The Woman, in her forties
The Man, in his thirties
The Silent Man, in his fifties

Act I

Scene: We're looking at what appears to be a storeroom, with stacks of cardboard boxes, a broom, mop, bucket, and on the back wall a faded American flag duct taped--across the top corners--to the wall. To the left of the stage, a rectangular table with two folding chairs at the table across from one another. In one chair sits a woman, in white blouse and black slacks; across from her, a man in khakis and blue shirt. Both sit in profile to the audience. There's a cup of water on the table near the man, who's the interrogator.

Nearby, on the right side of the stage, sits the silent man, in a cheap suit, wrinkled white dress shirt, and faded red tie. He sits in a stuffed chair, and across from the chair is a silent tv that appears to be on but never shows an image. The silent man's back is always to the two at the table. He never says a word. He performs various actions during this act, which are interwoven into the play.

The interrogator turns various papers in a folder, studying them in silence. The woman looks around the room.

Interrogator: So, you know why you were brought here.

Woman: What's your name?

Interrogator: Your name is . . . [he studies the open file before him] . . . Roberts. Susan Roberts. Isn't that correct?

Woman: [Looking around] Is this a storeroom or something? It sure doesn't look like any office I've ever seen.

Interrogator: Can I get you a glass of water? Well, not a glass, but a plastic cup. [He smiles.] You know how it is.

The silent man tries to scratch an itch in the middle of his back. He reaches back with one hand, then the other. He eventually tries using the rolled up newspaper. Yet he can never seem to scratch the itch.

Interrogator: Susan, you don't mind that I call you Susan, do you. [Without waiting for her response] How often would you say you floss your teeth, on average, would you say?

Woman: What?

Interrogator: Once a day? Twice a day? Three times a day? More than three times a day?

Woman: Who gives a care?

Interrogator: [Looking at her file.] It seems you buy a container of floss every three point four weeks. Each container has fifty four point seven yards of floss. That's a whole lotta flossin' going on! [He smiles, but looks concerned.]

Woman: I have a lot of teeth.

Interrogator: Maybe your significant other uses your floss? Or you floss your three cats' teeth? Or maybe you use the floss for something else?

Woman: Why are you so obsessed with floss?

Interrogator: Your frequent floss purchases set off our security alert. I needed you to come in so we could clear this up. I'm sure it's just an anomaly. But we need to see if it's a potential hazard or not.

Woman: Aren't we all potential hazards?

Interrogator [Writing something in the file] That's why I've got this job.

The silent man is writing something down in his small notepad. It appears to be something he sees in the newspaper, as he keeps looking at the paper as he writes. He does this during the following discussion.

Woman: What did you say your name was?

Interrogator: OK, let's start over again. You know why you were brought here, right?

Woman: Let's just say I have a good imagination. Like you.

Interrogator: Have you ever known anyone who goes by the name of Bob? Bobby? Robert? Robbie? Harry? Harold? Hairy? That's H-a-i-r-y.

Woman: Would it matter what I say?

Interrogator: You went on a date with a Bob Harris [looking down at the file] on October 24, at 6:29 pm. You went out for dinner to the Olive Garden. You had minestrone and salad, three breadsticks, and two glasses of pinot grigio. Bob had salad, chicken alfredo, five breadsticks, and three glasses of merlot.

Woman: I'm impressed. I'm supposed to be, right?

Interrogator: Harris asked the waiter if his name was Bob Harris. Why would he do that?

Woman: Wait a minute. Harris asked the waiter if he, the waiter, was named Bob Harris?

Interrogator: So, you do know Bob Harris.
Woman: [Mouth open, speechless.]

Interrogator: You went for a stroll afterward, a twenty-seven and a half minute stroll. What did you talk about?

Woman: Does it matter? You already know, or think you do.

Interrogator: The two of you then went to your apartment and . . . [looking down at folder] hmmm. It looks like you and Bob Harris talked about . . . what would it be like to go by the name Bob Harris. Don't you find that rather [he looks left and right] strange?

Woman: As strange as sitting in a storeroom with someone going on and on about Bob Harris?

Interrogator: I'm just trying to clarify some issues in your file, Susan. That's all I'm trying to do.

Woman: And those issues are? Don't tell me. You're not at liberty to say.

