Angels in America (21 page)

ANGEL
: Now:

              
Remove from their hiding place the Sacred Prophetic Implements.

(Little pause.)

PRIOR
: The
what
?

ANGEL
: Remove from their hiding place the Sacred Prophetic Implements.

     
(Little pause)

     
Your dreams have revealed them to you.

PRIOR
: What dreams?

ANGEL
: You have had dreams revealing to you—

PRIOR
: I haven't had a dream I can remember in months.

ANGEL
(Stern)
: No . . .
dreams
, you—Are you sure?

PRIOR
: Yes. Well, the two dead Priors, they—

ANGEL
: No not the heralds, not them. Other dreams.

     
Implements, you must have—

     
One moment.

PRIOR
:
This
, this is a dream, obviously, I'm sick and so I—well OK it's a pretty spectacular dream but still it's just some—

ANGEL
(A flash of anger)
: Quiet. Prophet. A moment, please, I—
(Looking up, addressing unseen forces; severe)
The disorganization is—

     
(She coughs, looks up, rises higher in the air)

     
Yes.

     
(To Prior)
In the kitchen. Under the tiles under the sink.

PRIOR
: You want me to, to tear up the kitchen floor?

ANGEL
: Get a shovel or an axe or some . . .
tool
for dislodging tile and, and grout and unearth the Sacred Implements.

PRIOR
: No fucking way! The ceiling's bad enough, I'll lose the lease, I'll lose my security deposit, I'll wake up the downstairs neighbors, their hysterical dog, I—

     
Do it yourself.

ANGEL
(A tremendous, unearthly voice)
: SUBMIT, SUBMIT TO THE WILL OF HEAVEN!

(An enormous gust of wind knocks Prior over. He glares at her from the floor and shakes his head no. A standoff. The Angel coughs a little. There is a small explosion in the kitchen offstage. A cloud of plaster dust drifts in.)

PRIOR
: What did you— What . . .?
(Exits into the kitchen)

ANGEL
: And Lo, the Prophet was led by his nightly dreams to the hiding place of the Sacred Implements, and—Revision in the text: the Angel helped him to unearth them, for he was weak of body
(Pissed-off)
though not of will.

(Prior returns with an ancient leather suitcase, very dusty.)

PRIOR
: You cracked the refrigerator, you probably released a whole cloud of fluorocarbons, that's bad for the, the environment.

ANGEL
: My wrath is as fearsome as my countenance is splendid. Open the suitcase.

(Prior does. He reaches inside and produces a pair of bronze spectacles with rocks instead of lenses.)

PRIOR
: Oh, look at this.

     
Like, wow, man, totally Paleozoic.
(He puts them on)

     
This is—

     
(He stops suddenly. His head jerks up. He is seeing something)

     
OH! OH GOD NO! OH—
(Horror-stricken, he rips off the spectacles)

     
That was terrible! I don't want to see that!

ANGEL
: Remove the Book.

(Prior removes a large Book with bright steel pages from the suitcase. There is a really glorious burst of music, more light, more wind.)

ANGEL
: From the Council of Continental Principalities

     
Met in this time of Crisis and Confusion:

     
Heaven here reaches down to disaster

     
And in touching you touches all of Earth.

(Music. She points to the spectacles.)

ANGEL
: Peepstones.

(Prior retrieves them. He's understandably reluctant to put them on.)

ANGEL
: Open me Prophet. I I I I am

     
The Book.

     
Read.

(Prior starts to put on the peepstones and then stops.)

PRIOR
: Wait. Wait.

     
How come . . . How come I have this, um, erection? It's very hard to concentrate.

ANGEL
: The stiffening of your penis is of no consequence.

PRIOR
: Well maybe not to you but—

ANGEL
: READ!

(More music, more light. Prior puts the glasses on, and reads.)

ANGEL
: You are Mere Flesh. I I I I am Utter Flesh,

     
Density of Desire, the Gravity of Skin:

     
What makes the Engine of Creation Run?

     
Not Physics but Ecstatics Makes the Engine Run:

     
(Continue below:)

(She begins to glow with intense sexual heat.)

PRIOR
(Hit by a wave of intense sexual feeling)
: Hmmmm . . .

ANGEL
(Continuous from above)
: The Pulse, the Pull, the Throb, the Ooze . . .
(Continue below:)

PRIOR
: Wait, please, I . . . Excuse me for just a minute, just a minute.

