Saint Francis of Esplanade, Act 2

  Illustration by Geof Isherwood

The stage is dark: when the lights come back on Lazarus and Francis, dressed in ill-fitting winter coats and boots, are standing in line, en route to a confessional, church pews to the front of the stage and two shrouded figures ahead of them; above the stage is the brilliantly-lit silhouette of a cross.

Lazarus:
[panting and removing his hat] God, I can’t breathe. My knees
feel battered to pieces.

Francis:
It’s always hard the first time.
[brushing off his knees]

Lazarus:
Friday night, for sloth’s sake. I should be down at the Lummox,
tying one on with Rod and the boys.

Francis:
Shhh! Please, Lazarus, please. Look, the third confessional is available.
Now is the time for you to make good on that promise. Salvation awaits.

Lazarus:
I’m getting the hell out of here.

Francis:
Oh Lazarus, this will be the most glorious day of your life!

Lazarus:
Yeah, yeah. [taking a look around] So this is your magnificent Oratory. Big deal. Look at all the loot stacked up on these walls. Paintings, gold leaf, marble, velvet. Jeesus, whatever happened to “thou shalt not store up treasure on earth”?

Francis:
Where God is concerned, money is no object.

Lazarus:
I’m not going to touch that one, sister. All this talk about sin. Why tell all to some stranger of a priest, anyway?

Francis:
God directs his priests to personally absolve us of all sin.

Lazarus:
Doesn’t the Church rant on about the gift of free will?

Francis:
But of course! It’s the greatest gift God gives us.

Lazarus:
So heaven or hell is our choice, right?

Francis:
What do you mean?

Lazarus:
I mean, whether we end up taking the A Train or the Z Ferry is entirely up to us?

Francis:
That’s right.

Lazarus:
What I’d like to know is, what moron would choose hell?

Francis:
But of course nobody chooses hell.

Lazarus:
Then why do they tell us we’ve got a choice? There is no choice! If you want to go to the promised land you’d better just do what Big Daddy tells you or he’ll toss a thunderbolt on your head!

Francis:
Did you ever consider that maybe God urged you to come here today? When you’re finished, you’ll be a new man with a new soul. You’ll never want to set foot in those cesspools again.

Lazarus:
I don’t want and I don’t need a new soul.

Francis:
That’s not what you told me last night, Lazarus.

Lazarus:
Last night might as well be last year. After two bottles of Verumi Vermouth,
I’ll even get down on all fours to kiss the pope!

Francis:
Now. [fumbling in his pocket] Here is the prayer you must say when you enter the confessional.

Lazarus:
What if I don’t feel like saying a prayer?

Francis:
Shhh! You must never raise your voice in here.

Lazarus:
This was a bad, bad idea.

Francis:
But Lazarus, you have been putrefying your body in drugs and sin.
We are both desperate sinners.

Lazarus:
Speak for your own body!

Francis:
Believe me, my faith concerns both our bodies.

Lazarus:
If you think I’m ever going to do this again—

TWO WOMEN:
[turning around to confront Lazarus and Francis] Shhhhhhhhhh!

Francis:
Please forgive my friend.

Lazarus:
Don’t you ever apologize for me!What are you two staring at?
Looking for a little action?

Francis:
Please, God...

First Woman:
Have some respect when you’re in the House of God.

Lazarus:
You’re lucky you’ve still got any respect! Father Jamie took all of mine!

Francis:
Stop it!

Second Woman:
You be quiet or I’ll call Father Labelle.

Lazarus:
[leans over her provocatively] So what’s keeping you?

First Woman:
I don’t see why men like you want to come to this place.

Francis:
To confess our sins and renew our souls!

Lazarus:
His soul may need renewing but mine’s clean as hell!

First Woman:
Shhhh!

Lazarus:
Last time I went to confession the priest asked me if I played with myself.
Can you believe that?

Francis:
[grabbing Lazarus’ arm] Please don’t do this.

Lazarus:
So I told him, “I guess you know all about that, don’t you, Father!”

First Woman:
I’m getting Father Labelle. [the two women hurry away]

Francis:
Now look what you’ve done!

Lazarus:
You should thank me for saving you from another guilt-ridden afternoon.

Francis:
Now I’ll have to look over my shoulder every time I come here.