Interrogator: Actually I'm really not at liberty to say. But you could later speak to your attorney. Though I'm afraid he can't be informed of the charges either.

Susan: Charges? What charges?

Interrogator: No need to get excited. We're just having a chat.

Woman: Oh, this is a chat.

Interrogator: The less you know . . .

Woman: The less you know.

The silent man takes off his shoes and socks. He examines his toenails and then trims them while the following dialogue takes place. He sweeps the clippings with his hand onto a piece of newspaper and then dumps the clippings over the front edge of the stage.

Interrogator: I see you don't wear a flagpin, Susan. Any special reason?

Woman: I see you don't wear one either, Bob. You don't mind if I call you Bob, do you, Bob.

Interrogator: I can't wear my pin while working. But I wear it, proudly, whenever I'm not on the job. You said, to a friend in the grocery store, [looks down at file] on September 15, at 3:13 p.m.: "I don't have to wear a pin to show I love my country." What exactly did you mean by that?

Woman: Was I in the produce section, Bob? Or in the canned vegetables?

Interrogator: [Again looking down at her file] You were buying arugula.

Woman: Well, there you go. I'm obviously unpatriotic. Doesn't the President eat arugula? I suppose he's unpatriotic too. Is that in his file, Bob?

Interrogator: So you admit to an unspecified anger over taking pride in the flag. Why does that make you so angry?

Woman: I get a little angry when someone's watching what I buy and what I say in the grocery store. You should too.

Interrogator: You know we do this so you can buy whatever you want and say whatever you want . . . freely.

Woman: As long as I wear my flagpin . . . freely.

Interrogator: That helps to show you acknowledge how proud you are to have those rights, Susan.

Woman: Which I don't have if I don't wear a godforsaken flagpin?

Interrogator: That's rather strong language.

Woman: "Godforsaken." A clear, unambiguous term. Does that confuse you, Bob?

Interrogator: I won't put that in your file.

Woman: How very kind of you.

The silent man rolls up a section of his newspaper and goes after a fly. He's swatting the air and smacking the floor to kill it. He thinks he's got it, but each time, the fly reappears. His head gyrates as the fly circles him. Only he can hear it.

Interrogator: Let's see [glances at her file]. In an email, Susan, on October 31, did you spell "America" improperly? With an "h," as in A-h-m-e-r-i-c-a?

Woman: You read my email. You tell me.

Interrogator: I only read the email I'm supposed to read. The email that the security system flags as needing to be read, Susan.

Woman: Tell me, who reads your email, Bob? The Bob Harris one pay grade about you?

Interrogator: Tell me about "Ahmerica." [He says it with heavy emphasis on the "Ah." ] It's a yoga position? A dessert? Or maybe a code term for . . . ?

Woman: I think you know everything you want to know, Bob. But that's all.

Interrogator: No matter how much I know, I can never know enough.

Woman: The more one knows . . . [She glances quickly to the door.]

The silent man sits and stares at the tv, as if watching something boring yet compelling. He makes faces at it and at times gesticulates--squirms, sighs, yawns.

Interrogator: Is it true that you were at Wrigley Field, on June 23, on a hazy day, your armpits slightly damp, and your hair frizzled from the humidity.

Woman: Frizzled?

Interrogator: You do like words, don't you? So you were there with your frizzled-frazzled hair?

Woman: I'm sure you have photos, Bob, from the beer-cam, the peanut-cam, and the weiner-cam. So why ask me?

Interrogator: And then, for some reason, you sneezed. Do you remember? Not once, not twice, but three times, during the singing of the National Anthem. You sneezed, three times, and then you blinked, looked around, and smiled. Isn't that true?

Woman: So that's it. I'm here because I bought too much floss, misspelled "America" in an email, and, worst of all, I sneezed during the National Anthem. Is that right, Bob? That's why I have to sit here and be subjected to this?

Interrogator: It's only an interview.

Woman: For a job? So I could become an interviewer like you?

Interrogator: There's no reason to take this personally, Susan. I'm just doing my job, and you're doing your job, as an American citizen.

Woman: I thought a citizen had certain rights. You have the right to be brought to a storeroom. You have the right to spell words correctly in your email. You have the right to sneeze at all times, but not at the wrong place or the wrong time. You have the right . . .

Interrogator: I'm well aware of our rights. In fact, it's to protect those rights that we're here having this discussion.

