SCENES-Dialogues from the Subconscious (by: George Kastrounis)

"SCENES" is a stream of consciousness writing which aims to provide a textual equivalent to the stream of a fictional character’s consciousness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                        S C E N E S

              Dialogues from the Subconscious              

                                          by:

   

  GEORGE KASTROUNIS

 

                  Copyright 1984 by George Kastrounis

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                  

                      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                  

 

                                CHARACTERS

 

 

                                    HE, about 30

 

                                   SHE, about 28

 

 

 

All scenes take place in the evening, except for Scene III which takes place in the morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                      

SCENE I

 

 (His apartment. Living room. Modest furniture. HE is standing/pacing. His eyes fixed on her. SHE is sitting still.)

                                      

HE

Your eyes...! Those eyes that saw but did not hear. That saw and judged so readily, so unequivocally, so irresponsibly. Now shut, like prison doors, and remain shut with your guilt inside. Why? Because you are scared. Because  they saw and did not hear. You always saw through a glass window--didn't want to let the screams reach you. All you saw was my laughter. A silent laughter.  A laughter not of happiness but of despair. You did not know. The glass did not let you know. You confused  my laughter with joy. I was far from happy. I was laughing. Laughing at me. At my misery. At all those closed windows. At all those cursed faces that were looking--curiously--from those windows, passing judgment, condemning--. And now, now that I finally broke them and made you hear the thunder, you shut your eyes. In darkness you find solace, in deafness you find refuge. You're not alive! You're dead!

 

SHE

I was dead. Then I became alive when I met you. Then I died again after living with you. And now I'm ready to live again. The moth turned into a butterfly. I'll fly. Stretch my wings and fly, away from you and this house.

 

(Pause. HE sits.)

 

HE

I will not  reply.  I will be silent this time and I will watch, observe, how you weave you web. I will watch. My eyes will be my tongue. The more I look, the more I stare, the more my voice will slam you, like a hammer. What I say you will not understand. There is no language to the battering of a hammer--only a hammering, a constant bashing. It could be good, it could be bad. It could be good if you're forging, it could be bad if what is being bashed is your head. I'll keep at it. I will not retreat, or succumb. I will face you not like a shield, not like a sword, but like the sun, and drench you with my light, caress you with my warmth. I will look down at you not condescendingly, not  reproachfully, not forgivingly. I will look down just to see you, to meet your eyes, not to reveal or express inner emotion, or inner turmoil. My action will be purely organic, necessary if I am to make contact with you. To communicate, shall we say? To meet each others eyes, not to exchange feelings.

 

(Pause.  HE gets up.)

 

So go on. Speak. Weave. Weave, till only spit comes from your mandibles.

 

(Pause.)

 

I’m sorry. I talked when I said I’d be silent. I contradicted myself. I keep on contradicting myself again and again. I don’t know why. I say one thing, I mean another. I do one thing, and mean another. Like being with you, living with you, sharing the same room, the same air, the same space with you is a contradiction for I know and you know and certainly all of our loving friends know we simply, and irrevocably hate--no! dislike--no, just cannot bear each other. It's just too much. Too much of something. No name. Don’t look for names, look for quantities--yes! Too much of something that... pulls us apart.

 

(SHE  gets up to leave. Walks to the door.)

 

Like now, your getting up, ready to go. Don't want to discuss. Leaving everything unfinished, unclean, like dirty dishes.

 

(SHE  stands at the door. Her hand on the doorknob.)

 

Wait! Alright! Alright! You talk. Stay. I'll stop. I'll sit. I won't even look. I'll read.

 

(HE finds a book, sits, and opens it. Feigns at reading.  SHE laughs faintly. Opens door and  goes out. Shuts door behind her. HE remains still. A long silence. Walks to the door. Opens it. Looks out. Shuts it. Paces.)

 

***************

 

 

                                   SCENE II

(Her apartment. Living room. Antiques. A fireplace. They are sitting. In dining area, table is set for dinner. Silence.)

 

SHE

I don't like feeling sorry for people. You always manage to bring this out in me. I don't know why. You're not pitiful--in fact, you're quite the contrary--you're intelligent, well-spoken, well-mannered... It's only with me. When you mix with me. When the two of us mix, blend, that you change. You become meek--so unattractive, so repulsive. From a distance you look like a mountain! Why is it when I approach you... to climb you!--yes, to climb you!--climb on those big shoulders of yours, you shrink into a lump--a lump of mud, like an unevenness, an irregularity on the earth’s crust that you just want to step on and crush with your foot. I like... I like to look up to you, to be proud of you, to be a part of your glory... of this light you talk about. Let's not argue. I'm tired. Let's eat. I've cooked. A surprise! Guess!

 

HE

I've brought wine.

 

SHE

Guess!

 

HE

My favorite?

 

SHE

Yes!

                                      

HE

Châteaubriand?            

 

SHE

Yes! Châteaubriand with béarnaise sause and pommes de terre soufflées! 

HE

I love it. You adore me.

 

SHE

Yes, I adore you. Let's eat.

 

(SHE rises followed by him. They walk to dining area.)

 

Sit. I'll get the wine.  (Absent-mindedly.) What time is it?