Lazarus:
Did you ever think that maybe you’re sick and tired of coming here?  [both depart in a muddled hurry, the lights dim and the stage is shifted back to its original rooming house layout]

Marguerite:
Oh? Oh! Here come the boys back from their big afternoon up at the Oratory. Poor old Father Labelle!Oh, oh! This is going to be good! [Francis and Lazarus enter through the exit door, center-stage. Both are still wearing winter clothes].

Lazarus:
What kind of a jackass was I to go along with your stupid ideas? Climbing those endless stairs and getting stuck behind those stale biddies. [fights his way out of his hat and jacket, then opens the door to his room]

Francis:
If you would only open your ears to God. He would have rendered it all effortless.

Lazarus:
You were doing even more huffing and puffing than me! Let me guess, the Lord wanted you to share in my suffering. [dumps his jacket and hat on his bed]

Francis:
[unlocking the door to his room] You didn’t have to go terrifying those poor women.

Lazarus:
[walks back towards the stove] Are you, Saint Francis of Esplanade Street, going to stand there and tell me that the truth isn’t terrifying?

Francis:
Watch it, you’re getting dirty slush all over the floor!

Marguerite:
[tiptoeing across the floor] I’m glad somebody cares!

Lazarus:
That place was a tomb. [flips on the burner and slides his saucepan over the flame] I’m still freezing. [coughs]

Francis:
[leans over the kitchen table] I find it warm, embracing...

Lazarus:
It was practically pitch dark! Just like this place. [looks around] Have you noticed the extreme darkness people like us have to contend with?

Francis:
[goes over to the utility closet and pulls out a mop] People like us?

Lazarus:
People who lack the wherewithal to afford a decent place to live. Life in a dark hole like this probably chops years off our so-called lives.

Francis:
That all depends on your attitude.

Lazarus:
No amount of attitude’s going to change the fundamentals. The less light we receive, the more stunted our growth. Jeeze, no wonder I feel like an anorexic weed.

Francis:
Of course you feel stunted, with your lack of faith and filthy habits.

Marguerite:
I don’t know. I kind of prefer this atmosphere. It’s more protective.

Francis:
[furiously mopping the floor around Lazarus] What does any of this have to do with your outburst in the confessional?

Lazarus:
Everything connects, Frankie my boy. Darkness feeds on darkness. Secrets give birth to new secrets.

Francis:
You might have given those poor old ladies heart attacks.

Lazarus:
Au contraire. Those ladies were all ears. Oh sure they maintained their pious composure. [lifts his feet as Francis continues mopping] But I saw those gossipy hooks in their eyes.

Francis:
[stops mopping] Move your feet.

Lazarus:
I remember being very very small. The smell of incense on Christmas Eve and the Easter Vigil Mass...

Francis:
Yes? Yes?

Lazarus:
All that incredible gold and velvet and marble.

Francis:
Yes, the altar...

Lazarus:
Miles and miles and miles of hard cold marble.

Francis:
It always felt warm to my touch.

Lazarus:
The pressure of old ladies breathing down your neck if you made
the slightest move in your pew.

Francis:
The kind touch of devoted ladies lighting white candles...

Lazarus:
All those sour, frowning harpies!

Francis:
[mopping vigorously] The delicate shapes of lilies at Easter...

Lazarus:
The grinding boredom...

Francis:
The priest’s solemn demeanor...

Lazarus:
As he eyed his next eight-year old conquest!

Francis:
The day God rescues you, the angels shall rejoice in disbelief!
[shoves the mop back in the utility closet]

Marguerite:
Your water’s boiling.

Voice of George:
Don’t you two ever sleep? Stupid lazy welfare bums. I ought to line you all up against a wall and bang-bang-bang.

Lazarus:
If it isn’t Goldilocks, shifting in her grave! [turns off the burner and reaches for his mug]

Francis:
[white-yellow light on Francis’ room, as he wanders to his window,
his voice a mixture of humility and awe] Long ago God gave me the strength
to denounce all temptation—

Lazarus:
Oh yes, my little wastrel, especially that substance called gin! [scoops some instant coffee into his mug and slops in boiling water] You may not have noticed, Brother Francis, but your neighbours are painfully aware of all those empty bottles you dump when you think nobody’s watching.

Francis:
Jesus transformed the water into wine. [picks up a teaspoon and scratches away at his window]

Lazarus:
Ooh, are we having a wedding?

Francis:
Wine is sacred. [keeps scraping at his window]

Lazarus:
Sacred my ass! Enough booze will send you high as any crack-lover’s kite!

Francis:
God blessed the vine. And the wheat—

Marguerite:
Praise Allah!

Francis:
—and the barley!

