Jerome Bixby's The Man from Earth Page 4

  HARRY. Got into Microsoft at fifty cents?

  (JOHN smiles, and steps outside. GRUBER looks at John’s yard. Scrub and cacti, green-brown hillocks beyond. Now GRUBER must move aside, as the moving men return for more. During following, he will move out of their way several times.)

  GRUBER. As one grows older, the days, weeks, months go by more quickly. What does a day or a year or a century mean to you? The birth-death cycle.

  (JOHN looks past GRUBER, eyes distant.)

  JOHN. Turbulence. I meet people, learn a name, say a word, and they’re gone. Others come, like waves, rising and falling. Like ripples in a wheat-field, blown by the wind.

  (Brief silence.)

  GRUBER. Do you ever get tired of it all?

  JOHN. I get bored now and then. They make the same stupid mistakes, again and again.

  GRUBER. “They?” Then you see yourself as separate from the rest of humanity?

  JOHN. I didn’t mean it that way! But, of course, I am.

  GRUBER. Are you comfortable knowing that you have lived, while everyone you knew – everyone you knew, John – has died?

  JOHN. I’ve regretted losing people. Often.

  GRUBER. Have you ever felt guilt about that? Something akin to survivors’ guilt?

  JOHN. I suppose I have, in strict psychological terms. Yes, I have. What could I do about it?

  GRUBER. Indeed.

  (For the first time, JOHN is dark. There have been reactions from our group. Some not liking the tack GRUBER has taken.)

  (The movers start to pick up the couch.)

  JOHN. (to the movers) Hold on, think I’ll keep the couch.

  (THE MEN shrug, not caring one way or the other, and begin taking down drapes. JOHN indicates the couch.)

  JOHN (cont’d) Ladies? You, too, Will, and don’t grump about it. You have a heart problem.

  (GRUBER knocks out his pipe on a porch-post, comes back inside. EDITH, SANDY, LINDA are on the couch. GRUBER joins them. ART squats on the floor. DAN and HARRY stand about. JOHN leans against a wall by the door.)

  HARRY. Could we get away from dying?

  GRUBER. But this is the flip side of his coin, Harry. I’m very curious to know his feelings. Would you prefer I asked him about his father?

  JOHN. I thought you always started with, “Tell me about your mother.”

  GRUBER. But prehistory was strongly patriarchal. Certainly you remember your father?

  JOHN. I’m not sure. There’s a figure I remember, but he may have been an older brother, a social father.

  GRUBER. No matter. I can scarcely remember mine.

  (JOHN is silent for a moment. Looking off at nothing, at memories past.)

  GRUBER (cont’d) Do you feel that as a vacancy in your life, John? Something you wish could be filled by a face, a voice, an image?

  JOHN. Not at this late date.

  GRUBER. There must be someone, probably many, that you valued intensely. Loved. You saw them age and die. A friend, colleague, a wife? Certainly you have had wives. And children.

  (SANDY reacts.)

  JOHN. I’d move on. I had to move on.

  HARRY. Making him history’s biggest bigamist?

  GRUBER. Have you ever in your life thought, “It should have been me?”

  JOHN. (beat) Maybe.

  GRUBER. Art has told me that your early fellows feared you were stealing their lives. (off John’s nod) Have you thought that perhaps you were, perhaps you are? There have always been legends of such a thing. Creatures, not quite human, taking not blood but the force of life itself.

  DAN. My God, Will.

  GRUBER. Unconsciously, perhaps, by some biological or psychic mechanism we might only guess at. I’m not saying you would do such a thing deliberately. I’m not saying you would even know how to. Would you?

  (The others definitely don’t like what’s going on. DAN, especially.)

  GRUBER (cont’d) Would such a thing be fair?

  JOHN. You believe me, then?

  GRUBER. I am exploring what you have said. Whether I believe or not is of no importance. We will die, you will live? Will you come to my funeral, John?

  DAN. Will!

  SANDY. You’ve gone too far. John didn’t ask to be what he is.

  GRUBER. And we did not ask to hear about it. If it were true, is there one of us who would not feel envy? Even, somewhere, a touch of hatred? You’ve told us of yourself, John. Can you imagine how we feel?