Woman: This discussion! [She looks in the direction of the silent man, over his head.]

Interrogator: I know you're a bit upset. You have every right to be upset.

Woman: Thank you. I feel so much better now. [She looks at the door again.]

The silent man looks at his watch, and then records the time in his notepad, followed by the Interrogator looking at his watch and recording the time in the file. The silent man continues to consult his watch and make notes during the following.

Interrogator: Do you love America, Susan?

Woman: What? [She appears startled. Staring directly at him she adds] What's that got to do with anything? [A hint of fear in her voice.]

Interrogator: A simple question. Do you love your country? More than you love a glass of wine? Or a good book? Or a ball game at Wrigley? Or a night with Bob Harris?

Woman: I have to go to the bathroom.

Interrogator: It's possible, isn't it? It's possible you spoke with a Bob Harris. Not knowing this Bob Harris was actually Bob Harris.

Woman: Does Bob Harris know you have a thing for Bob Harris, Bob?

Interrogator: Maybe you were charmed by this Bob Harris. Maybe you didn't suspect that this Bob Harris might only be pretending to be Bob Harris, even though he admitted wondering what it would be like to live as Bob Harris.

Woman: Maybe.

Interrogator: And maybe you assumed that under this Bob Harris cover was another Bob Harris, and another, and another.

Woman: Just like I'm assuming there's a Bob Harris inside you, Bob?

Interrogator: [Rubbing his hands] Well, that clears up the Bob Harris problem {said with sarcasm]. Let's move on.

Woman: Let's.

The silent man takes a hardboiled egg and a spoon out of his pocket. He begins lightly tapping the egg with his spoon for a while. He goes over to the TV and taps the egg against it a few times, then goes back to his seat. He does this twice. Then he sits, meticulously removing all the pieces of the shell. He eats the egg in one bite, studying the shell fragments. Eventually he slides them into his pocket.

Interrogator: Susan, [he says while studying the file] are you familiar with Horton Hears a Who!?

Woman: The Doctor Seuss book? You have a problem with Doctor Seuss? [She looks incredulous and about to laugh.]

Interrogator: You checked it out from the library . . . [He looks again at the file] on two separate occasions. And then you also bought a copy. Isn't that kind of odd? Checking a book out from the library and then buying a copy of the very same book? [He looks expectantly at her.]

Woman: Maybe I like it? Maybe I checked out a copy to read it? And then I liked it so much I reread it? And then I liked it so much, I decided to buy a copy as a gift? Couldn't that be possible, Bob?

Interrogator: [Coldly] I'm not here to entertain possibilities, Susan. [He now becomes emphatic.] Let me tell you some things about Dr. Seuss you might not know. Dr. Seuss wasn't his real name. He wasn't a real doctor. He was a physicist who helped design a new type of bomb, a bomb that would destroy all gravity. If that bomb went off, we'd be having this conversation upside down somewhere over Lake Michigan. The so-called doctor felt terribly guilty about making such an awful weapon, that same darling Dr. Seuss who wrote such darling children's books. He decided the only way to rectify this problem of having his country possess such an awful device was to pass on the information about the bomb to the Whos. The little nobodies. That's why his books are so damn dangerous.

Woman: [She laughs.] The Cat in the Hat's pretty dangerous. A cat making the kids do naughty things when mommy leaves the house. [She giggle.]

Interrogator: I wish I could laugh about this, Susan.

Woman: I wish you could too.

Interrogator: Dr. Seuss says in Horton, "A person's a person, no matter how small." What does that mean to you?

Woman: You don't squash people, Bob. You don't shit on them, even if you think they're "little people." [She uses air quotation marks.]

Interrogator: So, you believe there are "Whos" out there. [He too uses air quotation marks, but does so mockingly.]

Woman: Sure. But I think only two of the original members of the band are still alive. I wish they wouldn't allow their songs to be used for all those C.S.I. shows, though. It really ruins the songs. I need to get going, Bob.

Interrogator: [He smiles coldly.] Let's talk about the other Whos. The Whos who feel no one listens to them. Ignored people. Angry people. Resentful people. You think they must be heard?

Woman: Who?

Interrogator: Little people.

Woman: Wee folk? Leprechauns?

Interrogator: [He frowns, growing impatient.] People who feel wronged. Who get angry because they feel like no one hears them. Who make threats. Who arm themselves. Those kind of folks [emphasis on the last word].

