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Authors: David Henry Hwang

Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang (8 page)

BOOK: Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang
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MA: What the—? Cut it out!
LONE: Don’t push me.
MA: What was that for?
LONE: Don’t ever push me again.
MA: You mess like that, you’re gonna get pushed.
LONE: Don’t push me.
MA: You started it. I just wanted to watch.
LONE: You “just wanted to watch.” Did you ask my permission?
MA: What?
LONE: Did you?
MA: C’mon.
LONE: You can’t expect to get in for free.
MA: Listen. I got some stuff you’ll wanna hear.
LONE: You think so?
MA: Yeah. Some advice.
LONE: Advice? How old are you, anyway?
MA: Eighteen.
LONE: A child.
MA: Yeah. Right. A child. But listen—
LONE: A child who tries to advise a grown man—
MA: Listen, you got this kind of attitude.
LONE:—is a child who will never grow up.
MA: You know, the Chinamen down at camp, they can’t stand it.
LONE: Oh?
MA: Yeah. You gotta watch yourself. You know what they say? They call you “Prince of the Mountain.” Like you’re too good to spend time with them.
LONE: Perceptive of them.
MA: After all, you never sing songs, never tell stories. They say you act like your spit is too clean for them, and they got ways to fix that.
LONE: Is that so?
MA: Like they’re gonna bury you in the shit buckets, so you’ll have more to clean than your nails.
LONE: But I don’t shit.
MA: Or they’re gonna cut out your tongue, since you never speak to them.
LONE: There’s no one here worth talking to.
MA: Cut it out, Lone. Look, I’m trying to help you, all right? I got a solution.
LONE: So young yet so clever—
MA: That stuff you’re doing—it’s beautiful. Why don’t you do it for the guys at camp? Help us celebrate?
LONE: What will “this stuff” help celebrate?
MA: C’mon. The strike, of course. Guys on a railroad gang, we gotta stick together, you know.
LONE: This is something to celebrate?
MA: Yeah. Yesterday, the weak-kneed Chinamen, they were running around like chickens without a head: “The white devils are sending their soldiers! Shoot us all!” But now, look—day four, see? Still in one piece. Those soldiers—we’ve never seen a gun or a bullet.
LONE: So you’re all warrior-spirits, huh?
MA: They’re scared of us, Lone—that’s what it means.
LONE: I appreciate your advice. Tell you what—you go down—
MA: Yeah?
LONE: Down to the camp—
MA: Okay.
LONE: To where the men are—
MA: Yeah?
LONE: Sit there—
MA: Yeah?
LONE: And wait for me.
MA: Okay.
(Pause)
That’s it? What do you think I am?
LONE: I think you’re an insect interrupting my practice. So fly away. Go home.
MA: Look, I didn’t come here to get laughed at.
LONE: No, I suppose you didn’t.
MA: So just stay up here. By yourself. You deserve it.
LONE: I do.
MA: And don’t expect any more help from me.
LONE: I haven’t gotten any yet.
MA: If one day, you wake up and your head is buried in the shit can—
LONE: Yes?
MA: You can’t find your body, your tongue is cut out—
LONE: Yes.
MA: Don’t worry, ’cause I’ll be there.
LONE: Oh.
MA: To make sure your mother’s head is sitting right next to yours.
(He exits)
LONE: His head is too big for this mountain.
(Returns to practicing)
Scene Two
 
Mountaintop. Afternoon, the next day. Lone is practicing.
Ma enters.
MA: Hey.
LONE: You? Again?
MA: I forgive you.
LONE: You . . . what?
MA: For making fun of me yesterday. I forgive you.
LONE: You can’t—
MA: No. Don’t thank me.
LONE: You can’t forgive me.
MA: No. Don’t mention it.
LONE: You—! I never asked for your forgiveness.
MA: I know. That’s just the kinda guy I am.
LONE: This is ridiculous. Why don’t you leave? Go down to your friends and play soldiers, sing songs, tell stories.
MA: Ah! See? That’s just it. I got other ways I wanna spend my time. Will you teach me the opera?
LONE: What?
MA: I wanna learn it. I dreamt about it all last night.
LONE: No.
MA: The dance. The opera—I can do it.
LONE: You think so?
MA: Yeah. When I get outa here, I wanna go back to China and perform.
LONE: You want to become an actor?
MA: Well, I wanna perform.
LONE: Don’t you remember the story about the three sons whose parents send them away to learn a trade? After three years, they return. The first one says, “I have become a coppersmith.” The parents say, “Good. Second son, what have you become?” “I’ve become a silversmith.” “Good—and youngest son, what about you?” “I have become an actor.” When the parents hear that their son has become only an actor, they are very sad. The mother beats her head against the ground until the ground, out of pity, opens up and swallows her. The father is so angry he can’t even speak, and the anger builds up inside him until it blows his body to pieces—little bits of his skin are found hanging from trees days later. You don’t know how you endanger your relatives by becoming an actor.
MA: Well, I don’t wanna become an “actor.” That sounds terrible. I just wanna perform. Look, I’ll be rich by the time I get out of here, right?
LONE: Oh?
MA: Sure. By the time I go back to China, I’ll ride in gold sedan chairs, with twenty wives fanning me all around.
LONE: Twenty wives? This boy is ambitious.
MA: I’ll give out pigs on New Year’s and keep a stable of small birds to give to any woman who pleases me. And in my spare time, I’ll perform.
LONE: Between your twenty wives and your birds, where will you find a free moment?
MA: I’ll play Gwan Gung and tell stories of what life was like on the Gold Mountain.
LONE: Ma, just how long have you been in “America”?
MA: Huh? About four weeks.
LONE: You are a big dreamer.
MA: Well, all us Chinamen here are—right? Men with little dreams—have little brains to match. They walk with their eyes down, trying to find extra grains of rice on the ground.
LONE: So, you know all about “America”? Tell me, what kind of stories will you tell?
MA: I’ll say, “We laid tracks like soldiers. Mountains? We hung from cliffs in baskets and the winds blew us like birds. Snow? We lived underground like moles for days at a time. Deserts? We—”
LONE: Wait. Wait. How do you know these things after only four weeks?
MA: They told me—the other Chinamen on the gang. We’ve been telling stories ever since the strike began.
LONE: They make it sound like it’s very enjoyable.
MA: They said it is.
LONE: Oh? And you believe them?
David Henry Hwang
 
