Key West | Act Three: East

NIALL

Let me get the ("lights") —

BRIGID

—Wow!

NIALL

Yeah.

BRIGID

Books . . . !

NIALL

I know. . . .

BRIGID

What is this? I mean—

NIALL

It’s my padded cell.

BRIGID

—Sorry?

NIALL

My studio.

BRIGID

Oh, it’s—

NIALL

It certainly is.

BRIGID

"Books"—! I had no idea this room was back here. . . .

NIALL

Really?

BRIGID

Out there you think it’s just a—

NIALL

Oh right . . .

BRIGID

—old bar, but in here it’s . . .

NIALL

Cluttered is what it is—

BRIGID

NIALL

No.

BRIGID

What’s the bed for then?

NIALL

Hm?

BRIGID

The bed:

NIALL

Oh, inspiration.

BRIGID

Ah. Ha ha.

NIALL

It’s just a room. —It’s an old house—the walls are made of shipwreck wood—the island used to live off shipwrecks—

BRIGID

Niall:

NIALL

I’m sorry, I just—. I don’t—. I don’t know how to act, exactly .

BRIGID

Do you mind if I ("sit") ?

NIALL

No, help yourself. —Let me just ("clear away a space to sit") —

BRIGID

— What do you do here? in your studio? I mean, other than read. . . .

NIALL

Write.

BRIGID

What?

NIALL

No, I write .

BRIGID

—Really?

NIALL

Yeah.

BRIGID

What do you write?

NIALL

Poems.

BRIGID

You write poetry?

NIALL

I write poems. Would you—?

BRIGID

—God, yes!

NIALL

No, I was offering to read you a poem.

BRIGID

Oh, I thought you were offering me a drink.

NIALL

—I could. I could get you a drink. Would you like—? —Do you drink?

BRIGID

Oh. —Yes: I drink.

NIALL

Right. Of course you do. —The usual?

BRIGID

Please.

NIALL

BRIGID

(calling after)

—Know what, Niall? I think I’ll just have water!

NIALL

(pops his head in)

Sure?

BRIGID

Yeah.

NIALL

. . . Are you all right so?

BRIGID

I’m fine.

NIALL

(The bar is adjacent to the room, so we can just make out NIALL in shadow, getting her glass of water.

BRIGID, of course, can’t see him. She’s having a look at his books.

He pours himself a shot or two of something; knocks it back.)

BRIGID

(calling off)

—What about you?

NIALL

(off)

—What?

BRIGID

Are you all right?

NIALL

I’m a little light-headed . . . !

BRIGID

Me too . . . .

NIALL

—What?

BRIGID

I said I am too!

NIALL

It’s just not every day—! You know—?

BRIGID

I should hope not!

(He returns with a glass of water.)

NIALL

(spilling some)

Shit—

BRIGID

It’s all right—

NIALL

I’m sorry my hands—

BRIGID

Thanks.

(She takes the drink and in so doing takes his hands in hers, steadies them.)

BRIGID

What is it . . . ? You said medication the other night—is it AIDS?

NIALL

It’s epilepsy.

BRIGID

Epilepsy?

NIALL

—You thought I had AIDS?

BRIGID

I’m epileptic. —I was epileptic.

NIALL

—I know, it’s genetic.

BRIGID

Do you have seizures often?

NIALL

No, not unless I’m excited.

BRIGID

. . . Oh.

NIALL

(laughing)

—Ah!

BRIGID

Aha yes . . .

NIALL

That—or drinking heavily. That’s 100% Key West tap water, you know, at least 80% water. —Lead is a very underrated mineral, I’ll have you know—

BRIGID

—Stop it, Niall. . . . Okay? I’m still Brigid. . . .

(He’s like a bird trapped in a room.

She tries to soothe him, to catch him.)

NIALL

—"Unassailable strength."

BRIGID

Sorry?

NIALL

That’s your name, in Irish. The mudder tongue. —I looked it up the other day: "Unassailable strength," Brigid. . . . Makes me think of a ship at sea.

BRIGID

I don’t feel very strong.

NIALL

—Oh but you are! You would have to be, to be doing what you’re doing, what you’ve done. Does it feel different?

BRIGID

Does what feel . . . ?

NIALL

You know:

BRIGID

Oh.

NIALL

—Doesn’t it?

BRIGID

Yes. —Not really.

NIALL

You know, I had no idea? before, when I was talking to you—I had absolutely no fucking clue —

BRIGID

That I was your daughter?

