Distraction

Drew Hurley

Distraction is a one act play incorporating original dialogue written by Drew Hurley with adapted material from the following sources: Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense Of Life; Miguel Cervantes, Don Quixote; Aldous Huxley, The Devils of Loudon; Nikos Kazanzakis, Zorba The Greek; Martin Luther King, Jr., I Have A Dream; Jean-Francois Steiner, Treblinka; Dale Wasserman, The Man From La Mancha; and Jean Anouilh, The Lark.

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Cast of Characters

Miguel de Unamuno -- tragic humanist; Philosopher & Narrator

Herbert Floss -- the organized Man; Concentration Camp Director

Sancho Panza -- realistic materialist; Don Quixote’s companion & friend

Alexis Zorba -- dynamic humanist; Greek heroic archetype

Sewerman -- skeptical realist; confidant of Urbain Grandier

Don Quixote -- unrealistic idealist; Cervantes’ hero

Boss -- rational doubter; Zorba’s overly cautious friend

Martin Luther King, Jr. -- idealistic activist; he bettered peoples lives

Urbain Grandier -- theological idealist; he found God

Joan D’Arc -- the follower of dreams; a woman willing to die for right

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Each small set will be individually lit by spotlights, or torpedo lights, exclusively, and each set must have its own direct and individual lighting because there will be times when all of the lights will be on. Each basic set is remarkably simple. Herbert Floss requires only a blackboard and some chalk. The background for the Don Quixote/Sancho Panza should be a large “blow up” picture of a Spanish windmill. They will also need a chair and a garden hoe as props. The Martin Luther King set requires a large “blow up” picture of the “Lincoln in his seat” picture from the Lincoln Memorial. His only prop will be a Bible. The Zorba the Greek/Boss set requires a large “blow up” of a fishing village scene, a row boat and a fishing net. The scene for Grandier and the sewerman requires a bit more. The sewerman must appear to be standing in a sewer (although he will actually be sitting or kneeling in a paper mache mock-up of a sewer entrance -- without a steel grid -- which should also show a sidewalk and gutter). Behind the mock up, there should be a “blow up” photo of the entrance to a Cathedral. The sewerman should have a small shovel and the priest should be wearing clerical garb and holding a set of rosary beads.

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Stage Directions:
The stage stands, seemingly bare, the curtain open and completely dark. There are no props or objects to be seen from the audience -- all stage effects are masked by the darkness, as are the characters awaiting in their respective places. They will be illuminated by spot lights (or torpedo lights) at the appropriate time.

Let us begin by introducing the gentlemen who will be talking with you tonight.

Over here we have Sancho Panza, the side kick and friend of Don Quixote. Sancho the materialist; the realist. (A spotlight focuses slightly left of center stage to reveal a short, stocky, somewhat sloppily dressed 25-35 year old man of swarthy complexion wearing baggy pantaloons of 16th century Spanish styling. Sancho looks about the audience, as if trying to spot a friend; he seems to recognize someone and offers a timid wave, then with his hand over his mouth, stifles a giggle. After which, Unamuno speaks:) Thank you, Sancho. (To this, Sancho bows to the audience but remains silent. The light goes out.)

Next we have Alexis Zorba, the humanist. The hero of Nikos Kazanzakis’s famous novel, Zorba The Greek. Ladies and gentlemen, Zorba, the man. (The spotlight to the right center of the stage focuses on a tall thin man with a robust physique and a dark tan. He is wearing soiled white trousers with no shirt. Draped over his shoulder, he is carrying a fishing net and standing beside a row boat. When introduced, he looks to the audience and tips the Greek sailor’s hat he is wearing. He say nothing. The light goes out.)