Marguerite:
[raising her bottle] Cheers!

Lazarus:
And the coca leaf! Don’t forget the coca leaf!

Francis:
You are desecrated. [finishes his scraping and places the teaspoon on the window sill] If George and Kleo had taken their wedding vows, they might have had a chance at happiness.

Lazarus:
Oh yeah? Plenty of breeders who tie the knot end up half-killing each other.

Francis:
That is because they have no faith.

Lazarus:
Then what the hell did they get married for?

Marguerite:
How does it feel, my sad microbe, to wish you could crawl inside somebody else’s skin, taste their passions, their sharpest agonies?

Francis:
If you were at peace with God, you wouldn’t pronounce judgment on a sixty-two year old sinner. [tenderly brushes his kimono sleeves as he slumps in his rocking chair; stares at the window] O February, when will you finish so that I can smell the new earth, taste nature’s abundance?

Lazarus:
I must say, your idea of home decor is generally unheard-of in the rooming house trade.

Francis:
This room, barely larger than a closet is the epitome of order and cleanliness. [The third door creaks open and their neighbour George, clutching a green bathrobe around himself, pokes his head out.]

George:
If you two fags don’t shut your filthy mouths, I’ll have to shut them for you.

Lazarus:
Back to bed, sleepy head! Come on now, Georgie-Porgie, back in the sack! [runs his tongue teasingly across his upper lip and tilts his head while Francis retreats to his room]

George:
When I show them your strangled bodies the cops will declare me a national hero! [Lazarus rushes back to his room and slams the door]

Lazarus:
Promises, promises!

Francis:
[shaking, his voice cracked and tense] He doesn’t mean it, George.
And please stop calling us that. Neither of us proscribes to that sinful way of life.

Lazarus:
Why don’t you come out of the closet, Father Frankie!

George:
I am going back to my room and I don’t want to hear a squeak out of you. That was my last warning. [strides back inside his room and slams the door]

Francis:
[after a minute, he inches open his door and cautiously tiptoes across the hall, addresses Lazarus’ door in a hesitant yet plaintive tone] Is it safe to come out?

Lazarus:
[equally wary, creaks open his door and cautiously tiptoes to the main landing] I think the fat cockroach is back in his cocoon. A double Maudit to him!

Francis:
Shhh! Give people the wrong idea and we could both be killed!

Lazarus:
Wrong idea? Look who’s talking, Father Peeping Tom! Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a tubby, repressed pervert like Georgie-Poo?

Francis:
Don’t you ever worry about what will happen if Kleo leaves him?

Lazarus:
All right, so the bastard creeps into our rooms late one night and squeezes the oxygen out of us.

Marguerite:
Lazarus, please! Don’t even joke about that!

Lazarus:
But look at the bright side! You have a bona fide opportunity for a genuine martyr’s death! The world could pray to a new and improved Saint Francis!

Francis:
Why does my personal devotion to God disturb you so greatly?

Lazarus:
Look Franky-Panky, if you kept your blather to yourself instead of spewing it in the face of every tenant, landlord, super and corner store owner—

Voice of Claude:
[shouting from downstairs] Mail!

Lazarus:
Don’t tell me that old coot actually made it through the snowdrifts? [bolts over to the exit door and rushes downstairs]

Marguerite:
Watch you don’t fall, Lazarus! My God, look at all those envelopes mixed in with the snow blown through the mail slot! Lazarus you’re shivering! Is that a phone bill for George? Lucky creep! Nobody can afford a phone around here! And two envelopes for Francis? Pffft, probably the same old televangelist crap.

Lazarus:
[muffled singsong voice] The Franciscan brotherhood again? Oh Francis, think of all the precious gin money you’re tossing away!

Francis:
Leave my mail alone!

Lazarus:
[rushes back through the exit door and starts banging on George’s door] Bon-JOUR Monsieur George! Have I got a special delivery for you! [snickers loudly at the sound of aching bedsprings as George heaves himself off the mattress]

George:
[yanks open his door, one hand presses together the lapels of his bathrobe. Squints at Lazarus and snatches the envelope from his hand]
Don’t you ever touch my mail again. Is that clear?

Claude:
[comes through the exit door, panting]
I’m sorry George, I wasn’t quick enough today—

Lazarus:
Jeezus, Claude, don’t apologize! I’m only being neighbourly [hurt tone as he pushes a second envelope into George’s hand] Don’t forget your phone bill. Imagine having a phone! Been making some long distance love calls behind Kleo’s back?

