Resurrection Blues (3 page)

 

HENRI: No. She's Viennese. Rather on the short, round side.

FELIX: I've tried short and round, but . . .
Shakes his head.
It's torturing me, Henri. Listen, how would you like to be ambassador to Moscow again?

 

HENRI,
gripping his head:
Do you see why I am depressed?—nothing follows!

 

FELIX:—The reason you're depressed is . . .

 

HENRI,
grips his head:
I beg you, Felix, don't tell me why I'm depressed!

 

FELIX: . . . It's because you're a rich man in a poor country, that's all . . . but we're moving, by god!

 

 

Thank you, my dear.
To Henri
:—I have a meeting. . . . What'd you want to tell me?

 

HENRI,
a pause to organize:
On our little trip to Santa Felice—Hilda and I—we were struck by a . . . what to call it? . . . a kind of spiritual phenomenon up there. Really incredible. Wherever we went the peasants had pictures of this young man whom they . . .

 

FELIX: He's finished. We've captured him, Henri, he is history, all done.

 

HENRI: They keep candles lit before his photograph, you know . . . like a saint.

FELIX: This saint's gunmen have shot up three police stations and killed two officers and wounded five more in the past two months.

 

HENRI: They say he personally had nothing to do with the violence.

 

FELIX: The man is a revolutionary and he is responsible!—Listen, Henri, two of my brothers died fighting shits like these and he will have no mercy from me. Is this what you wanted to talk to about?

 

HENRI: There is a rumor—which I find hard to believe—that you intend to crucify this fellow?

 

FELIX: I can't comment on that.

 

HENRI: Beg your pardon?

 

FELIX: No comment, Henri, that's the end of it.

 

HENRI: And if this brings on a bloodbath?

 

FELIX: Don't think it will.

 

HENRI: Felix, you are totally out of touch. They really think he is the Messiah, the son of god!

 

FELIX: The son of god is a man named Ralph?

 

HENRI: But a crucifixion! Don't you see?—it will prove they were right! These are simple people, it could bring them roaring down out of the mountains!

FELIX: Shooting doesn't work! People are shot on television every ten minutes; bang-bang, and they go down like dolls, it's meaningless. But nail up a couple of these bastards, and believe me this will be the quietest country on the continent and ready for development! A crucifixion always quiets things down. Really, I am amazed—a cretin goes about preaching bloody revolution, and you . . .

 

HENRI: Talk to the people! They'll tell you he's preaching justice.

 

FELIX: Oh come off it, Henri! Two percent of our people—including you—own ninety-six percent of the land. The justice they're demanding is your land; are you ready to give it to them?

 

HENRI: . . . To tell the truth, yes, I just might be. I returned to try to help Jeanine but also . . . I've decided to put the business and both farms up for sale.

 

FELIX: Why!—those farms are terrific!

 

HENRI: They've been raising coca and it's impossible to police my managers when I'm away so much; in short, I've decided to stop pretending to be a business man . . .
Breaks off.

 

FELIX: Really. And what's stopping you?

 

HENRI: Courage, probably. I lack enough conviction . . .

 

FELIX: No, Henri, it's your common sense telling you that in ten years the land you gave away will end up back in the hands of two percent of the smartest people! You can't teach a baboon to play Chopin.—Or are you telling me this idiot is the son of god?

 

HENRI: I don't believe in god, let alone his son. I beg you, Felix, listen to what I'm saying . . . you crucify this fellow and our country is finished, ruined!

 

FELIX: Henri, dear friend . . .
Draws the letter out of his jacket pocket
. . . . not only are we not ruined—I can tell you that with this crucifixion our country will finally begin to live!

 

This fax arrived this morning.

 

 

You've heard of Thomson, Weber, Macdean and Abramowitz of Madison Avenue?

 

HENRI: Of course . . . Thomson, Weber, Macdean and Abramowitz. They're the largest advertising agency for pharmaceutical companies.

 

FELIX: So I'm told. How they got wind of it I don't know, unless General Gonzalez contacted them for a finder's fee—he's our consul in New York now; anyway, they want to photograph the crucifixion for television.

 

HENRI: What in god's name are you talking about?

 

FELIX,
hands the letter to Henri:
This is an offer of seventy-five million dollars for the exclusive worldwide rights to televise the crucifixion.

HENRI,
stunned, he reads the letter:
Have you read these conditions?

 

FELIX: What do you mean?

 

HENRI,
indicating letter:
They will attach commercial announcements!

 

FELIX: But they say “dignified” announcements. . . . Probably like the phone company or, I don't know, the Red Cross.

 

HENRI: They are talking underarm deodorants, Felix!

 

FELIX: You don't know that!

 

HENRI,
slapping the letter:
Read it! They hardly expect a worldwide audience for the phone company! They're talking athlete's foot, Felix!

 

FELIX: Oh no, I don't think they . . .

 

HENRI: They're talking athlete's foot, sour stomach, constipation, anal itch . . . !

 

FELIX: No-no!

 

HENRI: Where else does seventy-five million come from? I'm sure they figure it would take him four or five hours to die, so they could load it up—runny stool, falling hair, gum disease, crotch itch, dry skin, oily skin, nasal blockage, diapers for grownups . . . impotence . . .

FELIX: God no, they'd never do that!