 

HE

(Looking at his watch.) Eight. Why?

 

SHE

It's late, and I'm starved. I've been cooking all day and didn't as much as taste it, can you believe it?!

             

HE

No.

 

(SHE smiles. Goes into kitchen and returns with wine.)

 

SHE

Well... (Handing him the wine.) there it is. Open it.

 

(SHE goes back into kitchen. HE opens bottle. SHE returns with food. They sit. HE pours the wine. Lifts  glass to make a toast. SHE does the same.)

                                      

HE

To a new beginning.

 

SHE

(Her eyes fixed on him.) To a beginning. Let's drink.

 

(They sip some wine. SHE serves dinner. They begin to eat.)

 

You like it?

HE

Mmmnn... I love it. I really, honestly, love it. You're wonderful.

 

(SHE smiles, so does HE.)

***************

 

 

                         SCENE III     

(Her apartment.  Living room. After breakfast. SHE is lying on couch reading. HE is sitting on armchair. Silence.)

                                      

       HE

(Rising.)  Let's just change the setting.

 

(SHE lowers book and looks at him.)

 

It's stuffy in here.

 

(HE goes to open windows.)

 

I'll open the windows and let the sun in.

 

(HE goes and sits next to her. SHE puts book down and sits up.)

 

Let's talk... aimlessly... lightly... about everything and nothing, and be serious about it. Let our words slide by our eyes, our ears, without touching. The touch in our words is cutting us. Let's keep it away. A gentle caress, a hard slap--both leave marks, doubts, questions. We are insecure and suspicious. We want to own but not to have. We are obsessed with counting our faults, our merits, comparing them to one another, instead of scaling them--see how light, how empty they are; how insignificant. We count, we love counting, and comparing like accountants working on a balance sheet.

 

SHE

You're right, let's talk, without purpose, for the sake of talking. No words, no more words, just sentences--long, unfinished sentences. Paragraphs--long, superfluous, repetitive paragraphs. Yes, let's talk.

         

(HE turns toward window. Rises. Goes to window and looks out.)

 

HE

The sun is shining today and the birds are singing and outside it's so beautiful, don't you think? Look out the window. Look at these trees, how tall they are. Look at those birds--how many colors! I wish we could fly! I wish we were birds on theses branches, singing, flying from branch to branch. You a goldfinch, I a nightingale! What music! Spring came early this year. Maybe it's an omen. A new start. Let's start!

 

(SHE rises.)

 

SHE

Yes...

 

(SHE smiles.)

 

but before let's do the dishes--remember we ate.

 

HE

Yes...

    

***************

 

 

SCENE IV

                                    

(His apartment. Living room. They are sitting.)

HE

Remind me. Just remind me of that past we built together. Bring it back. If only it could return--even for a while, for an hour, for a minute--even for a moment, a fleeting moment.

 

SHE

You are  a child. You believe. Even for a second, you believe! There's a spark in your eye, a flame, that slowly burns. It's your torchlight. Keep it burning. I love you...

 

(Slight pause.)

 

What were you saying?

 

     HE

"I love you..." It feels so warm, just like a mother tucking a child in bed. You're right, I am a child. Thank God,  I haven't lost that. I hope never to lose it. It keeps me young, you see. It keeps me sane.

 

(Pause.)

 

SHE

Why do you bring up the past? It's like talking about the dead. They'll never come back. You can't resurrect the dead.

 

HE

You can! You can do anything, in your mind, in your soul, if you believe. I mean nothing dies. Our love, as we knew it, hasn't died. It's still there, in time. It happened, didn't it? It just moved back, that's all. A few steps back. Let's bring it forward. Let's try.

 

(Slight pause.)

 

Time, the circumstances, may change, I know, we all know that, but the spirit doesn't change. Let's bring back that spirit! 

 

SHE

But that spirit you’re talking about, grew from those circumstances, and this one now, grows from these new ones. Don't you see my philosopher, you can't transplant spirits, moods, affections like hearts or kidneys.

 

HE

You're cynical.

 

SHE

Because I speak my mind? Because I want to agree, but can't? Because you live in a fantasy, in a lie? I'm sorry, but what happened, happened. It happened because we were the way we were, and the world was the way it was. Now we're no longer the same. The world is no longer the same. You know why? Because the script is different and so are our parts.

 

(Pause.)

 

The spirit you talk about will or will not come back--I don't know! But, something will surely grow from reading those new lines. Let's read--to each other. Let's sit down and read them. I feel something beautiful, something magical will happen. The birth of a new spirit! Bigger and better than the one before. Trust me.

 

HE

Where's my cue?

 

  ***************

                                                                                        SCENE V

(As before, except her apartment.)

 

     SHE    

Do you dream?

 

HE

What do you mean?

 

(Pause.)

 

Yes, I dream, when I'm awake, when I'm alone, in the bathroom under the shower. Remembering under the running water, I see my memory fade, and I color it with dreams. Dreams are the colors--the colors I use to paint, but in the shower, the water, the steam, the heat smear my painting and I start all over, trying to repoduce it. But it's never the same. The truth is never the same when repeated. In the end, nothing resembles the original. My efforts lead to a different painting--a distortion! After a number of times, after painting over the same canvas over and over again, the original disappears, and I have a new painting in my hands--a new memory.