Woman: That describes most Americans, don't you think, Bob. Aren't we all Whos?

Interrogator: Who is?

Woman: Us Whos.

Interrogator: Whose Whos?

Woman: What? [Looking at her watch.] Aren't we just about done here? Nothing personal, Bob, but I've got more important things to do. Like take a pee.

Interrogator: [He glances at his watch, recovering himself.] You've been very patient. I just need you to sign this form [he pushes a piece of paper in front of her] here, here, and here. [He offers her a pen.] And initial here, here, and here and here.

Woman: [She studies the paper.] This form says that I came here of my own accord. That I admit to multiple contacts with Bob Harris. That I admit to degrading the National Anthem. Why would I sign this, Bob? [She shoves the paper toward the Interrogator.]

Interrogator: You know, the answer might be a question, but a question is never the answer. [With a tight smile.]

Woman: [She sighs.] Has anyone ever told you you're a pain in the ass?

Interrogation: Sign this, Susan, and you can go.

Woman: Go where?

Interrogator: Unless you'd prefer to stay [his eyes sliding around the room].

Woman: Oh, I want to stay in this creepy room, Bob, with your creepy questions, and your creepy tone, and your creepy notes about what I supposedly said or wrote or did or did not do.

Interrogator: You can leave whenever you'd like, Susan. [He flips the file closed as if dismissing her.]

Woman: [She doesn't hear him, or doesn't believe him.] Bob, I'm leaving now. I'm getting up [she remains seated], and I'm going through that door, and I'm going to buy some floss, five, or ten, maybe twenty rolls of floss, Bob. Then I'm going to go home, drink a glass or two of wine, and then floss my teeth. Maybe two or even three times, Bob.

Interrogator: [He shrugs and speaks with no emotion.] You can leave whenever you'd like.

Woman: [Still not hearing him.] Or maybe you'd like me to squat on the table and piss into a cup for you. You could take notes on it for your superiors. I bet they'd like that, Bob. I bet you'd like it too.

Interrogator: Please, go now. Leave, now [Waving his hand to dismiss her].

Woman: [She stands.] I'm going to try to pretend this never happened.

The silent man records the time in his notebook. He checks and keeps rechecking the time, keeps recording it, as if it's never quite right.

Interrogator: [He writes something in the file quickly and underlines it three times.] But if you leave, I can't clarify the problems in your file. That will lead to more and more problems. Severe problems. Irreconcilable problems. I won't be able to help you. I'd really like to try and help you, Susan.

Woman: I'd really like you not to, Bob.

The stage goes dark.

Interlude

Scene: The black table is center stage, with one chair behind it, facing the audience. The interrogator lies across the table, on his belly. The silent man sits in the chair, his hands above the prostrate man as if above a keyboard. Then he "plays" the body of the interrogator, as if the man's body is a piano, that is, the silent man presses various spots on the body of the man on the table, and phrases come out of the interrogator's mouth. Each touch generates a separate phrase. The tone of the phrases should vary depending on where the interrogator is touched--highest at the head, lowest at the feet. The ellipses mark indicate pauses where the silent man lifts his hand to press another spot on the interrogator's body.

