Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang Read online

  DI-GOU: Sisters?

  (Silence.)

  Sisters!

  (Jenny, Chester, Joanne, Hannah and Di-gou stare at the two inert forms.)

  CHESTER: Jenny! Jenny!

  (Jenny goes to Chester’s side.)

  JOANNE: Hannah? Hannah—come here.

  (Hannah does not move.)

  HANNAH: I see.

  JOANNE: No! Come here!

  HANNAH: I know, Joanne. I see.

  DI-GOU: Once again. Once again my pleas are useless. But now—this is the last time. I have given all I own.

  (Popo and Ama have died. Di-gou picks up his suitcase and the Chinese toys, heads for the door.)

  JOANNE (To Di-gou): Are you leaving?

  DI-GOU: Now that my sisters have gone, I learn. No one leaves America. And I desire only to drive an American car—very fast—down an American freeway. (He exits)

  JOANNE (Yelling after him): This is our home, not yours! Why didn’t you stay in China! This is not your family!

  (Jenny starts to break away from Chester, but he hangs onto her. Joanne turns, sees the figures of Ama and Popo.)

  Wilbur! Wilbur, come here!

  JENNY (To Chester): Let go of me! Get away! (She breaks away from Chester) I don’t understand this, but whatever it is, it’s ugly and awful and causes people to die. It causes people to die and I don’t want to have anything to do with it.

  (Jenny runs out onto the tennis court and away. On her way, she passes Robert, who has entered onto the court. Robert walks into the sunroom. Silence.)

  ROBERT: What’s wrong with her? She acts like someone just died.

  (Silence. Robert pulls up a chair next to Chester.)

  Let’s chitchat, okay?

  CHESTER: Sure, Dad.

  ROBERT: So, how’s Dorrie?

  (Silence.)

  How much they paying you in Boston?

  (Silence.)

  Got any newspaper clippings?

  (Silence. Chester gets up, picks up his suitcase, walks onto the tennis court and shuts the glass doors. Joanne and Hannah stare at Ama and Popo. Robert sits, staring off into space.

  Chester stands where Di-gou stood at the beginning of the play. He turns around and looks through the glass door onto the scene.

  The lights begin to dim until there is one single spotlight on Chester’s face. The shape of Chester’s face begins to change.)

  END OF PLAY

  THE SOUND OF A VOICE

  (1983)

  Production History

  The Sound of a Voice opened with The House of Sleeping Beauties under the title Sound and Beauty at The Joseph Papp Public Theater/New York Shakespeare Festival (Joseph Papp, Producer), in New York City on November 6, 1983. It was directed by John Lone and assisted by Lenore Kletter; the set design was by Andrew Jackness; the costume design was by Lydia Tanji; the lighting design was by John Gisondi; and the music was by Lucia Hwong. There were two dancers, Elizabeth Fong Sung and Ching Valdes, in this production. The cast was as follows:

  WOMAN Natsuko Ohama

  MAN John Lone

  Characters

  WOMAN (Hanako), Japanese, forties or fifties. MAN, Japanese, fifties.

  Place

  Woman’s house, in a remote corner of a forest.

  Time

  Scene One: evening.

  Scene Two: dawn.

  Scene Three: day.

  Scene Four: night.

  Scene Five: day.

  Scene Six: night.

  Scene Seven: morning.

  Scene Eight: day.

  Scene Nine: night.

  Definition

  shakuhatchi: Japanese end-blown bamboo flute.

  Scene One

  It is evening. Woman warms tea for man. Man rubs himself, trying to get warm. The room they are in is sparsely furnished, except for one shelf on which stands a vase of brightly colored flowers. The flowers stand out in sharp contrast to the starkness of the room.

  MAN: You are very kind to take me in.

  WOMAN: This is a remote corner of the world. Guests are rare.

  MAN: The tea—you pour it well.

  WOMAN: No.

  MAN: The sound it makes—in the cup—very soothing.

  WOMAN: That is the tea’s skill, not mine. (She hands the cup to him) May I get you something else? Rice, perhaps?

