This is what happens when you finish your play for theatre class at 2:30 in the morning... SILENCE IS GOLDEN, OR SOMETHING AKIN By Danielle Zaborski CHARACTERS: Martin – magician, average Joe Marcy – magician’s assistant, ditzy and flirtatious Clark – mime, frustrated The Fantastical Fernando – ringmaster, self-absorbed Roberta/Bob – bearded lady, type of guy who would normally be in a wife-beater Geraldine – lion tamer, shy, stutters SETTING: Break room of Barnum and Bailey’s Circus AT RISE: Martin and Marcy sit at a small table, playing cards. MARTIN: Oh come on, Marcy, just one more time. Pick one card, just one card, please? You can pick any card you like out of the entire fifty-two. MARCY: Oh gee, let me guess. I will magically pick a card that will magically be the most magical card of all. (Picks up a card.) Oh my, might this possibly be the… (makes a drum roll sound with her mouth and flips over her card.) ace of hearts? Oh shock and disbelief! Martin, I’m tired. We’ve been doing this for the past – oh, I don’t know – two hours? When do we go on again? MARTIN: Okay, okay… let’s try this… pick up another card… MARCY: Oh my gosh… MARTIN: Stay with me here. Now, keep it flipped over. Put your hand over it, like this… MARCY: Okay… MARTIN: Picture in your mind what the man of your dreams would look like. Once you feel you have the image imprinted in your mind, flip the card. MARCY: Give me a second. This is hard. There’s too many good looking men out there to pick just one. MARTIN: Take your time. (Marcy squints her eyes, makes some faces, then finally looks at her card observing it for a long time. Martin leans in, impatient.) Well, how did I do? What does it say? MARCY: Stephen Hawking… MARTIN: Let me see that. (Takes card from Marcy, pulls it closer to his face, then farther away, as if he isn’t seeing it correctly.) Sorry. Give me a second. I know I have a Matt Damon or Johnny Depp in here. I’m supposed to even have a Jack Nicholson or Harrison Ford for those who like it a little old school. (Reshuffles cards.) Here. Try it again. MARCY: (Picks a card, looks at it.) Leonard Nimoy. (Confused.) So where did these cards come from, anyway? MARTIN: I had a gig at the convention center last weekend. Don’t ask. I haven’t had the chance to weed out my cards since then. (Mime walks in. He is obviously very upset. He stomps in and throws an invisible hat, then stomps on it.) Oh, hey Clark. MARCY: (Without looking at him.) How are you, dear? (Mime is obviously amazed and upset by Marcy’s lack of attention. Throws his hands toward her in disbelief, then stomps extra loud so that she turns around, which she does very slowly without being particularly observant.) MARTIN: What’s wrong, Clark? Not enough screaming children today? (This offends Clark and he reacts.) MARCY: You know, as a child, mimes and clowns always scared me to death. I think something happened when I was just a little thing. (Both Marcy and Martin completely ignore Martin as he raves in the background.) MARTIN: You wouldn’t think that happy little clowns (motions in Clark’s direction without looking at him) could cause so much childhood scarring, but it seems to be a common story for a lot of people. I read in a magazine one time about this kid… ROBERTA: (Enters loudly, rubbing his chin, and interrupts Martin.) Before both God and man, I would like to take this moment to say… SPIRIT GUM SUCKS! (Rubs chin with more gusto.) MARCY: Where did your beard go, baby? MARTIN: You shaved? Did the elephants step on your head or something to create this new bout of stupid? C’mon, Bob… ROBERTA: It’s Roberta. (Martin gives him a funny look. Roberta shrugs.) I’m still in the dress. Sorry, it’s policy. (Notices Clark, who is still fuming. Roberta waves.) Hey Clark. (Continues his conversation.) Anyways, I might have had myself a little date last night… (spits) MARCY: You didn’t! With who… if you don’t mind my asking. ROBERTA: Her name is Marla. She’s one of the trapeze artists. MARTIN: Oh, man. There is something irresistibly sexy about a woman who makes a living by placing her life in the hands of a piece of rope. ROBERTA: You’ll never believe what she told me. Trust me, you’re going to get a kick out of this… MARCY: What? ROBERTA: Steffan the Great and Magnificent decided that his name didn’t speak nearly enough of his greatness and majesty. He now prefers to be known as… (allows suspense to build.) …the Fantastical Fernando. MARTIN: You’ve got to be kidding. MARCY: If you say it with the right inflection, it could sound kind of sexy… ROBERTA: I’ll bet you my left boob that this new name-inducing ego trip lasts for a week before he changes his mind. What do you think, Clark? (Turns to Clark, who is by this time lying on the floor throwing a temper tantrum.) What’s up with Clark? MARCY: I don’t know. We’ve tried as hard as we could to figure it out, but we haven’t been able to get anything from him. It’s like he’s mute or something… MARTIN: Here comes Ferdo now. FERNANDO: (Makes a dramatic entrance.) Salutations and wishes for a fabulous evening, fellow performers at this spectacular site of our employment. Lend me your ears… which is more aesthetically pleasing? This… (Throws