 

HENRI: Why not? Is there a hole in the human anatomy we don't make a dollar on? With a crucifixion the sky's the limit! I forgot ear wax, red eyes, bad breath . . .

 

FELIX: Please, Henri, sit down for a moment.

 

HENRI,
sitting:
It's a catastrophe! And for me personally it's . . . it's the end!

 

FELIX: Why?—nobody will blame you . . .

 

HENRI: My company distributes most of those products, for god's sake!

 

FELIX: I think maybe you're exaggerating the reaction . . .

 

HENRI: Am I! As your men drive nails into his hands and split the bones of his feet the camera will cut away to . . . god knows what . . . somebody squirming with a burning asshole! You must let the fellow go . . . !

 

FELIX: He's not going anywhere, he's a revolutionary and an idiot!

 

HENRI: You're not visualizing, Felix! People are desperate for someone this side of the stars who feels their suffering himself and gives a damn! The man is hope!

 

FELIX: He is hope because he gets us seventy-five million! My god, we once had an estimate to irrigate the entire eastern half of the country and that was only thirteen million! This is fantastic!

 

HENRI: Felix—if you sell this man, you will join the two other most contemptible monsters in history.

 

FELIX: What two others?

 

HENRI: Pontius Pilate and Judas, for god's sake! That kind of infamy is very hard to shed.

 

FELIX: Except that Jesus Christ was not an impostor and this one is.

 

HENRI: We don't know that.

 

FELIX: What the hell are you talking about, the son of a bitch is not even Jewish!—Good god, Henri, with that kind of money I could put the police into decent shoes and issue every one of them a poncho. And real sewers . . . with
pipes!
—so the better class of people wouldn't have to go up to the tops of the hills to build a house . . . we could maybe have our own airline and send all our prostitutes to the dentist . . .

 

HENRI: Stop. Please.
Slight pause.
Do you really want our country blamed for a worldwide suicide?

 

FELIX:
What?

 

HENRI: A crucifixion lasting possibly hours on the screen—use your imagination! To a lot of people it will mean the imminent end of the world . . .

FELIX,
dismissing:
Oh that's nonsense . . . !

 

HENRI: I can see thousands jumping off bridges in Paris, London, New York . . . ! And California . . . my god, California will turn into a madhouse.—
And the whole thing blamed on us? —We'll be a contemptible country!
I know you'll call it off now, won't you.

 

 

Felix, think of your children—their father will be despised through the end of time, do you want that stain on their lives?

 

 

FELIX: I disagree. I really do. Look at it calmly—fifteen or twenty years after they kicked Nixon out of the White House he had one of the biggest funerals since Abraham Lincoln. Is that true or isn't it?

 

HENRI: Well, yes, I suppose it is.

 

FELIX: Believe me, Henri, in politics there is only one sacred rule—nobody clearly remembers anything.

 

HENRI: I've seen him.

 

FELIX: Really! How'd that happen?

 

HENRI: The police happened to have caught him in the street outside my window. Terrible scene; four or five of his . . . I suppose you could call them disciples stood there, weeping.

One of the cops clubbed him down and kicked him squarely in the mouth. I was paralyzed. But then, as they were pushing him into the van—quite accidentally, his gaze rose up to my window and for an instant our eyes met.—His composure, Felix—his poise—there was a kind of tranquility in his eyes that was . . . chilling; he almost seemed to transcend everything, as though he knew all this had to happen . . .

 

FELIX: I thank you for this conversation, it's cleared me up . . .

 

HENRI: Let me talk to him. I take it you have him here?

 

FELIX: He won't open his mouth.

 

HENRI: Let me try to convince him to leave the country.

 

FELIX: Wonderful, but try to feel out if we can expect some dignity if he's nailed up? I don't want it to look like some kind of torture or something . . .

 

HENRI: And what about our dignity!

 

FELIX: Our dignity is modernization! Tell him he's going to die for all of us!

 

HENRI:. . . Because we need that money!

 

FELIX: All right, yes, but that's a hell of a lot better than dying for nothing!

 

HENRI: What is that light on him?

 

FELIX: Nothing. He just suddenly lights up sometimes. It happens, that's all.

 

HENRI: It “happens”!

 

FELIX,
defensive outburst:
All right, I don't understand it! Do you understand a computer chip? Can you tell me what electricity is? And how about a gene? I mean what is a fucking gene? So he lights up; it's one more
thing,
that's all. But look at him, you ever seen such total vacancy in a man's face?
Pointing.
That idiot is mental and he's making us all crazy! Go and godspeed!

 

HENRI,
takes a step toward doorway and halts:
You know, when I saw him outside my window a very odd thought . . . exploded in my head—that I hadn't actually been
seeing
anything . . . for most of my life. That I have lived half blind . . . to Jeanine, even to my former wife . . . I can't begin to explain it, Felix, but it's all left me with one idea that I can't shake off—it haunts me.

 

FELIX: What idea?

 

HENRI: That I could have loved.
Slight pause.
In my life.

 

 

FELIX: Odd—one minute I'd really love to blow that moron away. But the next minute . . .

 

Isabelle. Get me New York. 212-779-8865. Want to speak to a Mr. . . .
Reads letter.
Skip L. Cheeseboro, he's a vice president of the firm.—Well, yes—if they ask you, say it's in reference to a crucifixion. He'll know what it means.