Claude:
One of these days, Lazarus, you’ll push him too far.

Lazarus:
Not a chance, Claudie, not a chance.

George:
If you touch my property again I’ll twist you into a pretzel and mop the floor with your sick head. [as he grabs the envelope from Lazarus’ hand his bathrobe falls open as he rants and Lazarus steps back in amazement, gawking at his neighbour’s paunch before George slams his door]

Lazarus:
I’ve seen better torsos on boiled lobsters.

Francis:
Oh Claude, is there anything for me?

Lazarus:
Now Francis, watch those forward tendencies of yours!

Francis:
Why don’t you shut up?

Claude:
Yes, there’s something for you, Francis. More religious junk.

Francis:
It is not junk! Everything addressed to me is blessed!

Lazarus:
By whom? Father Hydro?

Marguerite:
Is that you, Claude mon amour?

Claude:
[off-stage, in sheepish tone] Oui, ma chère! [Claude hugs Marguerite and the two sit down near the stove, Marguerite on the floor, Claude on the chair]

Lazarus:
Who the hell is he talking to?

Francis:
Maybe he’s praying.

Lazarus:
Sure he is, to the gods of the grapevine! [edges back to his room and flops down on the bed]

Claude:
You never did tell me how you got to be a ghost.

Marguerite:
Only because you never asked! Sit down, mon cher, sit down. [addresses the audience] Ahhh, you see? You were almost going to let me get away without telling you all about the biggest story of my life! [stage goes nearly dark, Marguerite lit by pale blue light] Well, it all started when this goon Morbide was behind three months in his rent. Cabrelle the landlord ordered me to kick him out. [gestures to herself] That’s right! Me, p’tite Marguerite! Oh-ho-o, you’ll never catch a shark like Cabrelle dirtying his hands. Anyway, I did what I was told and Morbide told me to take a hike. What did you expect? So I told the creep, “Look here, I don’t want any trouble, just pay what you owe or take off, it’s your choice.” He slammed the door in my face and half an hour later I heard this screaming. It was Morbide, taking it out on Marie, the girl who used to live in Lazarus’ room. I was cutting some coupons and ran out into the hall. [puts down her bottle and runs up to pound on George’s door] Stop hurting that girl! [Morbide comes hurtling out of George’s doorway like a dark shadow and begins to choke Marguerite. When she tries to defend herself he snatches the scissors out of her hand and stabs her with them.] Whoa! [she remains on her back in near the stove and Morbide runs off-stage. Lighting changes back to bright white as she slowly stands up] There was this terrible pain. My breathing started getting real choppy. Somebody ran for the cops but I just lay right there on this landing until my blood covered the floor and my brain turned sleepy. Then black—oh my God, a real druggy black. Next thing I knew I was walking around again, as if nothing happened.

Claude:
That’s terrible. [hands her the bottle] I only wish I’d have been here when it happened.

Marguerite:
There’s nothing you could have done. Anyway, Claudie, the moral is: never confront a tenant, no matter what. And never, never go around with a scissors in your hands.

Claude:
Did Morbide ever go to jail?

Marguerite:
You know, I’ve got a feeling maybe that’s why I’m still hanging around. They never nabbed that murderer.

Claude:
You mean you might just disappear when Morbide is caught?

Marguerite:
Some things are just meant to be, Claudie. You know something, though— [reaches over and grips him by his chin] — you could’ve been my man. Good looking — my God, those perfect biceps and ahh, those powerful legs.

Claude:
[slouches more deeply into the armchair and shrugs]
Well I am about twenty-five years too young.

Marguerite:
Numbers, numbers! Where do numbers fit into the equation of love?

Claude:
Besides, there’s the bigger problem, you know?

Marguerite:
Now don’t you go ruining my beautiful dream! I know, I know. So you love boys! [laughs uproariously] Don’t we all? [looks toward Lazarus’ room] Oops! They’re at it again! Religion, confessions, childhood trauma—
why don’t they stick to booze like we do?

Francis:
The idea that Claude might be praying truly upsets you, doesn’t it?

Lazarus:
It snaps my heartstrings in two. Now if you don’t mind, my miserable monk—

Francis:
I am not miserable!

Lazarus:
And I’m not a lonely, washed up, formerly gorgeous drag queen, once lusted after by all and now reduced to begging for the crumbs of other discarded peacocks.

Francis:
Faith fills my soul until I want for nothing but my God.

