I’m sorry—I have this appendage—on the front of my body—it swells up sometimes.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Make some babies, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: Babies? —NO! (Runs to grab onto the cannon, holding it like a security blanket)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Hushed voice, displaying her body): Millions and millions of babies—making millions and millions of thoughts, Mr. Nietzsche—until that one day finally comes, when every possible thought has finally been thought, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (Whispers): Is that really possible?
(The Beautiful Woman comes to look at Nietzsche, then turns and throws herself against a probe.)
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: But—it takes a lot of babies—until all possible thoughts—
(There is a thud that throws the Scholars against the walls.)
—can finally be thought. So then—this whole rotten, beautiful planet can just STOP, Mr. Nietzsche.
(The Child giggles as the Dangerous Man slaps the briefcase into Nietzsche’s hand, then turns to look at the Beautiful Woman’s breasts.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Very nice . . .
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN:
Not death maybe,
—But something even more interesting.
NIETZSCHE: Oh my God.
(A boat appears bouncing up and down on the far ocean. Nietzsche sings in falsetto:)
Shipwreck! Shipwreck!
THE CHILD: Shipwreck! Shipwreck!
(The music rises, and all run to the ocean and try to reach out to the ship in danger. The Voice cries out: “Pleased to meet you! Pleased to meet you!” Nietzsche throws his chest against a probe. Suddenly the music stops and the actors freeze.)
Your boat is now ready, Mr. Nietzsche!
THE DANGEROUS MAN (To Nietzsche): What’s wrong?
NIETZSCHE: There’s no boat.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I know there’s no boat.
NIETZSCHE: There’s no boat. Nobody climbs onboard, because there’s no boat—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: You already said that, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: I said that because I want things said that will cut into me like a knife. (Again throws himself against probe) I want this kind of pressure—
VOICE (As a bell rings): Your boat is now ready for delivery, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE:
Was I ill? Have I got well?
Oh my memory is rotten
But those are well who have forgotten!
(He grabs a whip and, moaning inarticulately, starts beating the ocean. The Voice intones: “Here is a man! Here is a man!” Nietzsche tumbles over a bench.)
I’m sorry to tell you— (Reaches into his briefcase and throws papers into the air) There is no boat!
THE DANGEROUS MAN: I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Nietzsche. You hurt people, too. Just like everybody else.
NIETZSCHE: That was never my intention—
THE CHILD: Everybody hurts everybody, Mr. Nietzsche.
(The Scholars press recovered pieces of paper against Nietzsche’s body. He swings his briefcase to fight them off.)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: See what I mean, Mr. Nietzsche? You really hurt people—
THE CHILD: Nobody reads the stuff you write, Mr. Nietzsche.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Nobody wants your babies, Mr. Nietzsche.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Nobody wants to give you—hugs and kisses.
NIETZSCHE (Crossing slowly to the cabinet): OK. In order to bring a little bit of happiness to somebody who deserves, of course, no real happiness— (Opens the door to the cabinet) I’ll just—lock myself—inside this ugly thing—forever.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Hey! You’re still not inside it, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (Entering, peeking out through the door): I’m never coming out! . . . Believe me?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Nobody can live forever inside that thing, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: I’m never coming out.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: You won’t come out?
(Nietzsche disappears inside as the cabinet starts advancing to center stage. Childlike music is heard.)
NIETZSCHE: I’m never coming out!
(The stuffed horse is carried in. The Child grabs a whip.)
THE CHILD: OK. If you’re never coming out, Mr. Nietzsche—then we can beat the shit! (She whips and giggles) —out of this poor little horse as much as we like, and nobody’s going to stop us. Right, Mr. Nietzsche? Right? Right?
(The Child and the Beautiful Woman beat the horse violently. The music turns to violent pounding as the cabinet moves forward, frightening them, forcing everyone to cower against the wall in terror. Nietzsche runs out of the cabinet. He sees their terror as they claw their way up the wall, then he heroically pushes the cabinet back to the side of the stage. Then, as the music quiets, he does a funny little walk to center stage.)
You lied to us, Mr. Nietzsche. You said you were never coming out.
NIETZSCHE: Yes. But how is that possible? Because— (He thinks, then speaks softly) I never lie.
(The lights fade.)
THE END
Now That Communism Is Dead My Life Feels Empty!
PRODUCTION HISTORY
Now That Communism Is Dead My Life Feels Empty! Produced by the Ontological-Hysteric Theater at the Ontological at St. Mark’s Theater, New York City. January–April 2001. Written, directed