Over here we have a sewerman. A man so debased and humiliated by having to work in the sewers of a major French city everyday that this degradation has given him an unholy elevation from which to view, and scorn mankind. He is a man that history forgot; we can no longer remember his name. He is a cynic, a skeptical realist. (On the right side of the stage we see a fairly young, extremely intense man from his mid-torso up -- he is wearing a very dirty, torn shirt -- the rest of his body appears to be hidden in the pit he is supposedly standing in. When the spotlight focuses on him, he scowls and waves a clenched fist at the audience, but says nothing. The light goes out.)

Here we have a man by the name of Herbert Floss. Herr Floss is a businessman, indeed, an expert on the affairs of commercial enterprise and efficiency. He is the epitome of the organized man. (On the left side of the stage, the light comes on to reveal a very average looking, middle aged man wearing a contemporary business suit. He visibly smiles at his introduction and gives a nod that is almost a 1/4 bow. He says nothing and the light goes out.)

Next we have Don Quixote, the hero of Miguel Cervantes’ famous novel, which, as it so happened, was the first novel ever written. It was a revolutionary new form of writing about a revolutionary character: the unrealistic idealist. (A thin and haggard looking man stands in the same spot Sancho had been earlier. He is wearing a breast-plate and helmet and holds a sword in his hand. He looks extremely intense, as if he were a tightly wound spring ready to explode, or attack. Yet when introduced, he manages only a clumsy curtsy. He says nothing. The light fades out.)

Here we have the employer of Alexis Zorba. We know him only as “Boss.” But, that is sufficient, except to note, that he is a very troubled man; a man who doubts everything. (In the spotlight where we had previously seen Zorba, there now appears a young man in his twenties. He is nicely dressed in white pants, a blue blazer and a nautical captains’ hat. “Boss” is resting his foot on the bow of a row boat and he is leaning on his raised knee, with his chin in his hand. He briefly takes his chin from his hand and looks about the audience, but quickly returns it to his original position. He shows no signs of recognition. He says nothing. The light goes out.)

Now we find Urbain Grandier, the theological idealist. A man who found God, and thereby became the last man to die for heresy during the inquisition of the middle ages. He was the priest of the city of Loudon, in the year 1610. (Standing in front of the Cathedral door, as if just having come out, is a young, very handsome man dressed in a Priest’s robes and holding rosary beads in his hands. He looks about the audience and gives a light nod. He says nothing. The light goes out.)

Our last guest tonight is very special: he has most recently joined us. We hope that some of you still remember him: Martin Luther King, Jr., a man with a dream. (A medium sized, stocky black man stands firmly on two well planted feet, looking upward -- as toward heaven -- with his eyes open, holding a Bible in his hands. He is wearing a contemporary suit and show no indication that he is aware the audience exists. The trance-like state of his prayer is not broken. He is silent. The light goes out.)

Well. That concludes these brief introductions, except for myself, Miguel de Unamuno. I am a philosopher of twentieth century man, and his realities. That is why I have been selected to host our panel tonight.

So. Let us begin. The topic that has brought us all together on this forum is reality. I suggest that we begin by talking about our dreams. The first type of dream we shall consider is the “dulcinea.” This is such a lovely word that is used to describe a fantasy or illusion of great beauty, or of great clarity. It is an elaborate and complex mirage. Gentlemen...? (The Light fades out on Unamuno and on for Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.)

One must marry a great and pure idea, and beget children by it. (He is slightly subdued, but with conviction.) One must be willing to commit one’s self to it, to live by it, and die for it. Only then can it become the essential ingredient of human life.

(The light slowly fades out on Unamuno and returns on Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Don Quixote is standing facing Sancho’s back; as Sancho’s back is squarely facing the audience. Sancho appears to be working with a hoe.)

(The two of them take a few short steps in silence)

(Suddenly, Don Quixote stops and points toward their backdrop “blow up” of the Spanish windmill/s) Look over there, friend Sancho Panza, where more than thirty monstrous giants appear. I intend to do battle with each of them and take all their lives.

Charge! (Quixote takes a could of quick steps and the light quickly cuts off.)

