Not even
your brother had your beauty! But he had something more important: the
right sex.
It's a betrayal, I know it. It dashes to the ground all of
the things you thought mattered: ability, dedication, desire. I had a
talent for singing. I found it hard too, when I realized that I was
not destined to become a famous singer. But, alas, I loved your father
and wanted a family, so I accepted that loss for another gain. But
you, Nannerl, I suspect it will be a long time before you marry, if at
all, and perhaps you will not have any children. So it must be
particularly frustrating and painful to have the only door you ever
wanted open, suddenly closed.
I know this is little consolation, and indeed in a less
generous heart, it would be salt to the wound, but remember, without
you, Wolfgang would not be where he is today. You helped him become
what he is. Much as your father likes to take all the credit for
Wolfgang, it is simply not true. He had a family to support, a job to
do, and while he was away playing in the consort, and directing the
choir, it was you Wolfgang learned from. Remember in London, when
Wolfgang was introduced to Johann Christoph Bach and the two of them,
taking turns, with Wolfgang seated between Bach's legs, the two of
them played a sonata together and afterwards improvised. What a
delight that was to everyone! Of course I knew it was with you he
learned how to do that. I remember you, as a mere girl of ten, taking
your little brother, then six, and 'babysitting' him just like
that. And there was so much more. All the musical games you made up,
and the time you spent helping his little hand form the notes on the
staff when he could not yet write the letters of the alphabet. When I
saw how much more valuable it was to have you spend time with your
music and with your brother, well, I did not force upon you all the
domestic duties it is common for daughters to bear. Besides, how many
women get to do the washing and cooking to the music of such artistic
genius!
And all of that makes this last bit even harder to tell you.
You suggested that I ask Carmontelle to re-do the portrait. That is an
excellent idea, but it cannot be done. You see, the one you saw was
already a second version, done at my insistence. Nannerl, in the first
one, you were not there at all. The man had excluded you completely,
left you out altogether. (And the portrait you see now is his idea of
atonement.)

Love,

Mother

*****

Juliet

Romeo, Romeo,
Where the hell art thou?

Have you stopped along the way
To play at your stupid battle games?

Or have you changed your mind,
And decided not to come
Thinking me too 'easy' and thus insincere:
What perversion of thought is this?
Because I say what it is I want,
Direct and forthright,
You judge my desire false?
While the one who dallies,
Says no to mean yes,
You deem true and take her
Seriously?
Or perhaps you think to be 'easy' is to be unchaste:
If so, you misjudge
Yourself!
Because I want you (I want you)
Does in no way mean
I am a woman who wants every man.
Do you think of yourself so poorly?
Can you not accept that it is you who
That one look of yours makes me wet
One touch sends a fire through every nerve
That it is you, standing there
In your tights so tight
And your shirt
Carelessly open,
Your chest

Oh Romeo, Romeo,
Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
'Tis true you asked the same last night
When you came
And I bid you go
For you had come so ill-prepared!

I bid you go to the Friar
Not for a marriage,
'Tis but a farce:
We say there will be no sex
Until there is marriage
Meaning until there is love;
But if we marry at first sight,
Then 'tis surely not a token of love
But a license for sex.
(Indeed, my mother's talk to me
Of marriage
Was as awkward as a first broaching
Of the subject of sex!)
And what need have we of a license
Better use can we make of a sheath!
(The Friar, do you forget, is also a pharmacist!)

Yes, I bid you go
But only to return
Return, Romeo, come
Part thy close curtain, love-perfuming night,
As I will soon mine own unclasp,
let fall,
To offer sweetest heavens
To my love, my Romeo, come
Steal upon catpaws silent in the night
Follow my purr, come,
Leap into my arms!
Let us kiss once for every star in the sky
A thousand times our lips shall meet!
Let me feel your body
Move sleek along mine
Let me touch you, Romeo, here and here
('Tis true, as spoken, strangers' love is boldest!)
Flutter your fingers upon my breast,
Play with me love, at tug and nip
'Till my body stiffens in arched pleasure!
Come, let me surround you
Let me suck at the moon's liquid
'Till you clench and howl!
Then lick me love,
Seek my treasure with your teasing tongue
Nibble the pearl in folds of oyster,

My hands tearing at your head,
'Till I am gasping in wild heat,
Come, now, thrust your hard desire
reach deep in to me love
Let me feel your panting breath
Come night, loving black-silked night,
Come take me, wake me,
Make me cry out
For more!
Come, Romeo, come
Come,
Oh,
Come!