MA: They’re my friends. Living underground in winter—sounds exciting, huh?
LONE: Did they say anything about the cold?
MA: Oh, I already know about that. They told me about the mild winters and the warm snow.
LONE: Warm snow?
MA: When I go home, I’ll bring some back to show my brothers.
LONE: Bring some—? On the boat?
MA: They’ll be shocked—they’ve never seen American snow before.
LONE: You can’t. By the time you get snow to the boat, it’ll have melted, evaporated and returned as rain already.
MA: No.
LONE: No?
MA: Stupid.
LONE: Me?
MA: You been here awhile, haven’t you?
LONE: Yes. Two years.
MA: Then how come you’re so stupid? This is the Gold Mountain. The snow here doesn’t melt. It’s not wet.
LONE: That’s what they told you?
MA: Yeah. It’s true.
LONE: Did anyone show you any of this snow?
MA: No. It’s not winter.
LONE: So where does it go?
MA: Huh?
LONE: Where does it go, if it doesn’t melt? What happens to it?
MA: The snow? I dunno. I guess it just stays around.
LONE: So where is it? Do you see any?
MA: Here? Well, no, but...
(Pause)
This is probably one of those places where it doesn’t snow—even in winter.
LONE: Oh.
MA: Anyway, what’s the use of me telling you what you already know? Hey, c’mon—teach me some of that stuff. Look—I’ve been practicing the walk—how’s this?
(Demonstrates)
LONE: You look like a duck in heat.
MA: Hey—it’s a start, isn’t it?
LONE: Tell you what—you want to play some
die siu
?
MA:
Die siu?
Sure.
LONE: You know, I’m pretty good.
MA: Hey, I play with the guys at camp. You can’t be any better than Lee—he’s really got it down.
(Lone pulls out a case with two dice.)
 
LONE: I used to play ’til morning.
MA: Hey, us too. We see the sun start to rise, and say, “Hey, if we go to sleep now, we’ll never get up for work.” So we just keep playing.
LONE
(Holding out dice)
:
Die
or
siu
?
MA:
Siu.
LONE: You sure?
MA: Yeah!
LONE: All right.
(He rolls) Die!
MA:
Siu!
(They see the result.)
 
 
Not bad.
 
(They continue taking turns rolling throughout the following section; Ma always loses.)
LONE: I haven’t touched these in two years.
MA: I gotta practice more.
LONE: Have you lost much money?
MA: Huh? So what?
LONE: Oh, so you have gold hidden in all your shirt linings, huh?
MA: Here in “America”—losing is no problem. You know—End of the Year Bonus?
LONE: Oh, right.
MA: After I get that, I’ll laugh at what I lost.
LONE: Lee told you there was a bonus, right?
MA: How’d you know?
LONE: When I arrived here, Lee told me there was a bonus, too.
MA: Lee teach you how to play?
LONE: Him? He talked to me a lot.
MA: Look, why don’t you come down and start playing with the guys again?
LONE: “The guys.”
MA: Before we start playing, Lee uses a stick to write “Kill!” in the dirt.
LONE: You seem to live for your nights with “the guys.”
MA: What’s life without friends, huh?
LONE: What?
MA: Hey, just kidding.
LONE: Who’s getting killed here?
MA: Just a joke.
LONE: That’s not a joke, it’s blasphemy.
MA: Look, obviously you stopped playing ’cause you wanted to practice the opera.
LONE: Do you understand that discipline?
MA: But, I mean, you don’t have to overdo either. You don’t have to treat ’em like dirt. I mean, who are you trying to impress?
(Pause. Lone throws the dice into the bushes.)
BOOK: Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang
8.09Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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