his hands up dramatically, as if making a dramatic entrance.) WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! (Pause.) Or this… (Makes a dramatic bow. With a completely different inflection, says:) WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! (Pause.) Assert your conjectures, por favor. ROBERTA: Fernie, don’t be too heart-broken now, but I don’t think it matters much how you say: (mocks Fernando dramatically) WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! FERNANDO: First of all, it is “Fernando”. The “Fantastical Fernando”, if you please. And I feel quite the contrary, my dear Roberta. We are artists, and we cannot make light of our craft. Wouldn’t you agree, Clark? You, of all people, should understand this concept. Your role, in comparison to that of the rest of the company, is one that is naturally less demanding. Less “personality” is necesary. But do you allow yourself to become slack? By heavens, no! You continue perfecting every miniscule aspect of your simplistic performance, polishing it until it shines through constant practice – (notices Clark’s angry motions) - as you are doing now. MARCY: We think something’s made Clark upset. We’ve been trying to figure it out. Any suggestions, Ferdo? FERNANDO: Fernando. Unsatisfactory career? MARTIN: Did you get in a fight? ROBERTA: I’ll bet you my spare left boob that he’s just hungry. MARCY: Maybe there’s a certain gorgeous female… GERALDINE: (Enters, slumped posture.) H…h…h… hey, guh… guh… guys. MARCY: Heavens, what happened to you? GERALDINE: N…n…never p…per…perform the ter… trick where you puh… put your luh… leg in the lion’s muh…muh…mouth bee… before you’ve had the chuh… chance to eat the buh… buh… buh… beef st… st… stick in your puh… puh… pocket. Luh… lions rrr…rrr…really like buh… beef st…st…st… sticks. MARCY: Sounds like it’s been a rough day. GERALDINE: I’ve suh… suh… seen worse I guh…guh… guess. Ruh… ruh… remember the time when… MARTIN: (Anxious to get Marcy on another topic.) So Geraldine, we’ve been trying to figure out what’s wrong with Clark. He hasn’t said anything. Any guesses? GERALDINE: Cuh… cuh… Clark alwuh…wuh…ways t…talks with his h…hands and fuh…fuh…facial expreh…reh…sh…tions. If we wuh…wuh… watch him, we could fuh…fuh…figure it out. ROBERTA: Okay. Bring it on, Clarky! (Clark makes the mime motion of being trapped in a box, then kicks the box.) MARCY: Someone locked you in a box? Oh, you poor thing… FERNANDO: Your intelligence astounds me, dear. Please, Clark, continue. (Clark makes the mime motion of pulling a rope, then pretends to throw the rope to the ground.) MARTIN: Rope burn. That’s it! He was helping set up the tight wire act and got a bad rope burn. (Clark acts as if his hands are talking, and then makes an exploding motion.) ROBERTA: Clark, my man, you are brilliant. Listen to this, guys. Clark wants to start a new act… a puppet show, to be exact. At the end of the show, the puppets spontaneously combust and explode in heaps of fire! I’m behind you all the way with this one. It will be a hit. I know you’re upset because no one else will listen to you, but I’m here for you. GERALDINE: Wuh…wuh…wait a mih…mih…minute. If the puh…puppets are attah…ah….ch…ched to your h…hand and the puh…puppets cuh…catch fire… ROBERTA: So we have an ambulance on standby. Big deal. FERNANDO: I think this idea defies all common sense. ROBERTA: Listen, Rambo, do you have any better ideas? MARCY: I, for one, think that it would be kind of sexy… (every one begins to argue at once.) CLARK: THAT’S IT! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! DO YOU PEOPLE EVEN HEAR WHAT’S COMING OUT OF YOUR OWN MOUTHS? YOU TALK AND TALK AND TALK AND TALK AND TALK, AND IT AMAZES ME HOW YOU NEVER SAY ANYTHING… NEVER EVER EVER NEVER! MAYBE THIS IS WHY I BECAME A MIME. I’VE TRIED AND I’VE TRIED AND I’VE TRIED TO PROVE THAT NO ONE NEEDS POINTLESS LANGUAGE, THAT COMMUNICATION IS DEEPER THAN BRAINLESS SENTENCES. BUT NO, IT’S ALWAYS, “OH, LOOK, HOW CUTE,” “WOW, WHAT A CREEP,” “GET OUTTA MY FACE, YOU FRICKIN’ MUTE,” OR, MY PERSON FAVORITE (Lets out an ear piercing scream.) “AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME, AND NO ONE TRIES TO, AND NO CARES. OH, LOOK AT THE CUTE MIME, I CAN IGNORE HIM AND GO ON ABOUT MY OWN HAPPY BUSINESS, AND ALL BECAUSE I DON’T “COMMUNICATE”. WELL, I’M “COMMUNICATING” NOW, AND YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU ALL DRIVE ME COMPLETELY CRAZY! (Points out each person.) THAT’S RIGHT, YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND YOU! MARCY, YOU’RE A DITZ AND YOU’RE NOT THAT PRETTY, SO QUIT HITTING ON ME OR I WILL HURT YOU. ROBERT SLASH ROBERTA, MEN WHO PLAY WOMEN WITH BEARDS NEED LIVES. GERALDINE, SOMETIMES I WISH A LION WOULD EAT YOUR VOCAL CHORDS. MARTIN, YOU SPEAK FOR YOURSELF. AND AS FOR YOU, MISTER FANATICAL DURANGO, YOU’RE TOO BUSY DROWNING IN YOUR OWN EGO TO REALIZE THAT YOU HAVE NOTHING TO BE EGOTISTICAL ABOUT, INCLUDING YOUR OH-SO-ARTISTIC CAREER! WAKE UP, SMELL THE LLAMA MANURE, AND REALIZE YOU WORK IN A FRIGGIN CIRCUS! THAT’S IT! I QUIT! (Storms out.) MARCY: Oh. So that was it. (Pause.) Hey, Martin, try that card trick on Roberta. Let’s see if he gets Lara Croft. EL FIN | 