NIALL

No that you’re dead! I suspected you were my daughter—I suspected that the moment you came in, without realizing it—I felt it, you know? —I recognized something. . . . But I never would’ve guessed you were a ghost. You seemed so ("alive") —

BRIGID

—How could you know?

NIALL

It all makes sense. I mean, the clues. Looking back on the last few—

BRIGID

—You know what? It’s all right: Let’s not talk about it now, okay?

NIALL

What? Am I making you nervous?

BRIGID

A little bit.

NIALL

All right. I understand.

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

. . . What should we talk about?

BRIGID

I like this room.

NIALL

(smiles)

Liar . . .

BRIGID

I do—it’s your room—

NIALL

It’s too many books, I know—

BRIGID

Why are there no windows in here?

NIALL

—There is one.

BRIGID

Where?

NIALL

Behind the bookcase.

BRIGID

Which bookcase?

NIALL

That one there: philosophy. —No, psychology. —All the P’s, really.

BRIGID

Doesn’t do much good there, now does it?

NIALL

Sure. It comforts me, knowing it’s there—you know, in case of I don’t know fire . I find them a distraction.

BRIGID

Fires?

NIALL

No—

BRIGID

Books?

NIALL

—Windows.

BRIGID

Ah. Mmm.

NIALL

Yeah. —Ha ha!

BRIGID

—A distraction from your poetry?

NIALL

You really are the same, aren’t you?

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

I mean, as you were before. . . . We have this way of talking, you and I—like we’re the same mind, same soul. . . . Are you an angel?

BRIGID

No.

NIALL

Don’t be shy:

BRIGID

—I’m not an angel Niall—

NIALL

—Not yet!

BRIGID

—Not ever! It’s not like the movies: angels aren’t people.

NIALL

—They’ve no blood.

BRIGID

What?

NIALL

I remember that from school: "Dee angels, dey do be having water in deir veins." The nuns taught me that.

BRIGID

Right. Well look, I’m not an angel: I’m Brigid. — Let’s take this slower, okay?

NIALL

Whatever floats your boat. . . .

BRIGID

. . . Can I hear a poem?

NIALL

—Of mine?

BRIGID

Yeah.

NIALL

Ah no don’t think so.

BRIGID

But you just offered—

NIALL

I know but you see I’ve changed my mind.

BRIGID

Does it embarrass you? —I don’t mean to—

NIALL

We’ll do it later, okay?

BRIGID

. . . What do you write about, then? Is that all right to ask?

NIALL

Oh this and that, here and there. . . .

BRIGID

This is something you don’t like to talk about. . . .

NIALL

. . . Personal things. I write about—symbols, from everyday life. You wouldn’t find it very interesting.

BRIGID

I think I would.

NIALL

No, you wouldn’t—.

BRIGID

We can talk about something else, if you’d rather.

NIALL

It’s just that I’ve never had anyone back here before, that’s all. . . .

BRIGID

. . . No one? I find that hard to believe.

NIALL

It’s true.

BRIGID

. . . No lovers?—no friends?

NIALL

Not in a very long time—not a soul. . . .

BRIGID

Well thank you. I’m honored.

NIALL

—No I’m honored— I’m the one who’s being honored here tonight! (Laughs.) Really, I had no idea you were dead . . . !

BRIGID

I’d no idea you were a poet!

NIALL

You don’t say!

BRIGID

I do , I do say! —I would’ve thought you were "too tall" for a poet.

NIALL

Oh, ha ha!

BRIGID

It makes perfect sense, though: Your attention to—your faith in words.

NIALL

. . . Okay.

BRIGID

What:

NIALL

I’ll give you a poem now.

(He goes to a desk drawer, pulls out a messy cardboard folder.

He flips through loose pages, selects one for a reason.

He hands it to her.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

Read it to yourself.

(She takes it from him, reads it slowly.

He’s nervous, moves about the room; he won’t look at her, won’t sit down.

When she’s finished reading she hands it back to him.)

BRIGID

Thank you.

NIALL

. . . You don’t like it.

BRIGID

I do—I’m not sure I understand it.

NIALL

What’s to understand? it’s a poem.

(He puts it back in the folder, replaces folder in the drawer, shuts the drawer hard.)

BRIGID

Sorry Niall—

NIALL

Did it scare you? is that why?

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

—Did the poem frighten you?

BRIGID

A little. What does it mean? —Explain it to me: all that imagery—

NIALL

—Why do you have to ask so many questions?