  JOHN. I never thought of that.

  GRUBER. Since you may not die, while we assuredly will, there must be a reason for that, no? Perhaps you are an expert.

  (MOVING MAN #1 pauses at the door, carrying an end-table.)

  MAN 1. That’s it, Mr. Oldman. Have a good one.

  JOHN. Thanks. You too.

  (THE MOVING MEN leave, looking a little relieved. During remainder of the play, we now and then detect the distinctive echo of an empty house.)

  GRUBER. Are you a vampire, John? Even an unknowing one? Do you stand, alive and tall, in a graveyard you helped to fill?

  DAN. (hard) That’s going too far!

  GRUBER. Bored? Perhaps lonely, because your heart cannot keep its treasures. Is that your doing? Have you had a wrongful life? Perhaps it is time to die.

  (His hand, having moved back to his pocket, he now quickly draws out an old revolver. GRUBER aims it at JOHN, unsteadily.)

  (DAN takes a quick, angry step. Then a more deliberate one, to stand over GRUBER.)

  DAN. I don’t know what John is doing, but I sure as hell don’t like what you’re doing! Knock it off, or I’ll break your Goddamn arm!

  GRUBER. Ah, Dan, you sound like our football coach.

  (GRUBER rises, still shakily aiming the pistol at JOHN.)

  GRUBER. (rising) What do you think, John? A shot to the arm, perhaps we can watch it heal. A bullet in the head…what exactly would happen?

  (JOHN holds his gaze at GRUBER, utterly calm, immobile. DAN shifts his weight between his feet, deciding when to make his move – )

  (Suddenly GRUBER’s arm drops.)

  GRUBER (cont’d) I have papers to correct. Much as I dislike the job, it will be preferable to this. I leave you with it.

  ( GRUBER brushes past JOHN, out the front door, dropping the gun in the dirt. JOHN looks after him, then closes the door. Moment of silence.)

  DAN. Jesus Christ…

  (to JOHN)

  What the hell was that?

  EDITH. Where’d he get a gun?

  ART. He had you on the ropes. Are you really so damned smart?

  EDITH. That’s not like Will…

  HARRY. Mary passed away yesterday.

  LINDA. Who?

  HARRY. His wife. She had pancreatic cancer. (As others react:) He didn’t want anybody to know.

  (JOHN rushes out the front door; catches up to GRUBER in the yard.)

  JOHN. Will, I didn’t know. About Mary. I can see how this might have hit you.

  GRUBER. Permit me to be infantile by myself.

  (GRUBER shuffles off. JOHN looks after him.)

  (He starts back toward the house… bends to pick up the gun. He cracks open the cylinder: the revolver is unloaded. )

  (While JOHN is still outside: HARRY turns angrily on ART.)

  HARRY. What the hell were you thinking?

  ART. Something had to be done.

  EDITH. I have to say I agree.

  (ART abandons his squatting position to stretch his legs.)

  ART. Oh, boy. I’m not as young as I used to be.

  EDITH. He is.

  DAN. And he’s our friend. Whatever on earth is going on, he’s our friend.

  EDITH. You’re sure about that?

  HARRY. Why are you being so hard on him, Edith?

  EDITH. One of my favorite people has disappeared. Can you get Alzheimer’s at thirty-five? Maybe I’m trying to wake him up. Maybe I’m too sad to cry.

  (There’s a long beat. They’re have nothing to say to each other.)

  (JOHN enters, loo
king regretful.)

  JOHN. What I’ve said about myself – hurt him. He struck back.

  DAN. Expertly. That stuff about stealing life force…

  JOHN. I’ve always wondered about the reason.

  (Long uncomfortable beat.)

  HARRY. We still have an afternoon to pass. Hey, maybe charades? Sandy, c’mere –

  (HARRY grabs SANDY; he picks up a fireplace log and makes the wolf whistle sound. He swings the “club” to hit SANDY on the head. Then he grabs her and they plop onto the floor. He looks up expectantly.)

  JOHN. (smiles) My first wedding.

