Jerome Bixby's The Man from Earth (4 page)

JOHN
(cont’d) (into phone)
Hello? Yes, Elly. Harrison can’t find your midterm? Hold on. Sandy?

(
SANDY
digs into her briefcase. Pulls out papers. She brings them over to
JOHN
.)

SANDY.
Sorry. I picked it up by accident, with the periodicals.

JOHN.
Got it. What was that?
(listens)
Oh. You’re worried about your parents.

(
JOHN
casually riffs the papers as you would the corner of a deck of cards. Finds Elly’s: it’s a D.)

JOHN
(cont’d) (into phone)
Don’t worry, you passed. C plus. I’ll make sure it gets back to the office…You’re welcome.
(hangs up)
Nice kid. What does a pre-med need with history?
(gives papers to
SANDY
)
Make it so.

(
SANDY
sits, balancing the papers on a knee, and starts to edit Elly’s test to C plus.)

(The others are eating, drinking beers.)

LINDA.
More.

ART.
I was hoping we’d left that behind.

HARRY.
Oh, let’s go with it, Art, it’s interesting! And he’s making some sense, you know.

ART.
Like Hegel. Logic from absurd premises.

(Over the following, they they continue eating and drinking.)

EDITH.
That van Gogh.

JOHN.
He gave it to me. I was Jacques Borne at the time, a pig farmer.

(The others laugh: “pig farmer!”)

JOHN
(cont’d)
I like to work with my hands. He’d come out to my place and paint. We would talk about capturing Nature in art. Turner, Cezanne…

EDITH.
The Nolde landscapes.

JOHN.
Not in van Gogh’s time.

(as
EDITH
is embarrassed)

He would have liked them, though.

LINDA.
I can’t understand why you don’t know where you were, back then. The geography hasn’t changed. I learned that in –

ART.
(cutting in)
Professor Hanson’s tepid lectures. But you’re right.

(
LINDA
shoots
ART
a look; he places a hand on her arm, a bit condescendingly, and she pulls away.)

JOHN.
(to
LINDA
)
Where did you live when you were five years old?

LINDA.
Little Rock.

JOHN.
Your mother took you to the market.
(off
LINDA
’s nod)
Which direction was it. I mean, from your house?

LINDA.
I don’t know.

JOHN.
How far?

LINDA.
About three blocks.

JOHN.
Do you remember anything you saw on the way there? Any reference points that stuck?

LINDA.
There was, I think it was a gas station. And a big field. I was told never to go there alone.

JOHN.
If you went back there now, would it be the same?

LINDA.
Oh, no, I’m sure it must be all different now. Built up…

(She falls silent, getting the point.)

JOHN.
Like the saying, you can’t go home again, because it isn’t there anymore. You’ve had the experience, picture it on my scale. I migrated through an endless flat place with endless new things. Forests, mountains, rivers, tundra. My memory sees what I saw then; my eye sees freeways, urban sprawl, Big Macs under the Eiffel tower. Early on, the world just got bigger and bigger, and then…Think what I’ve had to unlearn.

(Silence. Digesting, skeptical, curious faces.)

ART.
Now you’re moving on again.

JOHN.
As Edith said, there’s talk about my not aging. When that happens, I’m gone.

DAN.
It might make sense to set up your next identity, your next ten years, and then just drop into it.

JOHN.
I’ve done that. I’ve even passed as my own son. “Oh, you’re an engineer too? Well, Ben was a good man. You’re hired.” Saves trouble with credentials, references. On the other hand, I’ve been busted a few times. I spent a year in jail in Belgium, 1862. That’s a date I remember, for faking a government application.

LINDA.
When did you come to America?

JOHN.
1890, right after van Gogh’s death. With some French immigrants. Moving on.

ART.
An answer for every question, except one. Why are you doing this?

JOHN.
A whim. Maybe not such a good idea. As I said, it’s a first. I wanted you to say goodbye to me, not to what you’ve thought I was.

ART.
Since this isn’t funny, we think you may be having a problem. A serious problem.

JOHN.
Hmm. Well, I’m going to lug some boxes.

(
ART
rises, crosses to the farthest corner, pulls out his cell phone.
JOHN
bends to pick up a box beside the door.)

SANDY.
I’ll help.

(
DAN
leans over and fingers the burin in the box
JOHN
is holding.)

DAN.
Wouldn’t you have relics, artifacts, of your early life? This, maybe?

JOHN.
Thrift shop. Really.

(He takes a pen from the box.)