BRIGID

. . . ?

NIALL

If you don’t mind me asking: If you’re dead—if one is dead—I should think one should just know certain things.

BRIGID

I’m not omniscient, if that’s what you mean.

NIALL

You’re not.

BRIGID

No.

NIALL

Not even the slightest bit?

BRIGID

No.

NIALL

That’s too bad. . . . Can you perform miracles?

BRIGID

I don’t think so.

NIALL

Have you tried?

BRIGID

No.

NIALL

—You have got to be kidding me!

BRIGID

—I’m not a saint, Niall!

NIALL

Miracles would be the first thing I’d try!

(He pushes glass of water toward her.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

Go on:

BRIGID

I’m not Jesus Christ, Niall. . . .

NIALL

. . . I know you’re not. . . .

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

—Can you fly? can you travel great distances? is time and space just a metaphor to you?

BRIGID

I don’t think so—

NIALL

How do you travel so?

BRIGID

I walk. All ghosts walk. That’s why we never get far from where we’ve died.

NIALL

—But you did. You got far.

BRIGID

I suppose.

NIALL

—Why?

BRIGID

I had someone special to visit. Someone very important who was far away.

NIALL

—You had a mission.

BRIGID

You could say that—

NIALL

But you’re not through with your mission, now are you. . . .

BRIGID

I don’t know. . . . Why are you smiling like that?

NIALL

—Do you walk through walls?

BRIGID

No.

NIALL

Have you tried?

BRIGID

—No, and I’m not planning any time soon.

NIALL

—Will you not try anything fun at all at all?

BRIGID

—I can not walk through walls!

NIALL

— How do you know if you haven’t bloody well tried!

BRIGID

(laughing)

All right.

NIALL

(laughing too)

Good!

(She gets up, composes herself:)

BRIGID

Here goes:

(—and walks into the wall—or more precisely, a bookcase.)

BRIGID (cont’d.)

Fuck.

NIALL

Damn.

BRIGID

Shit.

NIALL

Are you hurt?

BRIGID

Now—see? (Rubbing her nose:) I’ve gone and hurt myself.

NIALL

(rubbing her nose too)

Poor girl . . .

BRIGID

(laughing)

Poor nose . . .

NIALL

(laughing too)

Poor nose, poor soul—is there nothing special about you at all?

(They’re too close; she pulls away.)

BRIGID

. . . I liked your poem.

NIALL

. . . Did you now?

BRIGID

Yes. I don’t care if I don’t understand it: I liked it anyway. I like poems in general.

NIALL

Who’s your favorite?

BRIGID

Gertrude Stern—

NIALL

Stein—

BRIGID

All the dykes. —Do you publish?

NIALL

Sometimes.

BRIGID

Where? Maybe I’ve read something of yours.

NIALL

Not likely.

BRIGID

You’d be surprised.

NIALL

I use a pseudonym.

BRIGID

Like what:

NIALL

I use more than one.

BRIGID

That seems overly cautious. . . .

NIALL

—I don’t want to get my ego involved.

BRIGID

Is this another ’60’s sentiment?

NIALL

I like to think of it as a medieval sentiment: Before people started defacing art with their signatures.

BRIGID

. . . Is that what you do for a living, poetry?

NIALL

Yes, I’m a very wealthy poet. . . .

BRIGID

There’s no need to get sarcastic.

NIALL

—Oh, I thought you were the one being sarcastic here!

BRIGID

So you don’t make any money off poetry?

NIALL

No, not one bleeding cent. . . .

BRIGID

And what about drugs?

NIALL

—What about the fucking drugs!

BRIGID

—Do you have any?

NIALL

. . . .

BRIGID

. . . Pot, or something? We could smoke it—you know, to relax.

NIALL

. . . You want to?

BRIGID

Yeah. . . .

NIALL

. . . You want to smoke?

BRIGID

If you have any. . . .

NIALL

I’ve got—I don’t have marijuana. I’ve got Ecstasy.

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

You’ve done it, right? Kids love Ecstasy—the non-religious kind—the secular synthetic little ecstatic pill—

BRIGID

All right—

NIALL

Would you like some?

BRIGID

(hesitation)

Yeah.

NIALL

He kneels and opens the strongbox.

Rummaging about:)

NIALL (cont’d)

It’s here somewhere. . . . I keep some for guests, like. . . .

BRIGID

Can I dim the lights . . . ? (She does.)