(The light comes on to reveal Zorba standing in front to the row boat, with the fishing net in his hands. Boss is standing on the other side of the boat with his foot perched on the bow.)

(Turning to face Boss) But, with you, Boss, the situation is different. You try to analyze everything. And not just once; but over, and over, and over again. You think too much. That is your trouble. Clever people, and grocers, they weigh everything too much.

There will be neither rest nor tranquillity in America until the Negro is granted his full citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until that bright day of justice emerges.

There are those who are asking the devotees of Civil Rights, ‘When will you be satisfied?’ But, we can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.

We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: ‘for white only.’ We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and the Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.

No, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like the water, and righteousness like a mighty stream.

(Brief pause.)

Now, I say to you today, my friends, even though we face the difficulties of today, and tomorrow; I still have a dream. I have a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be Self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of the people’s injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I will go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope.

I have dream.

(There is a brief pause as the light goes out on King and comes back on Unamuno.)

(The light goes off on Unamuno and comes on for Herbert Floss.)

As an organized man, (he picks up a stick of chalk from the tray on blackboard, and turns slightly so that he can still see the audience and write on the board at the same time) I have divided the task into its major component parts: combustion proper, and fuel (he prints “C O M B .” in big letters on one side of the board and “F U E L” on the other side); this second part was further divided into two parts: extraction and carrying and loading (he draws two short lines below ‘FUEL’ and prints “E X T .” by one and “C & L” by the other, then turns squarely to face the audience). As combustion was limited only by the number of fires, which could be increased at will, the rate of production would therefore depend upon the efficiency of extraction, and carrying and loading.

We began increasing production slowly. As a first innovation, the excavators would extract the units and set them in a pile outside the ditch, where the prisoners would find and transport them to the fires at a ration of two prisoners per unit. Then I noticed that it was difficult for the three excavators to put their loads in the same place, and that the prisoners were crowded for room. So I divided the prisoners into three teams, each of which served one machine: progress (he emphatically points his index finger upward). But, a bottleneck soon occurred at the fires. The number of fires was increased to three: progress (an even more emphatic gesture with his finger). But, then a new problem developed: below a certain level, the units extracted were dismembered and the prisoners transported them in pieces, a leg under one arm and a torso under the other. As a result, they transported much less. To remedy this, we re-enlisted the litters that had been used to carry the bodies from the gas chambers to the ditches: progress (This time he raises several fingers upward). But it happened that limbs fell off along the way, during the transfer, which was done at a run. So the litters were then modified; the canvas was replaced by crates: progress (a less emphatic gesture, this time) Then it was observed that the rails were sagging under the effects of the heat. Consequently, new supporting pillars were constructed within the enclosure: progress (he pumps a clenched fist into the air).

We have now increase production tremendously. Today we burned two thousand bodies. This is good, but we must not stop here. We will set ourselves an objective and devote all our efforts to reaching it. Tomorrow we will do three thousand, and the day after tomorrow four thousand, then five thousand, then six thousand, and so until ten thousand bodies. Every day we will force ourselves to increase our output by one thousand units. Men of Treblinka, I count on you to help me. We will make Treblinka the best, the most efficient, Jew Encampment in all of the Third Reich, where progress is our most important product (He clicks his heels together and snaps to a full, straight-armed Nazi salute, and hold it). Seig, Heil! (The light rapidly fades out with Floss still holding his salute.)

(The light cuts out on Unamuno and turns on the sewerman standing in his sewer, stooped over as if working. Grandier walks into view, up either a ramp or steps to the sidewalk behind the sewerman. Grandier is now holding a bouquet of flowers.)

He was dirty and old, and not very bright. And I loved him so much (with growing empathy in his voice), for he was standing on the threshold of everlasting life. I wanted him to turn his face to God and not peer back longingly at this mere preliminary. I said to him (with real passion): be glad. Be glad. (Much more softly, now) But he did not understand.