If you lived a hundred, a thousand years, would you still have this? As a memento of your beginnings? Even if you didn’t have the concept of beginnings? What would have caused you to keep it? It would be lost. It might not exist any more. No, I don’t have artifacts.

DAN.
Interesting. You could have lied about that.

JOHN.
Don’t talk about me while I’m gone.

(
JOHN
and
SANDY
go out the front door, with boxes and the bow in its closed case, head for the truck.)

(Back inside the house, out of earshot:)

DAN.
Is he serious?

EDITH.
If so, I’m sorry to say, he’s…How could he have concealed that for ten years?

HARRY.
Well, at least he doesn’t appear to be dangerous.

(
HARRY
is ostentatiously looking around. Pokes into the cushions of his chair.)

DAN.
What are you doing?

HARRY.
Looking for a hidden mike.

(
ART
continues to speak quietly into his cell phone, then ends the call and puts it away. He rejoins the others.)

(Stage lighting moves the focus from the guests inside the cabin to
JOHN
and
SANDY
at the truck. They are fitting boxes into the wagon. A slight breeze has whipped up. A distant haze of dust reddens the low sun.)

SANDY.
I love you, you know.
(off his gentle look)
Since my first week at the office.

JOHN.
I know.

SANDY.
And?

JOHN.
I care very much about you. But now you know what you’d be getting into.

SANDY.
Do you really believe you’re a caveman?

JOHN.
Do you?

(
SANDY
studies his expression. After a long beat:)

SANDY.
Could you love me? Or you don’t believe in it any more?

JOHN.
I’ve gotten over it too many times. I enjoy companionship, and I’m fond of you. Certainly attracted.

SANDY.
That’s it?
(beat)
I can work with that.

JOHN.
If what I’m saying is true, you and any children will age. I won’t. And one day I’ll leave.

(She looks at him, trying to hassle it in her mind.)

SANDY.
Talk about your May-December romances.

JOHN.
(a sad smile)
The simple fact is, I can’t give you forever.

SANDY.
How long is forever? Who ever really has it? My parents split up before I was born! Mom’s next marriage lasted a whole three years. And then there’s illness and death and acts of God.
(off John’s silence)
No one knows how long they have. Or how little.
(takes his hand)
I love you. And I’ll take whatever you can give.

JOHN.
(soft – blunt)
Like ten years?

(After a few moments, they cross back to the house.)

(As
JOHN
and
SANDY
enter:
HARRY
waiting is near the door.
HARRY
grabs
JOHN
around arms and waist.)the

(A flash of action, and
HARRY
is on the floor, flat on his back, John’s knee on his chest, their faces inches apart. Others react.
SANDY
has pressed herself against a wall.)

JOHN
(cont’d)
Why did you do that?

HARRY.
I wanted to see how fast you are. Test your reflexes.

JOHN.
I don’t have eyes in the back of my head. I can’t hear a flea breathing. I am not, in any way, Superman.

HARRY.
I’m a second-degree black belt!

JOHN.
Give it another thousand years.

(
JOHN
tries to help
HARRY
to his feet;
HARRY
waves him away.)

DAN.
Smooth demonstration, Harry.

HARRY.
Sit on it, Dan.

ART.
(quietly, to
HARRY
)
Still think he’s not dangerous?

(
SANDY
is disturbed by the darkening tone.)

SANDY.
Guys, please.

LINDA.
Well
I
still have questions.

ART.
(baiting
JOHN
)
Yeah, so do I. Are we through with prehistory yet? Do you remember any of your original language?

(
JOHN
looks to
SANDY
for a cue… “should I?” She nods.)

JOHN.
A little. One thing that hasn’t changed much.

(He gestures with his head, making a wolf-whistle toward

SANDY
. Some laughs… )

LINDA.
Did you ever do any cave art?

JOHN.
You’ve seen the rock art at Les Eyzies? Some of them were the work of – what was his name? – Gurar. He was pretty good at it. He’d draw the animals we hoped to find, eat. One time after a fruitless hunt, our chief stomped his teeth out. His magic had failed. After that, somebody had to chew his food for him. Finally he got, I suppose, an infected jaw. He was abandoned.

EDITH.
That’s awful.

LINDA.
Is all this why your students say your knowledge of history is so amazing?

(
ART
gives her an impatient look.)

JOHN.
No, that’s mostly from study. Again, it was always one man, one place at a time. My solitary viewpoint, in a world I knew almost nothing about.

DAN.
Let’s talk about what you say you do know about. Historical times.

EDITH.
Oh, don’t encourage him!

JOHN.
Over the next few thousand years, the Neolithic, it got warmer.