NIALL

There she is. . . .

(He withdraws a cigar box from inside:

Inside the box: A ziplock bag with a few tablets.

He closes and locks safe.

He removes the mortar and pestle from the wall shelf.

He returns to BRIGID, hands her the bag.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

Bottoms up.

(She opens the ziplock bag.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

—Hold it, let’s grind it up first: It’ll enter the bloodstream faster. . . . You’ve done this before, right?

BRIGID

Yeah—.

NIALL

—Do you want to do it that way? You want to ("snort it") ?

BRIGID

Okay.

(He drops a few tablets in the pestle, begins to grind it down.

He lays it out; rolls up a bill and hands it to her.)

NIALL

Ladies first:

(She does it, but with difficulty.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

—Are you all right?

BRIGID

(coughing)

—yes—

NIALL

You sure?

BRIGID

("Yes.")

(She sits at the edge of the bed.)

NIALL

Here: drink some.

(She does.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

Maybe it’s not fine enough. . . .

(He snorts it.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

—No, it’s fine.

(Sits on the bed beside her.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

It won’t be long. . . . You’ll see. . . . Just wait . . . it’ll feel like heat, at first—

BRIGID

I know.

NIALL

—rhythmic, in your chest . . . rolling, like waves . . . like you’re mad in love . . . like you see someone you love walking down the street. . . . Walking towards you. It’ll make you feel better . . . .

BRIGID

. . . .

(A long pause here while they wait for the drug.

After a while:)

NIALL

This has turned into a really extraordinary evening, hasn’t it?

BRIGID

It’s almost morning.

NIALL

No!

BRIGID

—It is!

NIALL

This room gets a lovely sunrise. . . . You’ll see. I’m not sure how it’s managed, but somehow the light gets through. . . .

(She laughs. He laughs with her.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

. . . Whenever I heard voices in the past, I never replied. That, I thought, would invite a world of trouble. . . . In the Old Testament, God calls his chosen in the middle of the night and the brave ones answer: "Here I am." So . . . here I am, Brigid. . . . Do you have something to tell me?

BRIGID

Like what?

NIALL

The truth?

BRIGID

. . . I don’t think I can do that. . . .

NIALL

Why not?

BRIGID

You can’t handle the truth. . . .

(She laughs; but he doesn’t this time.)

NIALL

—I could. . . . Believe me—if you knew me, Brigid, you’d know I could handle the truth . . . .

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

All right: be coy. . . . D’you feel it? Rolling, like waves . . .

BRIGID

Yes . . .

NIALL

How about I ask you a few yes-or-no questions, so:

BRIGID

All right:

NIALL

Was Jesus Christ a virgin birth?

BRIGID

Yes.

NIALL

—Really?

BRIGID

Yes.

NIALL

—You sure?

BRIGID

Positive: it was a miracle.

NIALL

So Christianity’s the right religion? —I mean, you’re not going to give me one of those "every religion has a grain of truth" explanations.

BRIGID

Every religion does have a grain of truth, but—

NIALL

Oh, Jesus H. Christ—!

(He covers his mouth.)

BRIGID

It’s all right.

NIALL

Is it . . . ?

BRIGID

I told you, I’m not God

NIALL

I know you’re not. . . . (Smiles.) So Christ was crucified? Christ rose again?

BRIGID

Yes. And yes.

NIALL

And will He come again?

BRIGID

Of course.

NIALL

Has He come again already? Is He here on Earth right now?

BRIGID

I don’t know, what do you think?

NIALL

I think this information’s bound to piss a lot of people off.

BRIGID

Well it sucks to be them.

NIALL

. . . You must’ve really been something, when you were alive. . . . Were you funny?

BRIGID

I don’t know. I’m like I am now, I guess. . . .

NIALL

I bet people loved you. Were you popular?

BRIGID

"Popular"? In school?

NIALL

Did the boys like you?—or the girls?

BRIGID

A few—liked me well enough.

NIALL

You’re beautiful. . . .

BRIGID

No I’m not.

NIALL

Oh no . . . that’s a huge sin: to be beautiful and think you’re not. What did you want to be when you grew up?

BRIGID

Besides a priest?

NIALL

Besides a priestperson.

BRIGID

I don’t know, nothing. —I would’ve ended up like you, I guess.

NIALL

. . . .

BRIGID

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it ("like that") . . .

NIALL

I disappoint you. —I would have to, as a father. . . .

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

It must have been difficult, never knowing . . .

