Transforming the Darkness
by Jacob Juntunen
MAN and WOMAN onstage on a coffin block lying on its side midway through a heated conversation...
MAN
But have you ever seen a miracle?
WOMAN
When I was a little girl, on an Easter egg hunt, there was a little stuffed lamb that I thought was alive.
MAN
This isn’t a decision for a child.
WOMAN
I still feel it: when ashes are put on my forehead and I’m told, “Remember that thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return.” When I take the blood and body of the Host. Something transforms in front of me. It’s miraculous.
MAN
But that’s just what I’m saying: What we do here is holy. Why would you walk away from it?
WOMAN
But why can’t I do both? Why can’t there be some accommodation—
The MAN stands up he’s so upset.
MAN
Because the people you’re talking about are evil. Look at their values.
The WOMAN follows him.
WOMAN
But how am I supposed to turn half of myself off? Why can’t religion and theatre co-exist—
MAN
What we do is based on practices of worship that stretch back thousands of years. If you stay, it’s because you’re serving something bigger than yourself, isn’t it? What else does being here get you? Money? Fame? We are here to give meaning to what is otherwise an empty existence.
WOMAN
But I see meaning in so much; I’ve felt at one with everything just walking through the woods—
MAN
And you’ve felt that same connectedness sitting here in this room full of people, drawing in a collective breath. It’s a transformative power that gives an object meaning, but it happens in your mind, not in the real world. You think you have the power to turn wine and bread into blood and flesh?
She stands the coffin block upright.
WOMAN
Here is the cross that contains all the shadow that comes after Jesus’s jagged death: “Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land unto the ninth hour. (…) And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks crumbled.”
She pushes the box over so it crashes to the ground.
WOMAN (cont)
And my soul is in this box; it’s as much my coffin as my cross. I’ve made this box transform, right here, before your eyes: a miracle. But I can’t transform the darkness on my own; I don’t know a way out of my coffin except the eternal life that’s promised to me.
MAN
No educated artist believes in an almighty, invisible cloud person who controls our lives. But our audiences, as educated as they are, still feel a void, and need the ritual of live performance in front of them. And I have not directed out of town previews of this show for six months to have you ruin our chance in New York. We are taking this show to Broadway, with or without you.
WOMAN
And I would love to go with you if my understudy could simply play my part for one weekend.
MAN
Easter is our second weekend, right after all the press comes out, and we need our stars in the show. When is the likes of you going to get another chance at a speaking role eligible for the Tony’s? If you feel you can’t be in this production simply because a performance falls on Good Friday, or it interferes with some Easter egg hunt where you hallucinate a lamb, just go. Go home to your ignorant family. But remember: you passed up the opportunity to make something truly great. Well? Are you coming to New York or heading home?
Blackout.
I wrote this as a series of short moments to act as a frame for an evening of 4-5 minute plays written by my fellow Ohio University MFA playwrights on the theme of “Dark Fairy Tales.”
Dark Fairy Tale Frame Pt 1
by Jacob Juntunen
TZADDIK enters. He takes out a leather-bound journal and sits, back to the audience, writing.
NARRATOR
Once upon a time, there was a Jewish mystic, a Tzaddik, who traveled around East Central Europe seeking enlightenment and recording his findings. He had such faith in the One Who Must Not Be Named that he carried no provisions, eating and drinking only what he found in the forest and what kindly villagers offered him. One day…
The Narrator enters the scene with TZADDIK.
NARRATOR
Hello!
TZADDIK
Oh! Excuse me, am I trespassing?
NARRATOR
Not at all, not at all.
The narrator speaks to us again.
NARRATOR
It was then that he saw he was surrounded on all four sides by a great crowd of people. As he took them in, he finally heard the inner voice he had sought for years, “You must leave this place as soon as possible.”
The narrator is in the scene again.
NARRATOR
What can I and my humble village do for you?
TZADDIK
Nothing, nothing. I was only stopping to write my daily observations.
NARRATOR
It is a lovely place, is it not? Lush, green, full of frogs and ponds.
TZADDIK
I’ll just be on my way then.
NARRATOR
Surely you’ll stay the night? It’s after 11 already and the path is tricky for those who don’t know it. And fires can be dangerous for those like you in our forest of ashen white birch trees.
TZADDIK
I’m afraid I’m, um, expected somewhere in the morning—
NARRATOR
We’ll wake you early, send you on your way with provisions.