  MAN: No.

  WOMAN: Some vegetables?

  MAN: No, thank you.

  WOMAN: Fish? (Pause) It is at least two days walk to the nearest village. I saw no horse. You must be very hungry. You would do a great honor to dine with me. Guests are rare.

  MAN: Thank you.

  (Woman gets up, leaves. Man gets up, walks to kitchen door, listens. He crosses to the vase of flowers. He touches them. Quickly, he takes one of the flowers from the vase, hides it in his clothes. Woman reenters. She carries a tray with food.)

  WOMAN: Please. Eat. It will give me great pleasure.

  MAN: This—this is magnificent.

  WOMAN: Eat.

  MAN: Thank you. (He motions for Woman to join him)

  WOMAN: No, thank you.

  MAN: This is wonderful. The best I’ve tasted.

  WOMAN: You are reckless in your flattery, sir. But anything you say, I will enjoy hearing. It’s not even the words. It’s the sound of a voice, the way it moves through the air.

  MAN: How long has it been since you last had a visitor?

  (Pause.)

  WOMAN: I don’t know.

  MAN: Oh?

  WOMAN: I lose track. Perhaps five months ago, perhaps ten years, perhaps yesterday. I don’t consider time when there is no voice in the air. It’s pointless. Time begins with the entrance of a visitor, and ends with his exit.

  MAN: And in between? You don’t keep track of the days? You can’t help but notice—

  WOMAN: Of course I notice.

  MAN: Oh.

  WOMAN: I notice, but I don’t keep track. (Pause) May I bring out more?

  MAN: More? No. No. This was wonderful.

  WOMAN: I have more.

  MAN: Really—the best I’ve had.

  WOMAN: You must be tired. Did you sleep in the forest last night?

  MAN: Yes.

  WOMAN: Or did you not sleep at all?

  MAN: I slept.

  WOMAN: Where?

  MAN: By a waterfall. The sound of the water put me to sleep. It rumbled like the sounds of a city. You see, I can’t sleep in too much silence. It scares me. It makes me feel that I have no control over what is about to happen.

  WOMAN: I feel the same way.

  MAN: But you live here—alone?

  WOMAN: Yes.

  MAN: It’s so quiet here. How can you sleep?

  WOMAN: Tonight, I’ll sleep. I’ll lie down in the next room, and hear your breathing through the wall, and fall asleep shamelessly. There will be no silence.

  MAN: You’re very kind to let me stay here.

  WOMAN: This is yours. (She unrolls a mat)

  MAN: Did you make it yourself?

  WOMAN: Yes. There is a place to wash outside.

  MAN: Thank you.

  WOMAN: Good night.

  MAN: Good night. (He starts to leave)

  WOMAN: May I know your name?

  MAN: No. I mean, I would rather not say. If I gave you a name, it would only be made up. Why should I deceive you? You are too kind for that.

  WOMAN: Then what should I call you? Perhaps—“Man Who Fears Silence”?

  MAN: How about, “Man Who Fears Women”?

  WOMAN: That name is much too common.

  MAN: And you?

  WOMAN: Hanako.

  MAN: That’s your name?

  WOMAN: It’s what you may call me.

  MAN: Good night, Hanako. You are very kind.

  WOMAN: You are very smart. Good night.

  (Man exits. Woman picks up the dishes and teapot, returns them offstage to kitchen. She goes to the vase. She picks up the flowers, studies them. She carries them out of the room with her. Man reen
ters. He glimpses the spot where the vase used to sit. He listens at the various screens, then suddenly hears a sound. He prepares to draw his sword, then hears a shakuhatchi. He sits on the mat, looks at his flower, puts it away. Then he sits on guard with his sword ready at his side.)

  Scene Two

  Dawn. Man is packing. Woman enters with food.

  WOMAN: Good morning.

  MAN: Good morning, Hanako.

  WOMAN: You weren’t planning to leave?

  MAN: I have quite a distance to travel today.

  WOMAN: Please. (She offers him food)

  MAN: Thank you. (He eats)

  WOMAN: May I ask where you’re traveling to?