BRIGID

It was a comfort most of the time. No matter how bad things were, and they were bad most of the time, I always knew there was a reason. There had to be a reason, you know? . . . I had that fantasy that all kids have, I guess, that their parents aren’t their parents—and I fixated on my father. I would fantasize, going to bed at night, that you or someone like you— my real father —was out there. Somewhere. And if I could just hold on and be patient enough, if I could wait and listen and look—for clues—maybe one day I’d find you. . . . Or you’d find me. . . . I thought I was crazy. I didn’t have any proof—. I used to wonder if you’d forgotten me. Because if you knew how much pain I was in—you’d come and save me. Right? —But you never came—why? Didn’t you care? And if you didn’t care—if my own father didn’t care about his own daughter—what was I, then? So I went looking for you—everything I did wrong, and I did a lot of things wrong, was my way of trying to find you. I thought—without thinking—if I just fucked up bad enough, you’d come and punish me. Or we’d meet in a ditch somewhere, under a bridge or in jail, and you’d be just as screwed up as I was, but it wouldn’t matter because we’d be together, finally, and I could punish you. . .

(She’s crying softly.

After a moment.)

BRIGID (cont’d.)

Did you ever love me at all?

(He kisses her gently on the forehead.)

NIALL

I can help you.

(He gets up, begins pacing the room.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

It’s within my power to help you.

BRIGID

What do you mean?

NIALL

I’ve never done it before. . . .

BRIGID

Done what before . . . ?

NIALL

You’re going to have trouble believing this. But I want you to keep an open mind and an open heart—. Do you promise you won’t be frightened?

BRIGID

. . . I promise.

NIALL

. . . All my life I knew I was destined for great things. I didn’t know what. Or how. I didn’t know what my calling would be. So I waited. I wanted to keep myself open—to callings. I wandered and looked and listened. People thought I was a "freak" or a "loser," but I knew I was just waiting, biding my time. One day—I was living here in Key West already, I was in my thirties—I’m out in my boat, waiting for a delivery, and I’m looking out over the waves, into the west, daydreaming. . . . The sunlight bouncing on the waves like a heartbeat, like a brilliant conversation. . . . Pulsing . . . And I fell in the water. I was having a seizure—and I drowned in the water. I was dead. I came-to in the coral reef at night. Who knows how much time had passed? All about me the beautiful things of the deep: dark fish and the black sand and the murky moon above me and weeds—and I realize: I’m breathing water! Like a fish! Like a fetus—water in and out of my lungs, water for blood—! I start to rise, against my will—I wanted to stay where I was—but I’m floating up to the boat, and I climb in, and I choke on air. I cough it up, all of it, vomit up the sea, and in that instant I’m born again. . . . . . . Now all this happened for a reason. And it was not obvious to me at the time like you think it should be—in movies or books. No voice out of the clouds said to me: "This is who you are." But—. Gradually, as I went about my daily life, I began to recognize myself: driving in a car, sitting in a bar: do you know who this is? sitting right beside you, madam? It’s Jesus Christ, madam. Pleased to make your acquaintance.

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

. . . You’re the first person I’ve told. . . . It feels wonderful to tell the truth, doesn’t it? I’ve been hiding it. Hiding from it, because of what it might mean. . . . But now here you are. And you’ve come to me for a reason, to tell me it’s true.

BRIGID

. . . .

NIALL

—But you’ve also come for a reason I don’t think even you understand:

(She moves away from him.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

—Hey, don’t be frightened, okay? —Are you? it’s okay. I’m not—. I’m still Niall. . . . Don’t you see how happy you’ve made me? I can help you! I can give you back your life—I can resurrect you. And when you’re alive again you can take my car and all my money out there in my safe—take it, it’s yours—I don’t need it anymore—because you’re my daughter, Bridge, and it’s your due. . . . And you can drive away from here and live and start over someplace new and never end up like me. Okay? Is it a deal? —Come here:

(He raises his hands up, then lays his palms upon her face.)

NIALL (cont’d.)

I do love you, Bridge. . . .

(He begins to have a seizure.

She holds him for some time, on the bed, until his seizure subsides.

She lays him out. Waits.

After a long time, she gets up, picks up his keys, exits the room. . . .

Dim lights up in the bar:

We see her open the strongbox, take his money. . . .

She exits the bar. Car starting, driving away.

By now we should see that it’s coming on dawn.

It’s still raining.

NIALL begins to wake up.)