Writers (6 page)

THE
LAST
WORDS
OF
ARTHUR
RIMBAUD

 

 

PLACE
:
The Hospital of the Immaculate Conception, Marseilles, France.

TIME
:
November
9, 1891
. The day before
Rimbaud's
death.

 

 

ARTHUR RIMBAUD
,
thirty-seven years old,
the poet and adventurer, lies dying in a
hospital bed.
He
drifts in and out of
consciousness, delirious with pain. His right leg
has been amputated due to a
malignancy.

At his beside sits his sister,
ISABELLE
RIMBAUD
,
thirty-one years old. The bed is
surrounded by candles, flickering in the
otherwise darkened
room.

ARTHUR

Tell
them, tell them . . . say that I am entirely paralyzed, yes,
and so
I
wish
to
embark
early.
Please
let
me
know
at
what
time
I
should be carried on
board.

ISABELLE

My
poor
Arthur,
it's
impossible
for
you
to
travel.
You can't
be
moved.

ARTHUR

I'll
return
to
Harar,
to
Djami,
he'll
be
waiting.
I'll
return
with
limbs of
steel,
dark
skin
and
furious
eyes.
With
this
mask,
people
will think I am of a strong
race.

ISABELLE

Forget Djami, forget him.
I'm
here, Isabelle, your sister. Think
of me, of our mother, the ones who love you
most.

ARTHUR

My
name carved
in
stone
at
Luxor,
only the wind and sand can
erase
it.
Tell
Djami
I
am
coming,
I
will see him again soon.
My
one
friend,
my
only
friend.

ISABELLE

Djami
cannot
help
you,
Arthur.
That
boy
is
far
from
here,
in
Abyssinia. Probably
dead.

ARTHUR

Send him
money,
three thousand francs.
Tell
him his master,
who loves him, begs he make wise use of this sum, that he invest it
prudently in an enterprise sure to realize a profit.
Tell
him not to
be idle. His wife and child must
prosper.

ISABELLE

Arthur,
pray.
Forget
Africa.

ARTHUR

Djami
and
I
.
.
.
two
ghosts
.
.
.
slipping
through
the
subtle
air.
Sons of the sun.

ISABELLE

All
the
years
away
from
France,
broiling
in
the
heat,
your
brain
was affected.

ARTHUR

Capsule rifles, two thousand-forty at fifteen Marie Thérèse dollars each. Sixty thousand Remington cartridges at sixty dollars the thousand. Tools of various kinds valued at five thousand-eight hundred dollars. Total value of caravan forty thousand. Fifty days to Menelek, king to pay us on arrival. We leave from Tadjoura. Ivory, musk, gold. The Choans would have our testicles! French testicles. Harar to Antotto, twenty days. Avoid Dankalis, evil savages. Sixty thousand dollars, exchange at Aden, 4.3 francs, equals 258,000 francs. Coffee or slaves. Won't take Egyptian piasters. Caravans form at Djibouti. Did I marry the Somali girl? She went back, Djami sent her away. Not my orders. Find Djami, quick! My leg, must rest my leg before meeting the Emir. Turks and cannons.

ISABELLE

(praying)

Oh Lord, I weep! Lord, soften his agony. Help him to bear his cross. Have pity on my brother, his poor soul that writhes on earth. Have pity and take him, oh Lord. You who are so good, so kind.

ARTHUR

The hyenas laugh at us. Their laughing keeps me awake. Smelling my wound. Poetry poured from the open wound, words spilled until there was nothing left. Emptied, I fled. Djami, your warmth. She is far off, master, to BarAbir. Far, far. Cannot go there with accounts due. The business. Cheated by Menelek, cunning, cunning. Le Bosphore Egyptien, my case. Ragged, dirty rags, no way for a French citizen. Dead before my time, the late Arthur Rimbaud. I have been bitten by life before and survived. Two terrible years and nothing to show.

ISABELLE

Arthur, do you know me? Do you know your sister, your
youngest sister, Isabelle? Can you feel my strength, my love? The love of
the Lord that flows through
me.

ARTHUR

I see you, my angel.
My
angel of
happiness.

ISABELLE

Oh,
yes!
Yes,
Arthur!
I
am!
Your
angel.
Oh,
thank
you,
Lord,
for bringing my brother home before . . . before. . .
.

ARTHUR

Before his death. The death of the late Arthur
Rimbaud.

ISABELLE

No,
perhaps it is possible that you may live! The Lord is
merciful,
it's
in His power to heal.

ARTHUR

We'll
walk then, you and I, around
Harar,
when my new leg is
attached, my artificial limb.
You won't
believe the colors! And
Aden,
we'll
journey to Aden. I can arrange things there, arms for
the South.
Tell
Djami, my man, my one brother under the sun, I
am on my way!
I'm
coming with snow on my scarf, flowers from
the Ardennes,
things
he's
never
seen!
Wake
me
before
the
harbor
burns.
It
will
burn
after
our
boat
departs,
so
we
can
watch
the
flames
from the deck as we disappear over the horizon, a spectacle of fire,
our farewell.

ISABELLE

Arthur, Arthur! Are you
gone?

ARTHUR

Sails . . .
yellow,
red . . . the
sea.

END

 

 

SERIOUS
ENOUGH

 

 

CAST OF
CHARACTERS

Jane Bowles
,
forty-five
years
old,
author
of
the
novel
Two
Serious
Ladies
and a
play,
In
the Summer
House

B
renda
,
well-dressed woman in late middle age

B
artender

A
Man

SETTING

The
bar
of
the
Stanhope
Hotel
in
New
York
City,
December
1962.