His spirit weakened at dawn. It could not mount another day. There were cries of alarm from the family. I took out the necessary properties. All the vulgar little sins were confessed, absolved, and the man could die at last. He did so. Brutally hold on to the end. I spoke my usual words to the family, with my Priest’s face in place (he gestures toward his face and suddenly looks very solemn). My duty was done.

But I could not forget my love for the man.

I cam out of the house. I was tired, but I heard Saint Peter’s bell in the distance. I decided to walk back, and air myself after the death cell.

The road was dusty. Ah (showing a spark of recognition and enthusiasm), I remember the day I first came here. I was wearing new shoes. They had gotten white with the dust from the road. Do you know, I flicked them over with my stole, before being received by the Bishop. I was so vain and foolish, then. Ambitious, too.

I walked on. There were men working in the fields, and they called to me. And I remember how I loved to work with my hands (with tears of joy and sadness). But how my father said it was so unsuitable for one of my birth.

I walked over the crest of that small hill, just outside of town and I could see my church in the distance. Suddenly, I was so proud (quickly), but in a humble way. I thought of my love for the beauty of this not very beautify place. And I remembered night in the church, with the gold, lit by the candlelight, against the darkness.

I thought of you. I remembered you as a friend.

I rested. The country lazily stretched out before me. Do you know where the rivers join, on the edge of town? That’s where I was. I made love there once.

Children came past me. Yes, of course, that’s where I got the flowers. I didn’t pick them. They were given to me. The children gave me the flowers.

I watched the children go. They went hopping and skipping and singing merrily down the road. Yes, and I was so very tired. But, I could see far beyond the point my eyes could see. There were castles, valleys, mountains, oceans, plains, forests -- and -- (Gasps!)

And then -- my son, my son -- and then -- I want to tell you....

Tell me. What did you do?

I created him from the light and the air (gaining speed, rapidly), from the dust of the road, from the sweat of my hands, from gold, from filth, from the memory of women’s faces, from great rivers, from children, from the works of man, from the past, the present, the future, and the unknown. I caused him to be from fear and despair. I gathered in everything into this mighty act, all I have ever known, seen and experienced; my vanity, my love, my hate, my lust. And, at last I gave myself, and so made God! (progressively slower, and with more assurance) And he was magnificent. For he is all these things.

I was utterly in his presence (he leans forward, as if praying on his knees). I knelt by the side of the road. I took out the bread and the wine, and worshipped him in communion. And in this understanding, he gave himself humbly and faithfully to me, as I had given myself to him.

(There is a pregnant moment of silence.)

(After a very short pause, the light fades out on Grandier and the sewerman and turns on for Unamuno.)

Now, the conventional view of the idealism of the master and the realism -- one might say, materialism -- of Sancho, does not obscure, that as Cervantes’s book unfolds, Sancho gradually become Quixotic. To be sure, he becomes so unconsciously, and never claims to be more than his master’s shadow. But, by the end of the book, he proves that he has completely assimilated Don Quixote’s spirit, and his Quixotism is even more pure than his master’s.

In the final analysis, it is Don Quixote who has corrupted the purity of his own faith through an excessive pride in is own self-confidence, whereas Sancho, so full of common sense and so timid in his courage, never once jeopardizes the true Quixotic faith. Sancho’s faith is of the right kind; it is not faith in himself, but in his master -- who seems to him to be the incarnation of an ideal.

(There is a small pause as the light fades out on Unamuno and slowly brightens on Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. The scene begins with Don Quixote sitting on a chair, staring off absently toward the wings, with his back turned toward Sancho who begins plaintively addressing him:)

To fight the unbeatable foe -- Don’t you remember?

To bear with unbearable sorrow -- You must remember!

To run where the brave dare not go ----

Yes.

To reach the unreachable star (he struggles to his feet).

My Lord, you are not well! (Concerned)

Oh the trumpets of glory now call me to ride, Yes, the trumpets are calling to me, and wherever I ride, ever staunch at my side, my squire and my friend shall be ...

