And I get presents.
Hard for us to know, since you weren’t with us last year.
Well, it’s true. Morrie always gives me something. Dad could have told you.
Maybe. But it’s strange that Morrie has never gotten in touch with us.
He travels a lot.
(Turns away, begins making French toast.)
Just don’t mention him around Matt.
Why not?
Because I asked you not to, okay?
David nods. Lights fade, come up on living room/porch/yard. Doorbell rings. DAVID opens the door. A black bicycle stands on the porch. DAVID pulls off a note attached to the bar and reads it.
“Happy Birthday, David. His name is Dorel. Treat him well and he will serve you well. —M.”
DAVID hands the card to UNCLE MATT and tests the bicycle in the yard.
Dorel. He told me you’re called Dorel.
(The frame vibrates)
You’re special. Like the magic kit I asked for last year, with the Indian Rope Trick I can’t do. I’m not a good climber. And the Five-Minute Time Warp, I never found a use for that one either. But I keep it in my pocket. My name’s David. You’re beautiful and you’re fast and you’re easy to steer. I like you a lot. Never heard of a CandlePower brand bike before, though.
He parks Dorel on the porch and goes in. UNCLE MATT is waiting for him. MATT has a beard and thick eyeglasses.
It’s great. I want to ride it a lot. I want to go show it to Betty!
She that Councilman Caisson’s daughter?
Yeah. I’m going riding now—
Wait! I just heard on the news that the night watchman at the mall was found dead this morning of a heart attack.
I know. I told Aunt Rose about it earlier.
Yes. How did you know?
I was over there with Morrie before the mall opened. He got us in, and I picked out the kind of bike I wanted.
How did he get you in?
Uh, I don’t really remember the details.
(scratching his chin)
What’s he look like, anyway—your godfather?
(shrugging)
Kind of thin. He has dark hair, I think. And a real nice voice. Makes you want to do whatever he says.
That’s all?
I guess so.
Damn! That’s no description, David. That could be lots of people.
I’m sorry.
(reaches out and squeezes DAVID’s shoulder)
I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just that the whole business is kind of…unusual. Not to speak ill of my own brother, but it’s no secret that your father was a heavy drinker. Especially there at the end. It’s why your mother left him. Probably what killed him, too.
(DAVID nods)
He told a bizarre story of the way he met your godfather. Sounded like something a paranoid Trotskyite drunk might come up with, and I didn’t believe a word of it. Still don’t.
I don’t remember the story. If I ever knew it.
Your father said he met Morrie at a crossroads, pursuant to a dream. He’d dreamed that a voice came to him out of a thundercloud limned with lightning and it said, “I am God. You have alienated everyone close to you and I pity you. I shall stand for your son in my own church and make him DAVID happy in life.” Your father said, “You give to the rich and leave the poor working stiffs to hunger. I do not want you for my son’s godfather.” And there was a clap of thunder and the cloud went away, and the earth split and a flame rose up out of the crack and a voice spoke from it, saying, “I am Satan. Have me. I will make him rich. I will see that he gets on well in the world.” Your father said, “You are the Prince of Bullshitters. I do not want you either, for I do not trust you.” And the fire flared, and Satan was gone, also. Later then, as he was halfway to wakefulness, a shadowy figure passed near and told him, “When you awaken walk outside. Stop at the first crossroads you come to. I will meet you there.” “Who are you?” your father asked. “I am he who makes everybody equal,” came the reply. And your father got up, dressed, went out into the darkness, and waited at the crossroads. There he met Morris Leathem and he invited him to be your godfather, for he said that one who had him for a friend would lack nothing. Do you know what that means, David?
Yeah. It’s a good thing that he went to the crossroads, or I wouldn’t have my bike.
Rose and I weren’t present at your christening. We’d had a disagreement with Sam earlier. So neither of us got to meet Morris.
I know.
The next time you see him, tell him it had nothing to do with him, or with you. Tell him we wish he’d stop by sometime.
You will get to see him. He says everyone does. I’ll ask him to name a date for you next time—
(interrupting)
Never mind that!
SCENE 3
Later that evening. DAVID goes out to the porch, climbs onto his bike.
Dorel, I’m really happy with you, and I want to go and thank Morrie for such a great birthday present. I don’t know where to find him but I’ve got a feeling you do. I’d like you to help me get to him—now.
It’s rough being a bike, subject to nicks and dents.
It’s tough being a bike, though it makes special sense:
I’m paying for a sin that still seems fresh
Against one who claims his pound of steel
As readily as flesh.
City lights or astral lights, they’re all the same to see.
And David’s my new master—a good-hearted lad.
He’s heading for a crash, though not on me.
I wish that I could warn him for it’s sad:
He’ll fall into compassion’s trap,
And Morrie does not give a rap
For all those things that must be good or bad
(Or all that’s in between for elbow room).
Morrie towers to the stars. His feet go down to hell.
He looked at me and spoke my doom.
Now I have wheels and handlebars, creature of his spell,
Now I have very little elbow room.
I wish that I could reach the kid and warn him what I see:
That surely as the gear-teeth mesh
Morrie will have his pound of flesh
Or pound of steel, as the case may be.
It’s rough having wheels and handlebars—
Though good for taking corners, dodging cars.