 

 

JANE
BOWLES
enters
the
elegantly
ap
pointed
bar and
takes
a
seat.
The
Stan
hope
is a
first-class
hotel. She takes off
her gloves, unfastens
her
coat
and
removes
her hat,
revealing
unruly dark
hair,
cut
short. She shivers from
the
cold. Seated
a
couple
of stools away
is
BRENDA
,
smoking a
cigarette in a long holder and sipping a
martini. They are the only two customers in
the bar
on
a
mid-afternoon.
The
BARTEND
ER
comes over to
JANE
.

BARTENDER

May I serve you,
madam?

JANE

I suppose,
yes.

(points to
Brenda's
glass)

What is she drinking?

BARTENDER

A Beefeater martini, straight up, two
olives.

JANE
hesitates.

BARTENDER

English gin.
Very
dry.

JANE

Fine, I'll have
that.

The
BARTENDER
walks
away.

JANE

(to
brenda
)

Hi, my name is
Jane.

BRENDA

Mine is
Brenda.

JANE

(still
shivering)

I'm
not
used
to
the
cold
any
more.
I
grew
up
here
but
I
haven't
been in New
York
for two
years.

BRENDA

Do you live in
Florida?

JANE

Oh, no, Florida is a terrible place.
My
mother lives there. I live
in
Tangier,
Morocco.

BRENDA

You're
a
long
way
from
home.
I've
never
been
to
North
Africa. What do you do
there?

JANE

Oh, I write, and mingle with the natives.
My
husband writes,
too, and he composes music.
We're
in New
York
now because he has
a job composing music for a Broadway
play.
His name is Paul.
My
mother
and
sister
were
just
here,
from
Florida,
to
visit
me.
They
left this morning, thank goodness.
We
don't
get on well together,
not well at all. Is your mother still
alive?

BRENDA

No.

JANE

That's
one less thing you have to worry
about.

The
BARTENDER
brings
Jane
her
drink.

BARTENDER

One Beefeater martini, straight up, two
olives.

He
walks
away.
JANE
lifts the glass to her lips.

BRENDA

Don't
drink it too fast.
It's
very
cold.

JANE

Thanks for the
tip.

She sips
tentatively.

JANE

Ooh,
you're
right.

(shivers
again)

BRENDA

What sort of writing do you do,
Jane?

JANE

Short stories, a
play. Now
I'm
trying to write a
novel.

BRENDA

Do you have a title? I often buy a book just because I like the title.

JANE

Three Serious Ladies
, or maybe it's only
Two Serious Ladies
. I haven't decided yet. Is it good for you, Brenda? The title, I mean. Would it appeal to you enough to make you want to buy it?

BRENDA

I'm
not
sure.
Perhaps,
if
the
cover
art
attracted
me.
How
serious
are these two or three
ladies?

JANE

Serious enough. Each of them is searching for the best way to
live her life. And with whom, if there is a whom. Where do you
live?

BRENDA

Aren't
we all. I live here, in the
Stanhope.

JANE

I like to come in here when I'm in New
York.
Charlie Parker
died in
this
hotel.
Did
you
know
that
?
In
a
suite
occupied
by
a
very
rich heiress.

BRENDA

The Baroness.
Yes,
I knew
her.
She moved to New Jersey after
that musician died.

JANE

He and his friend Dizzy Gillespie invented bop. Do you like
jazz?
My
husband hates it. Oh,
I'm
sorry,
asking you all these
questions.

BRENDA

Drink
your
martini,
Jane.
You
don't
want
it
to
cool
down
too
much.

JANE
and
BRENDA
both sip from
their glasses.

JANE

Do you prefer women or men, Brenda?
To
sleep
with.

BRENDA

(laughs)

I sleep with Horatio.
He's
been
fixed.

JANE
stares at
her.

BRENDA

My
poodle.

BRENDA
signals
to
the
bartender,
who
comes
over
and
presents
BRENDA
with
a
check,
which
she
signs, then stands
up.
The
BAR
TENDER
picks
up
the
check
and
moves
away.

BRENDA

It's
been interesting talking with you, Jane. I'll look for your
novel.

JANE

Oh, it'll be a while before it's published. That's if I can find a publisher for it, of course. Only one other person has read what I've written so far and he said it was unrelievedly unorthodox.

BRENDA

How
could it be otherwise? Good luck,
Jane.

BRENDA
leaves the
bar.
JANE
watches her go, then looks around nervously
before lifting her glass and swallowing the
remainder of her martini all at
once.

JANE

Bartender! Oh,
bartender!

He
comes
over.

JANE

Are there many women living alone in this
hotel?

BARTENDER

A
few. Would
you like another
martini?

JANE

I have an appointment with a psychiatrist this afternoon. Do
you think I should?

BARTENDER

That's
not for me to
say,
madam.

JANE

I'm
not
a
really
serious
drinker.
I'll
bet
you
know
if
someone
is
a serious
drinker
or
not
as
soon
as
they
sit
down
at
the
bar,
don't
you?

A
MAN
enters and takes a seat at the
opposite end of the
bar.

BARTENDER

(to
jane
)

Pardon me, madam. I'll come
back.

He
walks away to wait on the man.
Jane puts on her gloves, removes an olive
from her
glass
and
eats
it,
then
does
the
same with the other olive. She puts on her
hat.

JANE

If I
can't
take myself seriously, why should I expect anyone else
to?

She picks up her glass and holds it out
in front of
her.

JANE

Bartender! A martini, please, straight up, two
olives!

END