  (Some laughter at that.)

  HARRY. And chances are at least one of us is a direct descendant.

  (Uncertain laughter.)

  DAN. And I didn’t send you a Christmas card.

  HARRY. What would you send him for a birthday card? And don’t get me started on the candles…

  (A little laughter. But JOHN is still down, after Gruber’s attack. Our group knows this, and tacitly lightens up.)

  DAN. I’d like to hear more.

  HARRY. Me, too.

  LINDA. More.

  HARRY. Do you double-damn swear this isn’t some story you’re trying out on us?

  JOHN. Next question.

  ART. You realize this is an invitation to the men in white with the happy pills?

  DAN. (thoughtful) If it was true – a mechanism enabling survival for thousands of years…

  ART. We’d run out of room even faster.

  DAN. Then one day you might live on Mars. A colony, as we expand. As we’ll have to.

  JOHN. I’d like that. Later, on a planet of another star.

  DAN. I’d envy you.

  LINDA. Did you have a pet dinosaur?

  (A chuckle or two.)

  JOHN. They were quite a bit before my time.

  DAN. I’m glad something is.

  ART. No doubt you could give us a thousand details, John, corroborating your story. From La Madeleine to the Buddha, to now.

  JOHN. Ten thousand. And you could say, out of the books.

  EDITH. It’s getting chilly.

  (JOHN throws another log on the fire. Looks a moment at the swirling sparks, face somber, and turns away.)

  DAN. Now here’s a question…(as they look at him) Could there be others like you, John? Who escaped aging as you have?

  HARRY. Representing something terrific we don’t know about biology.

  DAN. Learning all the time.

  HARRY. How would he know? He doesn’t wear an I.D. badge or armband, saying “yabba-dabba-doo.”

  JOHN. There was one time. In the early 1600’s, I met a man –

  EDITH. (suddenly cuts in) Where were you in 1292 A.D.?

  JOHN. Where were you a year ago on this date?(as Edith retreats) I met a man, and had a hunch he was – like me. So much so that I told him.

  ART. You said this was a first.

  JOHN. I forgot.

  DAN. A crack in your story, John?

  JOHN. A touch of senility. Anyway, he said yes, he was, but from another time, another place. We talked for two days, it was all pretty convincing. But we couldn’t be sure. We each said things that the other confirmed, but how could we know if the confirmation was genuine or an echo? I knew I was kosher, but maybe he was playing a game – a scholar of all we talked about. He said he was compelled to the same reservations.

  DAN. Now, that’s interesting. Just as we could never be sure, even if we wanted to – if we were sure, you couldn’t be sure of that.

  JOHN. We parted, agreeing to keep in touch. We didn’t, of course. Two hundred years later I thought I saw him in a Brussels train station. I lost him in the crowd.

  EDITH. Oh, what a shame! I mean, if it was true.

  HARRY. How’s this for a question? What do you do with your spare time?

  (some laughter)

  JOHN. Maybe every fifty years or so, when I want to get away from the rush, I go back to a hidden tribe in New Guinea, where I’m revered as an immortal God. There’s even a statue of me. I’d show you a photograph, but it’s packed.

  EDITH. I won’t make the obvious nasty crack about more unwashed cavemen.

  JOHN. Actually bathing was the style until the Middle Ages, when the church said removing God’s dirt was sinful. So they got sewn into their underwear in October and peeled out of it in April.

  EDITH. You say you just happened. I don’t believe that. If your story’s true, why did God allow you to happen?

  (Art’s expression says: “Ask him.”)

  DAN. That raises an interesting point. Are you religious, John?

  JOHN. Do I follow a known religion? No.

  DAN. Ever?

  JOHN. A long time ago. Most people do at one time or another. Some just never get over it.

  DAN. Do you believe in God?

  JOHN. As LaPlace said, “I have no need of that hypothesis.” He may be around, though.

  EDITH. He’s everywhere. You just can’t see him.

  HARRY. If I couldn’t do any better than this, I’d be hiding too.

  (As EDITH glares at HARRY:)

  DAN. And Creation?

  JOHN. It’s here. I’m not so sure it was created.