I am I, Don Quixote....

Life is simply not like that. It is not flowers and wine, peace and harmony, forever amen. And, believe me, love does not make the world go ‘round. I’ll tell what does: it’s money. Money: that is what this world is all about.

Listen, do you think there would be a single government left on earth a year from now if everyone on the face of the planet refused to pay any more taxes? There is no way!

All that power and glory is built upon the foundation of tax dollars paid into the government coffers by tax payers everywhere. If everyone suddenly stopped paying up when the tax man barked, those power hungry bastards would have to pack up their bags and go home. But, of course, this plan would only work if everyone -- all over the world, quite at the same time -- stopped paying their taxes. Otherwise, if it were just a few people doing it, the politicians would put them in jail and throw away the key. But they simply could not jail everyone in the whole country. And, of course, people in all countries have to stop their payments at the same time, or some countries would have more money and manpower and they would be able to just walk over the rest of the world....

(Shaking his head in despair) No, I guess you couldn’t have....

We’ve seen what happened when you lost the war. Could you please tell us what you would have expected to gain, had you won?

It is not that you, or the others, wanted to wisely control the affairs of state. If that had been the case, there would have never been a war. All that can be won with military might can also be obtained diplomatically, with far less expense and far greater ease. The compulsion to wage war is little more than the machinations of an adolescent fantasy to ‘prove one’s manhood’ run wild -- to its most bizarre extreme. Tell me, Mr. Floss, did you, like Hitler and Napoleon, suffer from gross feelings of insecurity and self-doubt?

Yes, Mr. Floss, we are all crazy. Some labor under powerful fantasies and delusions, but all men suffer the same fate. What distinguishes us is only the matter of degree that we are controlled by our delusions. In the long run there is only one important distinction between all men. Has you noted: All men quest for glory. Some men would seek it through the destruction, humiliation, and degradation of other men. Those, like us, seek to find it in the help, service, and enlightenment of others. There is no doubt which profits mankind more.

It seems that fate has played a trick on you, Herbert. You sought out glory, and all you found was the cold hollow light of infamy and notoriety. Glory is so illusive and fickle that it can never be found by looking for it. Rather, it comes, quite of its own accord, only to those who try to bestow it upon others.

It is so simple that most people never see it. The way you do what you do -- whether you are a sewerman or a Priest (gestures towards Grandier and the sewerman), a junk collector or a soldier (gestures towards Don Quixote and Sancho Panza), doesn’t matter at all. It is HOW you do it that matters. So, as long as you act honorably and live you life with dignity, nothing else matters at all.

If we restrain Herbert Floss in any way, then are we not as guilty as he?

In Herbert’s case, he sought only the approval and glory of Hitler, Himmler and Goebbels -- which he almost obtained -- while earning the condemnation and disgust of the rest of the world.

That point has been made abundantly clear, this evening.

And, as to the question of history: when it comes to examining the lives of Herbert Floss and Sancho Panza, there can be no doubt as to who will be regarded as the comic prince, and who will be seen as the tragic buffoon.

And with this I conclude -- high time I did, at that -- for the present, at any rate, these essays on the tragic sense of life in men and in peoples, or, at least, in myself -- who am a man -- and in the soul of my people, has it is reflected in mine.

I hope that some time while our tragedy is till playing, in some interval between the acts, that you and I shall meet again. And that we shall recognize one another. And, forgive men if I have troubled you more that needful or inevitable, more that I intended to do when I proposed to distract you for a white from your distractions.

(Loudly) AND MAY GOD DENY YOU PEACE, BUT GIVE YOU GLORY!

(Softly) And may God deny you peace, and give you glory!

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(As Unamuno turns and walks off stage to the right, all of the other characters follow him off except Herbert Floss, who exists to the left, alone.

After a respectful pause for the applause, all of the actors may return to the stage for their bows.)

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