     
OK I . . .

ANGEL
(Continuous from above)
: Priapsis, Dilation, Engorgement, Flow:

     
The Universe Aflame with Angelic Ejaculate . . .

     
(Continue below:)

PRIOR
(Losing control, he starts to hump the Book)
: Oh shit . . .

ANGEL
(Continuous from above)
: The Heavens a-thrum to the Seraphic Rut,

     
The Fiery Grapplings . . .
(Continue below:)

PRIOR
: Oh God, I . . .

ANGEL
(Continuous from above)
: The Feathery Joinings of the Higher Orders,

     
Infinite, Unceasing, the Blood-Pump of Creation!

(With a rough gesture, she causes Prior to flip over on his back
.

     
She's directly above and parallel to him, close.)

(Pause. The peepstones have fallen off, or he removes them.)

PRIOR
: Oh. Oh God.

ANGEL
: The Body is the Garden of the Soul.

PRIOR
: What
was
that?

ANGEL
: Plasma Orgasmata.

PRIOR
: Yeah well no doubt.

BELIZE
(He's heard enough; stepping into the bedroom)
: Whoa whoa whoa wait a minute excuse me please. You fucked this angel?

PRIOR
: She fucked me. She has . . . Well, She has eight vaginas.

ANGEL
: REGINA VAGINA!

     
Hermaphroditically Equipped as well with a Bouquet of Phalli.

     
I I I I am Your Released Female Essence Ascendant!

BELIZE
: The sexual politics of this are—

PRIOR
: Very confusing. I know.

(As Belize challenges Prior, the Angel, unthreatened, intrigued, lands and listens closely
.

     
From the moment Belize enters the bedroom, Prior is simultaneously with him, on the street, three weeks hence, trying to tell what happened
, and
present in the bedroom with the Angel, where he's very frightened, with no idea of what's about to happen.)

BELIZE
: What . . . So what, um,
gender
is God? According to—

PRIOR
: According to Her: male. God is a—

BELIZE
: No shit? Seriously? You don't think that's sorta sexist or—

PRIOR
: He's not an old man or anything, He's a—from what I gather He's a Hebrew letter.

ANGEL
: THE ALEPH GLYPH.

PRIOR
: A . . .
male
Hebrew letter.

ANGEL
: Deus Erectus! Pater Omnipotens!

PRIOR
(To Belize)
: Each Angel is an infinite aggregate myriad entity, They're basically incredibly powerful bureaucrats, They have no imagination, They can
do
anything but They can't invent, create, They're sort of fabulous and dull all at once, and They copulate,
ceaselessly
, apparently, the Angels, They—I mean I—

BELIZE
: They get fucked by a Hebrew letter.

ANGEL
(To Prior)
: READ ON.

(Prior gestures to the Angel to wait.)

PRIOR
: When Angels cum They make something called, um—
(Continue below:)

ANGEL
: Plasma orgasmata!

PRIOR
(Continuous from above)
: —plasma orgasmata which makes some . . . other thing called—
(Continue below:)

ANGEL
: Protomatter.

PRIOR
(Continuous from above)
: —protomatter. Right. Which is what makes . . . Everything else.

ANGEL
: Creation.

PRIOR
: Creation. Heaven's, like, a lot, um, livelier than we were led to—

ANGEL
: Heaven Is a City Much Like San Francisco.

(Prior puts on the peepstones and returns to the floor, reading at first from the Book, and then, as the Angel continues, he stops reading, removes the peepstones and listens to her. Belize is also listening, watching, bewildered and increasingly scared by the way Prior's sounding.)

ANGEL
: House upon house depended from Hillside,

              
From Crest down to Dockside,

              
The green Mirroring Bay.

              
Oh Joyful in the Buckled Garden,

              
Undulant Landscape over which

              
The Threat of Seismic Catastrophe hangs:

              
More beautiful because imperiled.

              
POTENT: yet DORMANT: The Fault Lines of Creation!

              
(Coughs)

              
When
He
, ALEPH,

              
GLYPH From Whom All Words Descend,

              
Tearing Glyph from Auto-Generative All-Adoring Gaze,

              
He Would Come Down to Us ABLAZE!

              
THEN: Heaven's Walls would Ring with the