  MAN: It’s far.

  WOMAN: I know this region well.

  MAN: Oh? Do you leave the house often?

  WOMAN: I used to. I used to travel a great deal. I know the region from those days.

  MAN: You probably wouldn’t know the place I’m headed.

  WOMAN: Why not?

  MAN: It’s new. A new village. It didn’t exist in “those days.”

  (Pause.)

  WOMAN: I thought you said you wouldn’t deceive me.

  MAN: I didn’t. You don’t believe me, do you?

  WOMAN: No.

  MAN: Then I didn’t deceive you, did I? I’m traveling. That much is true.

  WOMAN: Are you in such a hurry?

  MAN: Traveling is a matter of timing. Catching the light.

  (Woman exits. Man finishes eating, puts down his bowl. Woman reenters with the vase of flowers.)

  Where did you find those? They don’t grow native around these parts, do they?

  WOMAN: No, they’ve all been brought in by visitors. Such as yourself. They were left here. In my custody.

  MAN: But—they look so fresh, so alive.

  WOMAN: I take care of them. They remind me of the people and places outside this house.

  MAN: May I touch them?

  WOMAN: Certainly.

  MAN: These have just blossomed.

  WOMAN: No, they were in bloom yesterday. If you’d noticed them before, you would know that.

  MAN: You must have received these very recently. I would guess—within five days.

  WOMAN: I don’t know. But I wouldn’t trust your estimate. It’s all in the amount of care you show to them. I create a world which is outside the realm of what you know.

  MAN: What do you do?

  WOMAN: I can’t explain. Words are too inefficient. It takes hundreds of words to describe a single act of caring. With hundreds of acts, words become irrelevant. (Pause) But perhaps you can stay.

  MAN: How long?

  WOMAN: As long as you’d like.

  MAN: Why?

  WOMAN: To see how I care for them.

  MAN: I am tired.

  WOMAN: Rest.

  MAN: The light?

  WOMAN: It will return.

  Scene Three

  Day. Man is carrying chopped wood. He is stripped to the waist. Woman enters.

  WOMAN: You’re very kind to do that for me.

  MAN: I enjoy it, you know. Chopping wood. It’s clean. No questions. You take your ax, you stand up the log, you aim—pow!—you either hit it or you don’t. Success or failure.

  WOMAN: You seem to have been very successful today.

  MAN: Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful day. I can see to those hills. The trees are cool. The sun is gentle. Ideal. If a man can’t be successful on a day like this, he might as well kick the dust up into his own face.

  (Man notices Woman staring at him. Man pats his belly, looks at her.)

  Protection from falls.

  WOMAN: What?

  (Man touches his belly, showing some fat.)

  Oh. Don’t be silly.

  (Man begins slapping the fat on his belly to a rhythm.)

  MAN: Listen—I can make music—see? That wasn’t always possible. But now—that I’ve developed this—whenever I need entertainment . . . (He continues slapping)

  WOMAN: You shouldn’t make fun of your body.

  MAN: Why not? I saw you. You were staring.

  WOMAN: I wasn’t making fun. I was just—stop that!

  (He stops.)

  MAN: Then why were you staring?

  WOMAN: I was . . .

  MAN: Laughing?

  WOMAN: No.

  MAN: Well?

  WOMAN: I was—your body. It’s . . . strong.

  (Pause.)

  MAN: People say that. But they don’t know. I’ve heard that age brings wisdom. That’s a laugh. The years don’t accumulate here. They accumulate here. (He pats his stomach) But today is a day to be happy, right? The woods. The sun. Blue. It’s a happy day. I’m going to chop wood.

  WOMAN: There’s nothing left to chop. Look.

  MAN: Oh. I guess . . . that’s it.

  WOMAN: Sit. Here.

  MAN: But . . .

  WOMAN: There’s nothing left. Learn to love it.

  MAN: Don’t be ridiculous.

  WOMAN: Touch it.

  MAN: It’s flabby.

  WOMAN: It’s strong.

  MAN: It’s weak.