The Man Who Had Been the Interrogator: I was born . . . according to the Random House Dictionary of the Anguish Language . . . at least three times a day . . . in Murmansk, Minnesota . . . unwashed about the feet . . . someone's googling the googled . . . definitional vagueness . . . meaning the meaning of "severe" . . . meaning the meaning of "physical" . . . meaning the meaning of "pain" . . . I was born in Montenegro, Minnesota . . . destination planet sleep . . . subject to breakage and dislocation . . . stuffed with the Anguish Language . . . someone's googling the ungoogled . . . see Duncan v. Walker . . . a state or condition of physical distress that persists for a godly period of time . . . I was born . . . I was bootlegged . . . I was burgled . . . wash your colon at least three times . . . someone's googling the googler . . . Mysore, Minnesota . . . Memphis, Minnesota . . . with a pair of pliers . . . see sections 2340-2340A . . . imprecise vagueness . . . with metal pipes . . . destination breast sleep . . . unwashed about the host . . . Honey, I googled the kids . . . Moldavia, Minnesota . . . colitis in the family doghouse . . . Dr. Seuss with balloon breast implants . . . I was born in a beehive . . . to drink one's own urine . . . born from my mother's forehead. . . with an unwashed umbrella in the observatory . . . wash your thorax . . . watch your thyroid . . . see Price v. Jamahiriya . . . Managua, Minnesota . . . at least but not more than several times a day . . . see Jamahiriya v. Pajamahiriya . . . I was born . . . I was beamed . . . I was streamed . . . barbarians in the pantry . . . Massapequa, Minnesota . . . according to the Department of Anguish . . . sufficiently extreme and outrageous . . . Abraham Lincoln and Doris Day in the broom closet with the butler . . . at least three times a day . . . destination hair sleep . . . merely transitory . . . Honey, I googled your spleen . . . Mobile, Minnesota . . . Milan, Minnesota . . . playing Russian roulette with a tuba . . . see Vukovic v. Vukovic . . . different words . . . different world . . . Moscow, Minnesota . . . Monte Carlo, Minnesota . . . barbarians in barbed wire lingerie . . . someone's googling Dr. Seuss . . . at least three hundred times a day . . . Madrid, Minnesota . . . Montreal, Minnesota . . . with an extension cord . . . what would you do if your dog pooped in your shoe . . . imprecise definition . . . I was born . . . Donna Reed . . . Leslie Gore . . . see Reed v. Gore . . . Missoula, Minnesota . . . Manchester, Minnesota . . . Bettie Page . . . Patti Page . . . extreme intensity . . . someone's googling the undead . . . destination planet overlord . . . unwashed philtrum . . . Marble, Minnesota . . . Marseilles, Minnesota . . . I was burned before I was born . . . uncharred toast . . . unbirthed tibia . . . unearthed femur . . . unfixed fib . . . extreme intensity . . . I was banned . . . I was ballooned . . . I was Babs . . . I was Bo Diddley . . . I was Babalou . . . row Babylon row . . . hush silence hush . . . I was burped . . . I was blurbed . . . I was . . . therefore . . . Montpelier, Minnesota . . . Motown, Minnesota . . . Mumbasa, Minnesota . . . what would you do . . . see Prancer v. Dancer . . . see Huey v. Dewey v. Louie . . . wash your tongue . . . wash your tang . . . no matter how small . . . therefore . . . Metropolis, Minnesota . . . wash your seuss . . . therefore . . . barbarbarbarians . . . O Babry Ann . . . barbarbarbarians . . . Ah . . . say Ah . . . Ahhhhhhh . . . say Ah Ahmerica . . . Ahhhhhhhh . . .

Pause

The silent man stops, holds his hands over the interrogator's head. Without touching the head, he manipulates the air, causing the interrogator to speak for the first time without being touched. Spotlight on the interrogator's mouth.

The Man Who Had Been the Interrogator: I am speak . . . I am speeched . . . I am spoken.

The stage goes dark.

Act Two

Scene: Same room, only now the table is on the right side of the stage. The man in khakis and blue shirt is seated at the table where the woman sat, as he is now the one being questioned. The woman, who now sits where he sat, is the interrogator. The cup of water is now placed near her. The chair used in Act One by the silent man has been removed.

The silent man wanders about during the entire act taking measurements and recording the numbers in his small notepad--instructions for his actions are once again interwoven in the act. His measuring tape clatters at times in the background. Once again, he never says a word.

Interrogator: [She studies the papers in the file before her, her reading glasses at the edge of her nose. They remain there the entire act. When she looks at the man, she's looking over her glasses at him.] So, I imagine you know why you were brought here.

Man: [He sighs.] This must be hard for you.

The silent man is measuring the length of his arms and legs, hands and feet, and recording this in his notepad.

Interrogator: I see you go by Bob Harris, Thomas Roberts, Tom Harris, Bob Thomas, and once, Harry Harris. Why so many names, Bob?

Man: Susan . . . I can call you Susan? [Without waiting for a response] Susan, I understand what you have to do here. It's ok. I'm fine with it. Really.

Interrogator: Then you understand that this isn't personal, Bob. I'm addressing some irregularities in your file. Some performance issues.

Man: Aren't you supposed to tell me this conversation might be taped to ensure quality control?

Interrogator: How often would you say you mouthwash a day, Bob? Once a day? Three times? More than three times a day?

Man: [Cupping his ear] I can hear America mouthwashing.