Nurse laughs to see me so
(Though mother would faint,
Still confusing innocence with ignorance)
Young love, she mutters, fanning my face;
But I protest, 'tis not love,
Not of ones so young,
Nor of ones just met
Let us be clear:
Yours was an artful come-on
('Let lips do what hands do')
For a classic pick-up
'Tis young lust, I tell her true:
I want sex
With a desire pure as the lace on my bodice;
She clucks to hear me talk so,
And I would persist
But what's in a name?
That which we call making love
By any other name
Feels as good.

*****

Cinderella

Poor little Cinderella! Who more deserving of finding her prince
and turning into a princess! Yeah, right.
First off, Cinderella did not have to do all the hardest work
in the house. Our stepfather was a man of rank, remember, and my
mother no peasant; we had fine rooms and beautiful clothes, and status
enough to be invited to the King's ball. So we certainly had maids
and servants to scrub the floors and wash the dishes. Cinderella
offered to help with the work. Probably because she had nothing else
to do; she didn't seem interested in much besides pleasing people.
Drove me crazy.
And she did not have to sleep "in a straw bed in a poor room
at the top of the house". Think her father would put up with that?
Certainly not. She had a perfectly good bedroom just like the rest of
us.
The story goes that my sister and I were proud. True enough.
What's wrong with that? What's wrong with being proud of what you
can do, of what you've worked hard to learn well? All those gorgeous
clothes people kept talking about were of my sister's making-she
was into fashion design. And as for me, well, it was known I could
ride a horse to win most competitions in the land. So sure we were
proud. But vain? Yes, we spent a lot of time in front of that
full-length mirror: my sister had to see the effect of her creations
(and so I suppose she's as vain as one gets in that line of work),
and as a favour, especially on days too wet or too cold for the horses
to be out, I often modeled her half-finished pieces for her. But
that's it. I wasn't even good-looking, by contemporary standards,
no peaches and cream in my complexion!
And it's true, Cinderella wasn't invited to the ball. But
only because the King thought she was too young. And we certainly
didn't snub her like you think. We called her into our rooms and
asked her for advice on our clothes, to make her feel part of the
excitement. She liked that, you know how younger sisters are, she
wanted to iron this and mend that-we even let her do our hair.
But we never called her Cinder-wench, or actually, even, Cinderella.
Her nickname was Kinderella (little child), and somehow the 'K'
must have gotten changed to a 'C'.
As for what happened at the ball, that's true too. She was
very beautiful, our new little stepsister, we never denied that. And
when beauty and wealth come together, most people fall over themselves
like asses. Those at the ball were no different: to them, appearance
is everything. My sister was stunned by Cinderella's gown, and she
gawked, it's true. But out of professional interest, not jealousy as
most people think. I wasn't jealous either-I just wanted to ride
one of those impressive silver stallions she came with.
And as for that bit about the yellow dress, the story goes that
Cinderella asked my sister if she could borrow it to wear at the next
ball, and my sister said no way. Well, I don't know, that might've
happened, I wasn't there. That yellow dress is one of her
favourites, one of the first dresses she made. But I think that if my
sister had said no, she would've offered another instead. Then
again, Cinderella's tone can be so sweet and self-effacing
sometimes, I can imagine my sister saying no out of sheer irritation
and leaving it at that.
The rest of the story is pretty much accurate. All three of us
went to the second ball, Cinderella forgot about her curfew, lost her
slipper on the way out, and-there is one thing I want to set
straight: I did not try on the glass slipper. Quite apart from the
fact that I didn't want to marry that prince (or any prince, or
anyone at all, actually)-a glass slipper? You've got to be
kidding, that'd be worse than wearing high heels! Not only would it
make walking difficult, but with the obvious risk of broken glass,
cutting, embedding, it would discourage movement altogether. No thank
you!
(But as I said to Cinderella, if the shoe fits, wear it.)
(And we all will live happily ever after.)

[end of extract]

Price $7.99 Add to cart