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

  (Grace picks up the box and steps away from Dale.)

  GRACE: Here—I’ve brought you something. (She hands the box to Steve) Open it.

  (Steve hesitates, then opens the box and takes out a small chong you bing.)

  Eat it.

  (He does, slowly at first, then ravenously.)

  Good. Eat it all down. It’s just food. Really. Feel better now? Good. Eat the bing. Hold it in your hands. Your hands... are beautiful. Lift it to your mouth. Your mouth... is beautiful. Bite it with your teeth. Your teeth... are beautiful. Crush it with your tongue. Your tongue . . . is beautiful. Slide it down your throat. Your throat... is beautiful.

  STEVE: Our hands are beautiful.

  (Grace holds hers next to his.)

  GRACE: What do you see?

  STEVE: I see... I see the hands of warriors.

  GRACE: Warriors? What of gods, then?

  STEVE: There are no gods that travel. Only warriors travel. (Silence) Would you like to go dance?

  GRACE: Yeah. Okay. Sure.

  (They start to leave. Dale speaks softly:)

  DALE: Well, if you want to be alone...

  GRACE: I think we would, Dale. Is that okay? (Pause) Thanks for coming over. I’m sorry things got so screwed up.

  DALE: Oh—uh—that’s okay. The evening was real... different, anyway.

  GRACE: Yeah. Maybe you can take Frank off the tracks now?

  DALE (Laughing softly): Yeah. Maybe I will.

  STEVE (To Dale): Very nice meeting you. (Extends his hand)

  DALE (Does not take it):Yeah. Same here.

  (Steve and Grace start to leave.)

  You know... I think you picked up English faster than anyone I’ve ever met.

  (Pause.)

  STEVE: Thank you.

  GRACE: See you.

  STEVE: Good-bye.

  DALE: ’Bye.

  (Grace and Steve exit.)

  Coda

  Dale is alone in the back room. He examines the swords, the tablecloth, the box. He sits down.

  DALE: F-O-B. Fresh Off the Boat, FOB. Clumsy, ugly, greasy FOB. Loud, stupid, four-eyed FOB. Big feet. Horny. Like Lenny in Of Mice and Men. F-O-B. Fresh Off the Boat. FOB.

  (Slow fade to black.)

  END OF PLAY

  THE DANCE AND THE RAILROAD

  (1981)

  For John and Tzi

  Production History

  The Dance and the Railroad, commissioned by the New Federal Theatre under a grant from the U.S. Department of Education, opened at the New Federal Theatre (Woodie King, Jr., and Steve Tennen, Producers) in New York City on March 25, 1981. Special thanks for this production to Jack Tchen and the New York Chinatown History Project, and Genny Chomori of the UCLA Asian American Studies Center. It was directed by John Lone; the set sculpture was by Andrea Zakin, the costume design was by Judy Dearing; the lighting design was by Grant Orenstein; the music and choreography was by John Lone; and the production stage manager was Alice Jankowiak. The cast was as follows:

  LONE John Lone

  MA Tzi Ma

  The Dance and the Railroad opened at The Joseph Papp Public Theater/New York Shakespeare Festival (Joseph Papp, Producer) in New York City, on July 16, 1981. It was directed by John Lone; the set design was by Karen Schulz; the costume design was by Judy Dearing; the lighting design was by Victor En Yu Tan; the music and choreography was by John Lone; and the production stage manager was Alice Jankowiak. The cast was as follows:

  LONE John Lone

  MA Tzi Ma

  Characters

  LONE, twenty years old, Chinaman railroad worker. MA, eighteen years old, Chinaman railroad worker.

  Place

  A mountaintop near the transcontinental railroad.

  Time

  June 1867.

  Scene One: afternoon.

  Scene Two: afternoon, a day later.

  Scene Three: late afternoon, four days later.

  Scene Four: late that night.

  Scene Five: just before the following dawn.

  Definitions

  die siu is a game of chance.

  pi pa is a Chinese lute.

  Scene One

  A mountaintop. Afternoon . Lone is practicing Chinese opera steps. He swings his pigtail around like a fan. Ma enters, cautiously, watches from a hidden spot. Ma approaches Lone.

  LONE: So, there are insects hiding in the bushes.

  MA: Hey, listen, we haven’t met, but—

  LONE: I don’t spend time with insects.

  (Lone whips his hair into Ma’s face; Ma backs off. Lone pursues him, swiping at Ma with his hair.)

  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.)

  LONE: Oooops. Better go see who won.

  MA: Hey! C’mon! Help me look!

  LONE: If you find them, they are yours.

  MA: You serious?

  LONE: Yes.

  (Ma finds the dice.)

  MA: Here.

  LONE: Who won?

  MA: I didn’t check.

  LONE: Well, no matter. Keep the dice. Take them and go play with your friends.

  MA: Here. (He offers them to Lone) A present.

  LONE: A present? This isn’t a present!

  MA: They’re mine, aren’t they? You gave them to me, right?

  LONE: Well, yes, but—

  MA: So now I’m giving them to you.

  LONE: You can’t give me a present. I don’t want them.

  MA: You wanted them enough to keep them two years.

  LONE: I’d forgotten I had them.

  MA: See, I know, Lone. You wanna get rid of me. But you can’t. I’m paying for lessons.