I’d tell him but I lack the elbow room.
There is no way that I can see,
Though all I want’s to warn him of his doom
And maybe find a way of getting free.
(The bicycle vibrates.)
Periods of darkness are broken by flashes oflight that gradually grow dimmer and shorter. DAVID rides into a dark tunnel. DOREL vibrates and the bike picks up speed. The light grows brighter as DAVID enters a gallery of stalactites and still pools. Lit candles are everywhere—on ledges, niches and on every flat surface. They vary in size. DAVID and the bike come to a halt.
Thanks, Dorel.
He sets the kick-stand and walks around, sees tunnels leading off in various directions, all ablaze with candles. Occasionally a burnt-down candle stub goes out. Shadows dart about them as they die. DAVID wanders down one of the tunnels, starts back out, only to see MORRIE, wearing a dark cloak, riding slowly toward him on DOREL.
How good of you to come and visit.
Wanted to say thanks for the present. Dorel’s really neat.
Glad you like him.
(He dismounts and sets the stand)
I never knew a bike to have a name before.
(runs a bony finger over the handlebars)
He is someone who owes me a great debt. He is paying it off in this fashion. Would you care for a cup of tea or hot chocolate?
I’d like hot chocolate.
They go around the corner and into a niche where a slab of stone bears a red and white calico tablecloth. Two cups and saucers, napkins and spoons are set. Classical music plays. They sit down. MORRIE fills the cups from a carafe. Ghostly figures occasionally pass in the background.
What is that music?
Schubert’s Quartet in D Minor, a favorite of mine. Marshmallows?
Yes, please.
(MORRIE adds them)
Is this where you work, Morrie, or where you live?
(hands DAVID the cup, leans back and cracks his knuckles one by one)
I do a lot of my work in the field. But you might consider this my office, and my apartments are here also. It is really both.
I see. It’s certainly well-lit.
(He laughs and gestures broadly. A nearby flame flickers.)
She’ll think it a fainting spell.
Who?
The lady who belongs to that candle. Name’s Luisa Trujillo. She’s 48 years old and lives in New York City. She’s got another 28 years to go.
Bueno
.
(DAVID lowers his cup, turns, and regards the cavern and all ofthe side chambers and tunnels.)
Yes, all there, all of them. There’s one for each of them.
I read that there are several billion people in the world.
(nods)
Lot of wax.
Good chocolate.
Thanks. The Big Ten’s really come upon bad days.
Huh?
Everything interesting’s happening in the west.
Oh, football! You’re talking college football, aren’t you?
Yes, but I like pro football best. What about you?
I don’t know enough about it, but I’d like to.
Well, let me tell you a few things …
The lights fade, then come up on the same scene. MORRlE is refilling the cups. David is about 16 years of age now.
You given any thought to what you want to be when you grow up?
Not really.
Be a doctor, my boy, for there’s a joy
In easing mankind’s ills.
You’ll also find it gives peace of mind
When it’s time to pay your bills.
The world is full of ailments that make them ache and bitch,
The world is full of poisons, wounds, and such,
With stomach cramps and loss of sense
And coronary accidents and lots of things that hurt so very much.
You’ll learn them all, you’ll treat them all,
You’ll be there when the patients call.
You’ll deal with each little tic and twitch.
You’ll give them relaxation, relieve their consternation,
You’ll treat their every cough and wound and itch.
For you will be a doctor, a very special doctor,
A master of diseases of the rich.
And you will know the special joy
That comes of easing pain, my boy.
You’ll close a wound and never drop a stitch.
You’ll give them relaxation, relieve their consternation,
And be master of diseases of the rich.
Yes, you’ll master the diseases of the rich.
You’d have a knack for it. I’d see to that. Game of chess?
All right.
MORRIE and DAVID are playing chess, using the squares on the tablecloth for the board and pieces made ofaged bone.
A physician?
Yes, think about it.
All right, I will.
Lights fade, come up on an adult DAVID, playing chess at the table with Morrie.
I resign. You’ve got me in four moves.
Three.
(Leans back.)
Soon it will be time for you to be off to college.
We don’t have the money for it.
Don’t worry about that. A distant relative will leave you sufficient funds soon. One thing more—
Yes?
Since you’re going away, it shouldn’t be difficult. I want you to break up with that girl Betty.
Why?
It’s not fair to ask her to wait. They never do, anyhow.
She might.
No. Just do as I say. Free yourself of the lady and that cheap politician father of hers.
Do I have to?
I insist. Don’t worry. It’s easy to cast away remembering at certain times in your life—and this is one of them. I’ll help you.
[Fade.]
SCENE 4
Evening, country road, trees. David and Betty, walking, stopping near the trees.
You know I’ll be going away soon, to college.
Yes.
So I wanted to say good-bye.
At least you’ll be back—holidays and summers.
Maybe. But I don’t know how my time will run then. I may be studying, or working. So I thought I’d say good-bye now.
(Studying his face)
Okay. I’ll be waiting.
I’d hate to have you waste your time—waiting—for someone who’ll be gone so long.
I don’t mind. Well, I’ll mind—But I’ll wait, Dave. Really. Lots of people wait that way. You want me to, don’t you?
(Looks away)
I can’t ask that.