Interrogator: You've been buying a lot of mouthwash, Bob. A liter bottle every three weeks. That's thirty three point eight fluid ounces. Or one quart and one point eight fluid ounces.

Man: I . . . Do you really have to do this? Try to intimidate me. Show me you know what I buy. How often I go to the toilet. How much toilet paper I use per day per night. I get it.

Interrogator: You set off a security alert, Bob, and so . . .

Man: And so you have to take note. I know. I know.

Interrogator: I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't. Would I, Bob?

Man: I wouldn't want you to not do your job, Susan.

Interrogator: I'm glad to hear that, Bob.

The silent man measures the depth and width of the stage. He does this from various angles, not just straight lines, and records it.

Interrogator: Do you know Susan Roberts? Or should I say, how long have you known Susan Roberts?

Man: You know I brought her in for an interview. It was just a matter of clarifying some discrepancies in her file. That's all.

Interrogator: That's all, Bob?

Man: Look, I never violated any of the protocols. We had a discussion, and I asked her a few questions. She answered with a few more questions. She asked to leave, and she left. End of story.

Interrogator: But you knew her. Before. You had a prior relationship.

Man: I see you wear a flagpin. [Her flagpin can be a real one, or invisible, depending on the director's choice.]

Interrogator: You're quite observant, Bob. Yes, I decided if I have the freedom to not wear it, then I have the freedom to wear it as well. So why not wear it? After all, wearing the pin simply means I have the right to not wear it. I see you're not wearing one.

Man: No, I wear it when I'm at work, but not when I'm doing errands and that kind of stuff.

Interrogator: Why is that?

Man: I don't want it to get dinged. That would be disrespectful.

Interrogator: [Writing in the file] How thoughtful. Could we get back to Susan Roberts? You knew her how?

The silent man is now in the audience measuring the height and width of various seats--occupied and unoccupied. At times he goes back and remeasures seats he's already measured, occasionally looking confused or worried.

Man: [He sighs.] We, I was a student of hers once. A long time ago. It was a freshman comp class. You know, read this, write an essay on it. Read this, write another essay. The usual stuff. I just wanted to see if she remembered me. That's all.

Interrogator: You conducted an interrogation to see if your old English teacher remembered you. Couldn't you have done that somewhere out there? [She gestures with her chin.]

Man: She might have thought I was a creep. Some guy trying to hit on her. It was, I don't know, more professional to bring her in.

Interrogator: You violated policy protocols by interrogating someone not in your jurisdiction, someone you had a prior relationship with, and someone you have no authority over. To reminisce about freshman English?

Man: Rules. Protocol. Regulations. How dare I act like a human.

Interrogator: She must have made quite the impression. What was she like as a teacher?

Man: [Hesitating.] Well, I can remember this one time she read us a poem called "Waiting for the Barbarians." She never let us read the poems. She must have thought we'd butcher them. She was probably right. She read it with her voice, and her eyes, and her arms, and her hair. I never heard anyone read like that.

Interrogator: "And what shall become of us without any barbarians? / These people were a kind of solution."

Man: You're good. I didn't understand a word of it. Still don't. What exactly is a "barbarian," anyway? Someone who doesn't use deodorant?

Interrogator: Anyone who doesn't use your brand, Bob.

Man: So you're a barbarian?

Interrogator: Then you do get the poem?

Man: It doesn't make any sense. Why does the poem say we need barbarians? Why wouldn't we all be thrilled deep in our underwear if they never show? It just doesn't make sense. But the way she read it. The way she believed that it was all there, everything was right there in that poem.

Interrogation: Are you saying, Bob, she turned you on?

Man: She made me think. Even though it hurt. Even though I didn't know what the hell I was doing there, reading poems and stories and essays that made no sense. But I thought that maybe one day, one day they would. That they'd make a kind of sense, and then maybe life would make a little more sense. That turned me on.

The silent man is now under the table near Bob's foot measuring the distance from the interrogatee's shoe to various objects--boxes, the broom, the tv, the door. Each measurement is recorded in his notebook.

Interrogator: [Looking at the file] Can you remember writing an email about three months ago, Bob, that might have triggered a security alert?

Man: It smells kind of funky in here, doesn't it? Like squirrel piss.