TZADDIK
It’s very tempting, but I must—
NARRATOR
At least let us give you dinner. Don’t offend us by not accepting our hospitality.
TZADDIK
Well. I wouldn’t want to offend you.
NARRATOR
Then sit here and eat. While you do so, we’ll entertain you with fairy tales from our region.
TZADDIK sits on the floor, back to the audience. Narrator speaks to the audience.
NARRATOR
Of course, it was a lie that anyone expected him. And so, with some trepidation, he sat on the cool damp grass, ate the rich fatty food they gave him, and listened to their fairy tales.
Narrator also sits on the floor, back to the audience.
Several short plays based on Dark Fairy Tales theme.
Part II
TZADDIK
(jumping up) Well! That was very, um, elucidating. Thank you for the meal, but I must be moving on.
NARRATOR
Why are you in such a hurry to be away from us?
TZADDIK
I’m in no hurry, it’s just that I’m expected—
NARRATOR
From the way you wander, no one expects you. If you were lost in this forest forever, no one would miss you. A vast pit could open to swallow your body and there would be no headstone.
TZADDIK
Why would I lie?
NARRATOR
Does our food offend?
TZADDIK
It was very good. I’m quite full and ready for travel—
NARRATOR
Then it must be our stories.
TZADDIK
No… Well. They are a bit dark.
The Narrator speaks to us again.
NARRATOR
It was then that the voice spoke to him a second time, saying, “Tell them no more, and leave, now!”
The Narrator is in the scene again.
NARRATOR
Dark? They are simply the stories of our village. But if they are not to your taste, sit, sit. We will bring you honey and nuts, sunshine and light, and calm your worried head. It is nearly midnight, you can’t leave now. You must stay the night with us.
TZADDIK
Perhaps you could simply give me a candle to help me find my way through the forest?
NARRATOR
I told you, fires are dangerous for you in this part. But, anything you wish. After dessert.
TZADDIK
I can go after dessert?
NARRATOR
You can go now, no one holds you back. If you want to give us offense.
TZADDIK sits on the floor, back to the audience. Narrator speaks to the audience.
NARRATOR
And so, he sat again, the ground now as cold as a stone. He ate the sweet viscous honey and the meat of nuts while he watched.
A few more dark fairy tale shorts.
Part III
NARRATOR
Was that sweet enough for you?
TZADDIK
What’s sweeter than forest honey?
Narrator speaks to us.
NARRATOR
And, indeed, he felt nearly asleep on his feet after the rich meal and unusual sugar rushing through his veins. Sucrose was a rarity in those days, especially for a wanderer. He expected the Voice to return, to tell him to leave, but he heard nothing.
The narrator is back in the scene.
TZADDIK
Perhaps it would be possible for me to spend the night after all?
NARRATOR
Of course! Simply follow my servants with their torches, they will lead the way to our village fires—they’ll warm you to your soul.
The narrator speaks to us.
NARRATOR
When the torches came out, however, the Tzaddik saw hundreds of frogs jump into ponds that were full of ash, and the voice came a third time, saying simply, “Leave.”
The narrator is back in the scene.
TZADDIK
Then again, my friends will worry if I don’t arrive soon. I believe I will take my leave after all.
NARRATOR
As you wish. Tell your “friends” of the stories you saw here this evening.
TZADDIK
(taking out his notebook and pencil) Would you mind telling me the name of this place, so I may make a note of your, um, particular hospitality?
NARRATOR
In Polish, our village is called Oświęcim. In Yiddish, it is Oshpitsin. In German, it is Auschwitz.
The narrator speaks to us.
NARRATOR
So the story comes to us, from an actual historic document of the 15th century, that a Jewish mystic felt an overwhelming sense of darkness when he tried to spend the night in the woods outside Oświęcim, and had to move on. But we’ll not keep you here with our stories any longer. Good night.
Sudden blackout.
The Bride at Every Funeral
by Jacob Juntunen
JOHN
I had just won a smallish biggish deal award in poetry circles when my father died. It wasn’t unexpected. I knew I was a finalist, and it was a pretty good poem that got published this year. I’m nominated almost every year. And Dad had been fighting cancer all winter, so his death wasn’t unexpected either. It was a grey slushy day when we had his viewing.
(MICHELLE enters)
MICHELLE
I’m so sorry for your loss. But it’s so good you could be with him in the hospital in those final moments.
JOHN
Yeah, thanks, Aunt Michelle.