Lazarus:
George isn’t the only one who’s sick and tired of your religious rants. If I have to nurture poor Claudie through another depressive night—

Francis:
Claudie?

Marguerite:
[elbows Claude in the ribs] Listen up, mon cher, they’re talking about you.
Maybe we’ll learn something!

Lazarus:
Yes, our underpaid and highly alcoholic janitor went on another bender Friday night.

Marguerite:
Alcoholic? [laughs and proffers her bottle to Claude who muffles a laugh and takes a swig]

Lazarus:
One sip led to the next. By the time we regained consciousness the morning sun was leaking its way through that rip in my curtain. Oh why can’t a hangover be as heavenly as its source?

Francis:
Because a hangover is a warning. Telling you that you’ve defiled
the precious temple of your body.

Lazarus:
Precious my ass! If it wasn’t for the so-called poison I keep sloshing into this temple of mine, I wouldn’t still be here.

Francis:
Never, never say that.

Lazarus:
Hang around honey, I’ve got a hell of a lot more in store!At first I thought Claude was going to rant about resident George. Instead, I got a sermon about poor suffering you.

Francis:
Me?

Lazarus:
Let’s see now... [walks over to a dresser to retrieve a cigarette] First old Claudie came rapping on my door at two in the morning when I was having
my usual bitch of a time falling asleep.

Francis:
What would he have to say to you?

Lazarus:
Poor bugger started sobbing his eyes out, saying he doesn’t know how anyone could’ve survived half of the torments you’ve been through. All the mayhem you
and your little wolf pack caused when you were a teen!

Francis:
I told him that in strictest confidence.

Lazarus:
—tearing down Chambly Street at three in the morning, throwing bricks through old Guindon’s hardware store windows, terrorizing the five buck whores!

Francis:
[covers his ears] Lies, lies, lies!

LAZARUS:
Now he’s petrified you’ll commit suicide—now where’d I hide the damned lighter?

Marguerite:
Under the socks, my poor slob, under the socks!

Francis:
Shut up! Shut up this minute. That is a filthy evil lie! Claude will burn in hell—

Marguerite:
[finds Lazarus’ lighter and turns to face them] One more nasty crack about Claudie, and I’ll haunt you right into those heavens you keep chirping about.

Lazarus:
Do you swear to God you never told Claude those things? Come on, Father Faithful, place that trembling right hand of yours on the Good Book and—

Francis:
[muttering, fuming and stamping around Lazarus room, tripping over various articles of clothing and debris] Claude is a traitor, the lowest form of sinner there is! Oh how can I have been so blind?

Marguerite:
Claude? Is it true?

Claude:
Lazarus must have been listening at the door. I never told him anything. I swear!

Lazarus:
I wouldn’t go blaming poor Claudie. The big bimbo only goes around repeating whatever others are stupid enough to spit in his drunken ear!

Marguerite:
Defend yourself!

Claude:
Confronting them is a big waste of time. Let them burn it out themselves.

Francis:
Did you...did you...spend the night with him?

Lazarus:
You mean with Claude?

Marguerite:
My God! Did you?
[turns to stare at Claude, who shakes his head]

Francis:
You shouldn’t hide something like that. What did you do to Claude?

Lazarus:
What did I do to Claude? Christ, you must really think I’m some sort of a vulture.

Marguerite:
Tell us! Now, now! We must know!

Lazarus:
That, my ravenous voyeur, is nada of your business.

Francis:
But it is my business! It’s all our business!

Lazarus:
What’s this, you actually think I go to bed with every man I meet? Jeezus, you’re worse than George, you know that?

Francis:
Claude is our janitor, he has no right to spread evil gossip! A janitor has the God-given responsibility not to mingle with the tenants.

Marguerite:
Come on now, Frankie! After all, some of my most passionate encounters
occurred when I was, shall we say, assisting a tenant in his hour of need!

Lazarus:
Oh, I get it. I get it! You and Claudie— ? Oh Ha Ha! That’s a good one!

Francis:
Shut your mouth.

Marguerite:
Claude? You and Francis? My God, my God, my God!

Claude:
That’s not true! With Lazarus I admit, we had a little fling. I guess I was drunk.

Lazarus:
Claude never mentioned anything, not that I blame him!

Francis:
Shut up you serpent of the sewer! He never laid a hand on me!

Lazarus:
I wasn’t inferring that he did!

Francis:
There’s nothing between us, I tell you.

