(THREE BIG CHORDS)
GK: My play, "The Flaming Heart," has been accepted for the Spring Theater Festival at the Arts Center, but they said it needs to be slightly rewritten. They said it needs to be shortened by about six hours. This would be my first play ever to be produced . But ever since they accepted it, I've been unable to work on it. I've been completely blocked. I sit frozen like a deer in the headlights. And it's due on Tuesday.
(BIG ARPEGGIATA THEME, APPASSIONATO, AND UNDER....)
TR (ANNC): The Story of Bob, A Young Artist....brought to you by Rainbow Motor Oil and the Rainbow Family of Automotive Products.
(VIOLIN THEME, AND UNDER....)
(DISHES BEING CLEARED FROM THE TABLE)
SS: You care for more of that hamburger hotdish, Bob? Plenty more of it----
GK: I've had enough to eat, Berniece.
SS: Go ahead, help yourself to more....and finish up those potato chips while you're at it.
GK: I can't, I must get back to work.
SS: What's the matter, don't you care for potato chips now? (DISHES CLEARING)
TR: Don't forget to leave some of that hotdish for Rex.
SS: Are you not feeling well, Bob? You look peaked.
TR: That's Rex's favorite, hamburger hotdish.
SS: Didn't hear your little typewriter making much of a racket this morning, I must say. Pretty quiet in there. (A BIG WHACK)
TR: Missed him! (DOG WOOF)
SS: Don't you go swatting flies on my nice clean table, Pops.
TR: Your table's not so clean with all these flies walking on it, Berniece. Got germs on their feet from walking all over fecal matter.
SS: Oh, get out of here!
TR: It's true. They're tracking microscopic particles of animal waste products all over your table so that if you ----
GK: Would you mind?
TR: ---you get those germs in your lower intestinal tract, you're gonna start lookin around for the bathroom.
SS: We just finished eating! Mercy....
TR: Just giving you a little science background. Ain't that right, Rex? (DOG THUMPING, PANTING, JINGLING) Huh? That's right.
GK: I should go to work.
SS: Take those potato chips with you.
GK: Except I can't work.
SS: Well, take the chips anyway.
GK: My mind is an utter blank.
SS: Maybe you need more salt.
GK: It's writer's block. I've never had it like this before. It's like a stone wall.
TR: So? you need block salt---- get it? Block salt. It's a pun, Rex. (DOG THUMPING, PANTING, JINGLING) You like puns, don'tcha, boy. Huh? Huh?
GK: It's utterly ironic. Just when I'm on the verge of success, my mind is paralyzed.
SS: Well, why don't you just ---- write something down and if it's not what you want, then cross it out and write something you like better, and just keep going on from there like that, huh? (PAUSE) Sort of build it. (PAUSE) From the ground up, you might say.
GK: You're not a writer, Berniece, how could you understand. (BIG HARD WHACK) Please! Do that someplace else.
TR: The fly wasn't someplace else, he was there. Walking around the chip dish. That's why I tried to hit him there. If I'd hit him someplace else when he was there, I woulda missed him by even more than I did.
GK: Well, you needn't pound on the table two inches away from me.
TR: Can't allow these flies any sanctuary if you're going to get em cleared out.
GK: Well, just do it over on your side.
TR: Fly wasn't over on my side, he was beside you.
GK: You pound the table, next thing you'll be flailing me over the head with that thing.
TR: If a fly lands on your head, you bet I will.
GK: You know, I'm under enough pressure right now without you adding to it by waving that fly swatter around.
TR: Flies walking around here with animal waste on their feet....they walk on your fork and your knife....and you sit down and eat your hotdish and the next thing you know you're making a beeline for the biffy....
SS: Okay, that's enough, Pops....
TR: You're in there on your knees driving the porcelain bus.
SS: Okay, okay, okay....
TR: In there hurling your hotdish---- (BIG WHACK) Darn it.
GK: I'm going to work.
TR: And about time too.
SS: You care for tapioca pudding, Pops?
TR: Soon's I get these flies killed off........
GK: Maybe if I go in and work on something else and take my mind off the play I can get around to that later.
SS: That sounds like a good idea. You could work on your collages.
GK: I could, yes.
SS: I forgot to tell you, you got a phone call from a gallery in Minneapolis.
GK: I did? An art gallery?
SS: It was a gallery called The Place With Pictures on The Walls.
GK: The Place With Pictures On The Walls called me on the phone? That's the top gallery in Minneapolis!
SS: They called this morning. I meant to tell you. (WHACK)
TR: There. Got him!
GK: I can't believe this. I've dreamed of this for fifteen years. The P.W.P.O.W.
TR: Nope. Missed him.
SS: They asked if you were the one who makes those collages out of wax fruit and cheese boxes and stones and dried weeds and driftwood and dirt.
GK: They heard about my landscape boxes?
SS: I guess they must like 'em.
GK: Oh that is almost like something magical. I am so excited. My heart is going pitter pat. I've got to sit down. Fourteen years of trying different combinations of things. Experimenting. Fourteen years I spent on my landscape boxes. (HE CRUNCHES CHIP) A nd now---- it's here.
TR: That potato chip you just ate ---- there was a fly sitting on that about two minutes ago----
GK: I am so happy inside.
TR: I'd be heading for the toilet if I was you.
GK: This is so fantastic.
TR: Better take something to kneel on, too.
GK: Fourteen years and now ---- my time has come.
TR: I'd say your time is coming in about two minutes.
GK: They want me. I have made my art and I am wanted. (WHACK) Please! Stop! (WOOF)
(THEME)
TR (ANNC): THE STORY OF BOB, A YOUNG ARTIST....was brought to you by Rainbow Motor Oil and the Rainbow Family of automotive products. Join us next time when we'll hear Berniece say....
SS: Mrs. Zimmer is on the phone. She wants to know if you're done with the play yet....she needs to give it to the director.
GK: No, I've been completely occupied with my landscape boxes. And my motet.
TR: I thought you gave up on that motet....
GK: I came up with a new title. "Incarnate Love"---
TR: Incarnate love??? It's about sex then?
GK: No, it's not!
TR: A sex motet. That oughta get em stirred up in the Methodist church. Huh, Rex? Huh? (DOG THUMPING, JINGLING, PANTING) A sex motet. Boy. They'll have to schedule an extra service to handle the crowds.
GK: It is not a sex motet. It's just a new title.
TR: You're going to need more 'n a new title for that motet, let me tell you.
GK: What did Mrs. Zimmer say? The director is there right now?
SS: They need your revised script by Tuesday, she said.
GK: I just don't see how I can take a six-hour production and get it down to an hour and a half. It just loses so much that way. (WHACK)
TR: Darn.
SS: Maybe one of us could help you.....
GK: But you're not playwrights. I'm a playwright. I know plays. I've spent years working on this.
TR: I read it and if you ask me, you ought to cut it down to fifteen minutes.
GK: You read my play? Without my permission? You opened --- you read this? I can't believe you'd do that. That you have so little respect for privacy.
TR: If I were you, I'd keep that play as private as possible.
SS: I'm sure Pops doesn't mean that, Bob. I'm sure there's a lot of wonderful things in your play.
GK: I'm just.....stunned. (GROWLING) (SS & TR SHOUT, TR TRIES TO PULL REX AWAY, REX IS GROWLING, THE CRUMPLING AND RIPPING OF PAPER) He's eating my play. Rex! Stop him! He's eating my play! He's destroying it. The Flaming Heart!
TR (ANNC): That's next time on....THE STORY OF BOB, A YOUNG ARTIST. (MUSIC UP AND OUT)
© 1997 by Garrison Keillor