Interrogator: This was on October 2, 10:26 a.m., right before you went on break. You were emailing a co-worker in the office, who happened to be in the next cubicle. Or, as you like to call it, crucible. You were agitated about something your supervisor said. Do you remember?

Man: I remember whatever you say I need to remember.

Interrogator: [Looking at him over her glasses with raised eyebrows] You made a rather odd comment in your email: "only in these Untied States." Not "united." But "untied." Do you recall that?

Man: Oh, certainly, why sure—if you say so. Note that I'm playing the cooperative victim here. You might want to record that.

Interrogator: "Untied States." Could you explain exactly what that means, Bob?

Man: I think you know what it means. I'm calling for a terror attack on our country. It's code. Last call. Armageddon. End of days. Last rest stop for the next 250 billion light years. [He shouts to the ceiling.] Beam me up, Charlie Darwin!

Interrogator: This might not look so funny on a transcript, Bob. So do you want to clarify?

Man: Have you ever made a mistake, Susan? I made a mistake. It was a typo. I inadvertently switched two letters around. It was meant to be "u-n-i-t-e-d," not 'u-n-t-i-e-d." Clarified.

Interrogator: But it happened on three other occasions. On April 3, July 21, and August 29. And after each of those "typos" a security threat was uncovered. A plot of some kind. Each within a day or two of your "typo." What do you make of that, Bob?

Man: You know that guy on Dealey Plaza who opened his umbrella just before Kennedy was shot? Well, it had nothing to do with Kennedy getting shot. It was just a guy opening his black umbrella as the President glided by.

Interrogator: Just before he had his brains blown out. So you can see why umbrella man would look suspicious?

Man: Anything can be made to look suspicious!

Interrogator: You set off the security system, Bob. Four times. So I have to ask you about it. Nothing personal. I'm sure you understand.

Man: I'm sure you understand how I understand.

The silent man now measures the dimensions of the room. He measures the side walls and the back wall, recording the measurements in his notepad, while the next conversation takes place.

Interrogator: What do you think of Dr. Seuss, Bob? There's some controversy about his books, you know. Some think he was a subversive, getting kids to question authority, unleash their imaginations, color outside the lines. Is that how you feel, Bob?

Bob: He wasn't a real doctor, by the way. Did you know that? People think he had a doctorate in child psychology. Hah. He just called himself "Doctor." A complete fraud.

Interrogator: I see that you've checked out from your public library [she looks down at his file] twelve different Dr. Seuss books. And you never returned them. In fact, you refused to return them. Why get so worked up about Dr. Seuss, Bob?

Man: Millions of children have read his books. Kids still read them. And they give kids weird ideas. Plant subversive thoughts. About disrespecting authority. Don't you think that's a good reason? And besides, what the hell is "oobleck," anyway?

Interrogator: On January 3, at 11:52 p.m., someone revised Dr. Seuss's Wikipedia entry. This person wrote that Dr. Seuss leaked nuclear secrets through code terms in his children's books. Green Eggs and Ham explains how to build a portable atomic device. "The size of a hambone." [She indicates quotation marks with her fingers.] Do you believe that, Bob?

Man: Isn't it our job to believe?

Interrogator: Wasn't it you, Bob? On my work computer. Planting false information in a Wikipedia entry?

Man: Everybody does it! Wikipedia said that Harry Houdini died by getting punched—in his ovaries. And I didn't post that, by the way.

Interrogator: But isn't it possible, Bob, that you planted false information about Dr. Seuss to justify you're questioning Susan Roberts? After all, she did borrow a Dr. Seuss book from the library.

Man: She checked it out three times. In one year! And then she bought a copy. Of the same damn book! Doesn't that sound suspicious to you?

Interrogator: [Cupping her ear] I can hear the voice of Elvis. [Pause.] Something about suspicious minds.

Man: Hey, I was just doing my job. Did I get a little over zealous? Maybe. Was I protecting you and your family? You bet. Did I err on the side of safety? That's my job.

Interrogator: This is very troubling, Bob. Using a position of authority to interrogate a person of interest who isn't a legitimate person of interest. Falsifying data to justify the interrogation. I'm afraid you give me no choice. I'm going to have to place a black X in your file.

Man: I can't believe you. [He shakes his head.] In bold or italics?

Interrogator: I'm afraid bold, Bob.

Man: Helvetica or New Times Roman?

Interrogator: Chicago.