MICHELLE
Family’s so important at a time like this.
JOHN
Absolutely. And at least there’s a little good news to take my mind off it.
MICHELLE
The Gunterman Prize for Verse?
JOHN
I guess they have to give it to you after nominating you half a dozen times.
MICHELLE
That poem; I saw it in Leaves of Grass Monthly. It really moved me. I’m glad your father got to know you won the prize.
(MICHELLE exits)
JOHN
That was my Aunt. She always got on well with me and my Dad. Supported my writing, helped out when he was in the hospital. Her son, though, was a total asshole.
(LUKE enters)
LUKE
John!
JOHN
Cousin Luke.
LUKE
Bad news, man.
JOHN
But at least there’s some good news to take my mind off it.
LUKE
Oh, so my Mom already mentioned—
JOHN
Well, it’s just a smallish, biggish award—
LUKE
Who’s the best writer that ever lived?
JOHN
Oh, just because of this prize I don’t think we can say—
LUKE
Seriously. Who’s the best writer that ever lived?
JOHN
Uh, T.S. Elliot?
LUKE
Because of Cats? No way. Best selling author ever.
JOHN
Um. God? The Bible? But I appreciate what you’re trying to say, I mean, Leaves of Grass Monthly is a pretty big journal—
LUKE
Stephen King. No one has sold more than him. He is the literary master of our age. Of any age. You find Romeo and Juliet on clearance for a dollar, not It. Fucking clowns still terrify me.
JOHN
Well, that’s genre fiction, not really the sort of thing I do—
LUKE
Exactly. We can’t all be Stephen King, right?
JOHN
Right, so, I’m just keeping my mind focused on the good news here. It’s probably like a rule that they can’t keep nominating me for the award—
LUKE
You know what sucks, though? It won its share of awards, Stephen King has won tons of awards, but not the Pulitzer. Can you believe that? Stephen King has never won a Pulitzer though he’s sold more books than the Pulitzer authors put together.
JOHN
Well, hey, sometimes those smallish biggish deal awards really keep a writer going.
LUKE
Right. Exactly.
JOHN
So the good news? That will perk me up during this dark time? Maybe a congratulatory—
LUKE
Yeah, so I guess if Mom told you, the cat’s already out of the bag. My book is selling like wildfire on Amazon! For Kindle and paperback.
JOHN
You self-published?
LUKE
And I’ve already sold a thousand copies. People are making their living this way. Cut out the middle-man, you know? Anyway, it’s horror, of course, the real genre of our times. I’ve got some copies with me.
JOHN
You’re selling your book at my father’s funeral?
LUKE
It’s a great way to take advantage of the family discount.
(LUKE freezes)
JOHN
So I balled up my fist and threw it against his face for the thousands of poets in the land that would have chewed off their writing hand for the smallish biggish prize I won; a mass of disembodied arms in black sleeves and white cuffs held me back while I screamed “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” at him; but like Hercules bending to his tasks, I wrenched out of their vice-like grip, felt my enemy’s hair between my fingers, and pulled his shrieking head into the crisp air and softly falling snow; I shoved him down into the rushing gutter. I nearly finished the first stanza of “Prufrock,” but felt it more appropriate to stop at: “Oh, do not ask, ‘what is it?’”; and I slammed the door. Inside, nothing but silence, blank faces staring at me like white faced clowns, until a few cousins began slow applause, which gradually built and built—
(MICHELLE enters and LUKE unfreezes)
MICHELLE
Did you tell John your good news?
LUKE
Mom’s real proud to finally have a writer in the family.
MICHELLE
Isn’t it amazing? You should get him to sign a copy for you before he gets too famous.
JOHN
Thanks for paying your respects.
Read full lengths by Jacob Juntunen here!
More Jelly Beans!
by Jacob Juntunen
(RONNIE has a couple bags of jelly beans.)
RONNIE
Hey, Kids! It’s Uncle Ronnie! Here, have some jelly beans. No, go ahead, pass them around. They’re my favorite. We’re here to have Presidents’ Field Day before I get shot! I was a lifeguard when I wasn’t much older than you, and when I was really old I sheltered the country in many a storm: when the spaceship blew up, I was your comforting grandparent. I fired all those pesky people that control the airplanes when they turned into communists. And I made another old man take down a wall. But someone still shoots me at the end of this play. It seems unfair. I’ve got about four minutes to live. Did everybody get jelly beans? Keep passing them around. Okay, time to play our games. Who wants to have a three-legged race!?