 

SHE

 What do you dream of?

 

HE

You and me. Two people, breathing, moving. Sometimes, I think we exist in a void, that there is nothing around us, just thick emptiness--especially, when it is quiet and dark, when I can hear the night, when the rooms are empty and the both of us are in separate rooms--like stars in different galaxies. Then I see your clothes. I pick them up and feel them and smell them and then like a rock you fall before me and startle me. You could've killed me. It was close--a hair's-breadth away and you would've crushed me. I was lucky. It was an accident--they pushed you and you fell, and I happened to be in your track.

 

SHE

Do you believe in dreams?

 

HE

I feel them, they're here, like you and me, like this house. They exist. But no, I don't believe in them.

 

 

SHE

You're afraid, aren't you? Go on, tell me.      

    

HE

I'm not. Why? Just because I don't believe in dreams?

 

SHE

No.

 

(Pause.)

 

Don't be afraid... to dream, to believe... It's wonderful once you try it. It takes courage. Don't run away...

 

HE

I'm not running away from anything! I'm happy where I am. I'm happy...

 

SHE

With me?

 

HE

Yes, aren't you?

 

SHE

Yes. You know why? You know why we're happy? Because we dream. We dare to dream, to believe in those dreams. You do believe in them?

 

(Slight pause.)

 

You do! I can sense it. That's why we're happy, because you believe in those dreams just like I do. We're the same, don't you see? We are one. We are strong.

 

HE

Alright, you're right. We're strong, together, because we dream. We're not afraid, we don't run away, we don't escape... because we believe in our dreams. They exist, they surround us-- therefore, I believe in them.

 

SHE

Honestly?

 

HE

Yes.

 

***************

 

 

SCENE VI

(As before, except his apartment.)

 

HE

We are approaching the end of our story. I sense it, I feel it. Time is moving fast--like a speeding train between us. It throws us from its track into unknown heaths. Unharmed, unscathed from the fall we seek no help. We are alone. Injured only in the mind. We attempt to climb back to reach the track, but we keep on sliding back into the dirt...

 

(Slight pause.)

 

I' m scared. I feel the train--black and mighty--covered in smoke, approaching. I can smell the burning coal, I can hear the engine. All we can do is sit and wait and cover our eyes. We cannot run, for the idea  moves faster. How fast can you run from a thought? We never had a head start. It's time to say good-bye. How can you go beyond what you cannot reach? We talked so much--I'm no longer certain of what--if we used the right words, if we understood what we felt. We picked stars and tried to reach them. How innocent! How utterly futile...

 

SHE

You've said enough. Don't look back, don't look for reasons, don't wait for the train. Jump before it gets here. Are you brave enough? Jump. Defy it! Kill it! Kill time! I'll jump with you.

 

HE

We have to wait, don't  you understand? If we jump now... we will die. We can't go faster than time. We have to wait, wait...

 

(HE lowers his head.)

 

SHE

Never! I'll never wait. A life of waiting. And if it never comes? If that train of yours never comes? What then? Tell me. Stop sulking. I can't bear it. Tell me.

 

HE

It will come, I know it.

 

SHE

How do you know? Are you God?

 

HE

I feel it.

 

SHE

There is no train. It's in your mind. You've had a dream. A bad dream.

 

***************

SCENE VII

 

(His apartment. Living room. HE is sitting on couch. SHE is standing by the door.)

        

SHE

I leave as I came, from that same door. You remain as I found you, on that same couch--only then you were surrounded by people--it was your birthday, and you were talking, laughing, sitting in the center. You had a great birthday. I met you on your birthday, and I'm leaving three days before your next one. I didn't mean it to be that way. It just happened. You will celebrate with others? Do celebrate, won't you?

 

(Pause.)

 

I did feel for you. We both used the word love to express what we felt for one another. We were misled. Words, time, change--how on earth can you make promises and keep them? We used words, and we lied--unwillingly, unintentionally. We were stuck in time and we changed. One thing is certain, however. Something did happen. Something beautiful. First there was the seed, then the bud, then the flower, then--the sun, water, dirt, and wind--the flower wilted. It died. Too much sun, too much water, dirt, and wind. I don't know, accept it. I did. Face it and let go. Let the flower die--

 

(HE turns away. Silence.)

 

HE

When my mind becomes cloudy, I fear myself the most--I don't see clear, my vision is blurred, my nerves on a tightrope. I could break. Smash into thousands of pieces with the slightest provocation.

 

(SHE opens door and exits slowly. SHE's not seen or heard.)

 

I'm not well. I've aged all of a sudden--my heart has shriveled, my insides have become knots, my soul is drowning. I'm bleeding. Inside I'm bleeding. Get out!

 

(HE does not turn to look. HE remains seated.)

 

Leave the door open. Open the windows before you go. I need air, I need solitude. We've said so much. We understood so little... You see...

 

(HE turns to look.)

 

(Lights.)

 

***************

 

END

                           

Copyright 1984 by George Kastrounis