  EDITH. What, then?

  JOHN. Maybe it just accumulated, fields affecting fields.

  ART. And the source of the field energies? Doesn’t that imply a Prime Mover?

  JOHN. I’d wonder about the source of the Prime Mover. Infinite regress. It doesn’t imply anything to me. Back to the mystery.

  EDITH. That’s a very old question, but there’s no answer except in religious terms. If you have faith, it’s answered.

  DAN. Did you ever meet any people from our religious history? A biblical figure?

  JOHN. (beat) In a way.

  EDITH. Who?

  JOHN. We’d better skip this one.

  HARRY. Oh, come on, John, we’re curious!

  JOHN. Next question.

  GROUP. (a chorus) No skipping! Come on, John! Tell us! We want to know! Don’t do this to us! (etc.)

  (As the chorus subsides, DAN is looking thoughtfully at JOHN:)

  DAN. Good Lord, were you one of them?

  (Big reaction from JOHN, which he tries to conceal.)

  JOHN. This isn’t going where I thought it would, or hoped it would. We should call it a night.

  ART. My ass. Spit this one out if you would, John. You were someone in religious history?

  JOHN. (beat) Yes.

  EDITH. In the bible?

  JOHN. Yes.

  HARRY. Someone we know?

  EDITH. How could we not know someone in the bible?

  HARRY. I meant somebody important.

  JOHN. You may think you know him. Most of it’s myth.

  ART. Well, for Pete’s sake, the whole bible is myth and allegory, but maybe with some basis in historical events. You’re saying you were part of that history.

  JOHN. Yes.

  LINDA. Moses.

  JOHN. Moses was modeled on Mises, from Assyrian myth. There are earlier versions. All found floating on water, a staff that turned into a snake, the parting of waters to lead followers to freedom. Even received laws on stone or wooden tablets.

  LINDA. One of the Apostles.

  JOHN. They weren’t Apostles. I mean, they didn’t do any teaching, that I know of. They were students. Paul the Fisherman learned some new things about fishing.

  ART. How would you know that?

  (Silence.)

  JOHN. The mystical overlay is enormous, and not a good thing. The truth of it’s so simple. So simple. The new New Testament in a hundred words or less. Are you ready for it?

  (EDITH stands up.)

  EDITH. I don’t think I want to hear this. Harry, will you take me home?

  HARRY. No. I mean, not right now. I want to hear this.

  ART. Sit down, Edith, you’re acting as if you believed him.

  EDITH. It’s sacrilege.

  HARRY. How can it be sacrilege when
he hasn’t said anything yet?

  EDITH. The “new” New Testament is sacrilege.

  (JOHN gets up and moves across the room, as if to get away from the conflict.)

  DAN. There have been a dozen new New Testaments, from Hebrew to Greek to Latin to Tyndale, all the way to King James. All revisionist and all called “revealed truth.”

  EDITH. I mean a new New Testament in a hundred words.

  HARRY. How about the Ten Commandments in ten words? “Don’t, don’t, don’t… ”

  DAN. The Commandments are just updates of more ancient laws…Hammurabi’s Code –

  HARRY. And they weren’t even the first. I was raised on the Torah, my wife on the Koran. My oldest son is an atheist, my youngest’s a Scientologist, and my daughter is studying Hinduism. I suppose there’s room for a holy war in my living room, but we live and let live.

  (to EDITH:)

  What’s your preferred version of the bible?

  EDITH. The King James, of course. It’s the most modern, the work of great scholars.

  DAN. Modern is good?

  (As EDITH glares:)

  HARRY. Okay, John, get on with the short form.

  JOHN. A guy met the Buddha, and liked what he heard. He thought about it for a while, say, five-hundred years, while he returned to the Mediterranean, became an Etruscan, and then seeped into the Roman Empire. He didn’t like what they became. A giant killing machine. He went to the Near East, thinking “Why not pass the Buddha’s teachings along in modern form?” So he tried. One dissident against Rome, Rome won. The rest is history, sort of. A lot of fairy tales mixed in.

  (Silence. Staring faces. Finally:)