(General cries of, “Me, me, me!”)
RONNIE
Okay, you, you, you and you. (he picked 2 black kids and 2 white kids) Promise not to shoot me and you’ll get a jelly bean.
TAMICA (black), JENNIFER and ANNIE (both white)
We promise.
RONNIE
(giving beans) Good girls. What about you?
BEN (black)
I don’t know.
ANNIE
Uncle Ronnie! Uncle Ronnie! I had two Daddies! I won’t shoot you!
RONNIE
Two daddies? Well, that’s not actually possible, honey, but you’ve got a good imagination. You can have another jelly bean. (To BEN) Do you promise not to shoot me?
BEN
I don’t know.
RONNIE
Do you know that you don’t get presidents’ day off from school anymore because a communist man with skin like yours got shot? He was never president. All he did was have a dream. You kids have dreams, don’t you? Having dreams is easy, but being president is hard. We’ll see how long history admires the colored communist. On to the event! The three-legged race! It’s easy, two teams, and whoever gets to the other side of the room first gets a jelly bean.
ANNIE
(holding BEN’s hand) We want to be a team!
RONNIE
Now, honey, you two can’t be a team.
ANNIE
But he’s my best friend…
RONNIE
Okay, (putting Tamica and Ben together), you’re a team, and (putting Jennifer and Annie together), you’re a team. Now get lined up here. And before we start…
(RONNIE puts a shackle on the ankles of TAMICA and BEN)
BEN
Whoa, man, what are you doing?!
RONNIE
Shackling you. It’s a three-legged race.
BEN
What about them?
RONNIE
They’re going to keep their legs together voluntarily. Ready? On your marks, get set, go!
(The white team easily wins)
RONNIE (cont)
Very good! Here’s your jelly beans.
BEN
That’s not fair, man!
RONNIE
Don’t be so angry.
BEN
Why do I have to be shackled?!
RONNIE
If you keep up this yelling, you’ll be shackled for a long time.
BEN
My Dad says people like you can’t shackle us anymore.
RONNIE
You used to get a day off school because a president—a real president, with a tall hat—freed your grandparents. Or parents. Or something. I get confused sometimes. And I was president, too, so I’m part of what freed you—
ANNIE
My daddy used to teach history, and he said—
RONNIE
Which of your two Daddies? Right, Annie? Ha, ha. You sure have a good imagination.
ANNIE
The dead one. He taught history.
RONNIE
Oh, so you have a daddy and a step-daddy. I understand now—
ANNIE
No, I had two Daddies—
BEN
I want a rematch.
RONNIE
Okay! Another race.
BEN
Shackle them, too.
RONNIE
Oh, they don’t need it.
BEN
Let me call my Dad.
RONNIE
Will they let him come to the prison phone?
BEN
My Dad’s an engineer for IBM in Silicon Valley—
RONNIE
On a long business trip? Is that what your mommy told you?
BEN
No—
RONNIE
(to TAMICA)And, you, I suppose your mommy has eighty names, thirty addresses, twelve Social Security cards and is collecting veteran's benefits on four non-existing deceased husbands? We call that a welfare queen.
TAMICA
She sells for Mary Kay.
RONNIE
I’m sure that’s what she tells you.
BEN
I want to do the race again, with no shackles.
RONNIE
Okay, fine, no shackles. A level playing field. (removes shackles) On your marks, get set, go!
(RONNIE trips BEN and white girls win)
BEN
What’s the matter with you, man?!
ANNIE
Why did you trip him?
RONNIE
Don’t worry about it, honey, you won, so here’s another jelly bean.
ANNIE
I don’t want your jelly bean! He’s my best friend and you tripped him! And my Daddy who’s still alive said you killed my other daddy. He got all covered with black splotches and had to go to the hospital. He got skinnier and skinnier, sometimes he poohed the bed when we saw him, and he got white spots all over his tongue before he died. And my daddy who’s still alive said you didn’t care about the disease until your friend Rock got sick.
RONNIE
Now, that’s not true, I cared, I just thought it was like measles, that it would go away.
ANNIE
Well, it didn’t go away! And my Daddy died! And you trip my friends! I hate you! I hate you!
(ANNIE shoots him with her finger; )
RONNIE
Well, I told you this would happen. Enjoy the jelly beans!
(RONNIE dies. Blackout)
Read full lengths by Jacob Juntunen here!
