I like clowns. I love Fr
ench clowns. But not mimes. No one likes mimes.
This play at least has potential. I was reading Christopher Moore’s Sacre Bleu at the time, in particular the chapter where young Lucien is helping the Professor snatch snails from grave stones.
I’d really like to expand on this soon.
Escargot
Lights up on a graveyard. Seven or eight tombstones of various descriptions are scattered about. Scrubby grass, a willow tree, and other common graveyard accoutrements are about.
At CS is a large but otherwise plain tombstone. Crawling along its top, maddeningly slowly, is a puppet snail. The snail, though obviously a puppet, is leaking slime behind it.
Slowly, from behind the tombstone, BERTHE and HENRI peak. They are wide-eyed, in awe. They are naïve. They are overgrown children. They are dressed like muppets, with fuzzy/felt and oversized representational clothing. They might even be wearing clown makeup.
Slowly, the snail crawls on. Then, for no clear reason, it stops. BERTHE and HERNI gasp, look at each other, and their eyes grow – impossibly – wider. They look back at the now immobile snail. Silence. Time passes. Eventually, the snail starts slowly crawling along. Their gawping mouths stretch into enormous smiles. Time passes. The snail is taking its sweet time. Eventually, BERTHE’S smile begins to diminish. Overtime, the smile turns flaccid.
The two begin to speak, their focus on the snail waning. As they stop paying attention, a second snail begins to creep up the side of the tomb, heading toward the first.
BERTHE
Where do you think it’s going?
HENRI
Oh, anywhere. Nowhere. This is a very auspicious grave.
BERTHE
Is it? Who was James Ensor?
HENRI
Brilliant baker. Baguette like a warm, crispy arm. Loaves so fresh. Pastries like a sunrise.
BERTHE
I’d like to be a baker. Sometimes.
HENRI
Not all the time, of course. Too much commitment.
BERTHE
Too much piety.
HENRI
Too much suffering.
BERTHE
One in the same, really. But to think like a baker. To be an artist and craftsman in one. To see a pie tin as a pallet. I would –
BERTHE spies the second snail while speaking, and suddenly offers an enormous, petrifying gasp. HENRI watches, transfixed. Slowly, inexorably, BERTHE points to the second snail. HENRI slowly turns to follow BERTHE’S finger, and spies the second snail. HENRI’S breath catches, then he faints, disappearing behind the tomb.
In the silence, BERTHE turns out to the audience and quietly mouths “It’s a second snail!” HENRI hops up, now standing a bit higher than BERTHE, and shuffles about, examining the second snail from every possible angle, even the obnoxious ones.
HENRI
Is it a boy? A girl?
BERTHE
Yes.
HENRI
Boy or girl?
BERTHE
Wrong article.
HENRI
Article?
BERTHE
And.
HENRI
And?
BERTHE
Boy and girl. They’re (quietly mouths the word “hermaphrodites.”)
HENRI
Hermaphrodites?
BERTHE
They’ve got boy parts and girl parts.
HENRI
All of them?
BERTHE
Yarp.
HENRI
Well that’s handy. We should all be so lucky.
BERTHE
I like the variety, but I appreciate your sentiment.
The snails are getting fairly close together. BERTHE and HENRI now cannot take their eyes off the snails.
HENRI
Yes. They siphon up the dust and little pebbles. This is how the draw the souls out. The snails. They feed on the leaking souls of the deceased, and so digest their greatness. That’s why we eat the snails.
BERTHE
Not because we’re starving? Because of the war? Because there’s no food left, and our pies are made with sawdust? Because the horses have all been slaughtered, and the cows are but faded memories of an infinitesimally evanescing past? Because the alternative is to leak our own souls?
HENRI
No. We eat the snails, that we may eat the greatness of our forefathers.
BERTHE
I didn’t know we were such ghouls.
HENRI
And boys.
BERTHE
Mm.
The snails have gotten very close together. The two are staring, eyes forced open. The snails grow closer. The two are holding their breath. The two snails meet, rubbing their heads together. Instantly, the two gasp. BERTHE’S gasp is again enormous, while HENRI gasps just long enough to faint. BERTHE again looks out to the audience and mouths “They’re kissing!” Shortly after, HENRI hops back up and stares.
HENRI
They’re kissing!
BERTHE
Inuit kisses.
HENRI
Why do you call it “Inuit kisses.”
BERTHE
Because “Eskimo kisses” is racist.
HENRI
Ah! (silence) What’s “racist?”
BERTHE
Oh, lots of things.
HENRI
Ah…
They watch. The two snails inflate small pouches by their heads, and begin to rub the pouches together. Subtle music is heard from faraway. BERTHE carefully, surreptitiously turns out to the audience and mouths, “They’re necking!”
HENRI
Do you think they share their souls when they’re doing it?
BERTHE
I don’t know.
HENRI
But you must have an opinion.
BERTHE
Either they do or they don’t. It’s not a matter of opinion.
HENRI
You’re ill-equipped for the modern world. The soul has always been a matter of speculation.
BERTHE
I don’t even know what a soul is.
HENRI
Opinion, mostly.
BERTHE
You’re asking if they share opinions? Almost certainly.
HENRI
Yes, I guess it is obvious. Seems less magical when you put it that way.
BERTHE
The right words have slain a lot of magic. Good riddance, I say.
HENRI
Magic makes the world go round.
BERTHE
Music makes the world go round.
BERTHE & HENRI
Money makes the world go round! … (they shudder)
The snails separate. Again, BERTHE gasps. Again, HENRI faints. The second snail contracts and remains very still. The first snail continues on its way as though nothing has happened. BERTHE is very clearly watching the first snail. BERTHE looks out at the audience and silently mouths “It’s leaving!” HENRI pops up again and very clearly watches the first snail.
HENRI
I suppose that all was meant to mean something.
BERTHE
Usually is.
They stare. Slowly, the two grow to a stand. As they slowly stand, they gravitate toward each other and lean against each other. Sharing each other’s weight. Without looking, still staring at the snails, they grow together and begin a slow dance. They stop watching the snails as they dance, but are still not looking at each other. As they dance, the first snail eventually vanishes behind the grave. The second snail remains contracted and still.
In time the dance stops. Finally, they separate and look at each other.
BERTHE
I still don’t get it.
HENRI
Have a snail.
BERTHE
I’m not hungry.
HENRI
For snail?
BERTHE
I’m quite full.
HENRI
(looks at the snail, then back at BERTHE) I as well.
BERTHE
Well then…
BERTHE & HENRI
Well…
They turn and stare at the second snail. They slowly kneel to their original positions. They each pet the snail on either side, then sink back behind the tombstone, out of sight. The music ends.
Lights out.