  WOMAN: And smooth.

  MAN: Do you mind if I put on my shirt?

  WOMAN: Of course not. Shall I get it for you?

  MAN: No. No. Just sit there. (Picks up his shirt. He pauses, studies his body) You think it’s cute, huh?

  WOMAN: I think you should learn to love it.

  (Man pats his belly.)

  MAN (To belly): You’re okay, sir. You hang onto my body like a great horseman.

  WOMAN: Not like that.

  MAN (Still to belly): You’re also faithful. You’ll never leave me for another man.

  WOMAN: No.

  MAN: What do you want me to say?

  (Woman leans over to Man. She touches his belly with her hand.)

  Scene Four

  Night. Man is alone. Flowers are gone from stand. Mat is unrolled. Man lies on it, sleeping. Suddenly, he starts, awakened by the sound of the shakuhatchi. He sits up and grabs his sword, then relaxes as he recognizes the instrument. He crosses to a screen and listens, then returns to the mat and sits. He takes out the stolen flower. He stares into it.

  Scene Five

  Day. Woman is cleaning while Man exercises. She is on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor.

  MAN: I heard your playing last night.

  WOMAN: My playing?

  MAN: Shakuhatchi.

  WOMAN: Oh.

  MAN: You played very softly. I had to strain to hear it. Next time don’t be afraid. Play out. Fully. Clear. It must’ve been very beautiful, if only I could’ve heard it clearly. Why don’t you play for me sometime?

  WOMAN: I’m very shy about it.

  MAN: Why?

  WOMAN: I play for my own satisfaction. That’s all. It’s something I developed on my own. I don’t know if it’s at all acceptable by outside standards.

  MAN: Play for me. I’ll tell you.

  WOMAN: No, I’m sure you’re too knowledgeable in the arts.

  MAN: Who? Me?

  WOMAN: You being from the city and all.

  MAN: I’m ignorant, believe me.

  WOMAN: I’d play, and you’d probably bite your cheek.

  MAN: Ask me a question about music. Any question. I’ll answer incorrectly. I guarantee it.

  WOMAN (Looking at the floor): Look at this.

  MAN: What?

  WOMAN: A stain.

  MAN: Where?

  WOMAN: Here? See? I can’t get it out.

  MAN: Oh. I hadn’t noticed it before.

  WOMAN: I notice it every time I clean.

  MAN: Here. Let me try.

  WOMAN: Thank you.

  MAN: Ugh. It’s tough.

  WOMAN: I know.

  MAN: How did it get here?

  WOMAN: It’s been there as long as I’ve lived here.

  MAN: I hardly stand a chance. (Pause) But I’ll try. (He begins to scrub) One—two—three—four! One—two—three—four! See, you
set up . . . gotta set up . . . a rhythm—two—three—four. Used to practice with a rhythm. One—two—three—four. Yes, remember. Like battle . . . like fighting, one—two—three—four. One—two—three—four. Look . . . there it goes . . . got the sides . . . the edges . . . fading away . . . fading quick . . . toward the center to the heart…two—three—four. One—two—three—four—dead!

  WOMAN: Dead.

  MAN: I got it! I got it! A little rhythm! All it took! Four! Four!

  WOMAN: Thank you.

  MAN: I didn’t think I could do it . . . but there—it’s gone—I did it!

  WOMAN: Yes. You did.

  MAN: And you—you were great.

  WOMAN: No—I just watched.

  MAN: We were a team! You and me!

  WOMAN: I only provided encouragement.

  MAN: You were great! You were!

  (Man grabs Woman. Pause.)

  WOMAN: It’s gone. Thank you. Would you like to hear me play shakuhatchi?

  MAN: Yes I would.

  WOMAN: I don’t usually play for visitors. It’s so . . . I’m not sure. I developed it—all by myself—in times when I was alone. I heard nothing . . . The air began to be oppressive—stale. So I learned to play shakuhatchi. I learned to make sounds on it. I tried to make these sounds resemble the human voice. The shakuhatchi became my weapon. It kept me from choking on many a silent evening.