Man: 9 or 10 point?

Interrogator: 12.

Man: Sans-serif?

Interrogator: Serif.

Man: [Slamming his hand down on the table] You know what this means. I'll lose my authorization to interview. Please, Susan. Say you warned me. Tell them you scared me. I'm scared, OK? You win. You broke me. Well done, Susan, bravo. [He applauds.]

The silent man is now measuring the distance between the interrogator and the interrogatee. Then he measures the distance from the interrogatee to the nearest audience member.

Interrogator: I'm not trying to scare you. I'm trying to stop you from abusing innocent citizens.

Man: There's an oxymoron.

Interrogator: [She freezes.] Aren't you an "innocent citizen," Bob? Isn't that what you've been insisting?

Man: You don't understand. No one is innocent. Either you've done something wrong, or you'll eventually do something wrong. All of us. You pretend you're innocent. As you sit there and judge me.

Interrogator: And you're not judging me?

Man: So that's what this is all about.

Interrogator: I'm glad you finally understand.

Man: [Nods] I get it. This is all about getting back at me.

Interrogator: You should be very careful about what you're about to say, Bob.

Man: This is all about our date, isn't it, Susan?

Interrogator: Very careful.

Man: Was it exciting for you? Risqué? To go out on a date with a student you failed?

Interrogator: [Writing in his file] Susan Roberts will be interested to hear this.

Man: Or did you get angry with me that I wasn't servile enough? That I didn't beg you to change my grade? Or did you get off on that?

Interrogator: Failure to take personal responsibility won't help, Bob.

Man: Just like you're getting off on this now. That's why I'm here, isn't it, Susan?

Interrogator: You should ask Susan Roberts.

Man: I already did. She says she can't remember!

Interrogator: Remembering is like measuring a cloud. It keeps changing, even as you're measuring and remeasuring.

Man: You said that on our date.

Interrogator: You mean Susan Roberts . . .

Man: [Shouting] Susan Roberts! Why do keep insisting on talking in the third person! You sound fucking delusional!

Interrogator: [Calmly] Susan Roberts filed a complaint. I'm following through on it, to see if her allegations are "delusional." While investigating your behavior, I noticed certain irregularities, certain protocol violations.

Man: Well, aren't you professional.

Interrogator: If you have a problem with this, Bob, you can file a grievance with the Grievance Officer.

Man: Right. And have it recorded that I'm an official griever! Grievers are losers, Susan. Eyebrows would be raised. I'd lose my security clearance. I'd be screwed. You know that.

Interrogator: You have exactly thirty days. After that time, it could be considered, but it wouldn't be regarded as a true grievance. [Pause.] I think we're done here. [She closes his file.]

Man: You're letting me go. You won't even make me plead with you.

Interrogator: You can go now, Bob.

Man: You won't even make me say, "Oh, Please! I'll do anything for you. Let me squat over on that bucket. You can watch."

The silent man is now measuring the distance from the interrogatee to the bucket. Then he remeasures, from the bucket to the interrogatee.

Interrogator: You'd better leave, now.

Man: Oh, I'm leaving. I'm out of here. [He doesn't move.]

Interrogator: [Speaking to herself] "And what shall become of us without any barbarians? These people were a kind of solution."

The interrogatee stands but doesn't move. He stares over her head. Then he moves--slowly, stiffly, proudly, defiantly--and shuffles out of the room and through the doorway.

Head resting on her hand, the interrogator stares at the closed file and sighs. She takes off her glasses, and lets them hang by the cord around her neck. She pick the file up, pushes her chair to the table, moves slowly around the table, places a hand on the chair where the interrogatee sat, stops, and then pushes it slowly to the table.

Interrogator: [Wistfully] Ahhhmerica. [She turns to go, looks back at the table, and then exits.]

The silent man goes over to the doorway. He measures the dimensions--height and width, then the depth. He records this in his notepad. Then he stops and remeasures them. He sits in the doorway, endlessly adding and re-adding.

Stage darkens.

•

Notes:

The two lines from the poem (called "Waiting for the Barbarians" in the play) come from "Expecting the Barbarians," from The Complete Cavafy, translated by Rae Dalven.

I wish to thank John Ireland, George Kalamaras, and Craig McGrath for their comments on the play, and especially Jana, who I can never thank enough.

This play is in memory of Bill Witherup.