Lazarus:
Ahhhhaa! So when it comes to Saint Francis, our martyred Claude is suddenly the victimizer? Oh well listen, Frankie—I won’t ask you to haul out the Bible for this one. Claudie and me might’ve exchanged a few rather lukewarm moments but—

Marguerite:
Lukewarm?

Francis:
How could you debase that poor dimwitted garbage collector? He’s just a boy—

Lazarus:
As were we all, once.

Marguerite:
My Claude does a hell of a lot more than drag your leftovers down those stairs.

Francis:
I never should have moved here!

Claude:
It’s all right. Don’t make a big deal out of it. [gets up and eases toward the exit door] Gotta go. Thanks for the drink, eh?

Marguerite:
See you in your dreams, lambchop!

Lazarus:
Who does that drunk keep chattering to?

Francis:
To do away with one’s self is the blackest sin of all. It’s writing one’s
own ticket directly to hell.

Lazarus:
Ho-ho-ho, it’s back to sin we go!

Marguerite:
Did we ever leave it?

Francis:
I’m getting a headache.

Lazarus:
Oh yes, before I forget [digs in his pocket and walks over to Francis] —here’s your mail. Just the tonic you need, my gullible friar. [he hands two envelopes to Francis and wanders back across the landing; automatically hunches over the stove and touches his cigarette to the pilot light] Don’t you realize that only two cents out of every buck you send actually goes to those starving Ethiopians? All the rest fills the coffers of the dictators who cause all those handy little wars and famines.

Francis:
Two cents is better than nothing at all.

Lazarus:
Yes, that’s what makes the world go around. Tell me Father Francis, do you ever miss the glory days, just a little?

Francis:
What glory days?

Lazarus:
Your long-vanished youth, silly. When you were young and free. When you could walk down Saint Catherine Street and feel like you had the world by its tail. When you could get any guy you wanted and every quarter inch of you seethed with desire? [Marguerite begins fanning herself]

Francis:
I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Lazarus:
Every man’s eyes tracing your chest till you could feel them like raw fingers
coursing through your bloodstream?

FRANCIS:
That is ancient, ancient history.

Lazarus:
[hypnotically] Getting so stoned the midnight traffic congealed and rushed toward you, strangely silent, all colours and swerves, like a two thousand mile an hour flying freight train begging you to come aboard...

Francis:
The past is the past.

Lazarus:
You know damned well what I’m talking about. Your youth!
And don’t tell me you never had one!

Francis:
Debauchery only begets debauchery.

Lazarus:
But oh-ho-ho, all those mouthwatering payoffs!

Francis:
There was never any payoff. Only pain. Beatings in alleyways. More pain.
And emptiness that eats the very soul out of you until there’s nothing left
but a washed-up shadow.

Lazarus:
So you got shanghaied a few times too many? Don’t we all?

Francis:
It’s easier for you. You forget how many years older I am. How much
more torture I’ve endured.

Lazarus:
We recover. We move on.We must! We must!

Francis:
Some of us never do.

Marguerite:
He can say that again!

Francis:
I’ve left that demon in the gutter where he belongs. Now every corner of my body and my soul have been cleansed.

Lazarus:
You’ve done such a good job, you’ve also managed to erase all the good stuff.

Francis:
Why do they persecute me, O Lord?

Lazarus:
Maybe all this perceived persecution has something to do with hypocrisy.

Francis:
Hypocrisy exists only in the souls of the forsaken.

Lazarus:
Then you must be one of the most forsaken souls who ever walked the earth!

Marguerite:
That was a daring shot, Lazarus!

Francis:
Never in my life have I met such an exasperating man!

Lazarus:
Really turns you on, doesn’t it? Oh come on! Didn’t Jesus say we’re supposed to forgive, not judge? Judge not, lest ye—oh hell! How does that go again?
Hey Jesus, give my memory a boost, would you?

Marguerite:
Now if that were only possible. [primps at her reflection in the mirror above the stove] I’d demand my Guillaume back, first of all!

Francis:
Stop your sacrilege!

Lazarus:
And while you’re at it, could you erase these wrinkles, expand the torso a little, tweak the eyelids— [points out each body part as he speaks]

Francis:
You are not worthy of speaking His name.

Marguerite:
Be careful Francis!Oh! Oh! His forehead is sprayed with the beginning
of another heat rash!

Lazarus:
I’ll speak anybody’s name I damn-well choose. Satan, Christ, Santa Claus, Zeus! What’s the difference?

Francis:
You’re very wrong. Jesus touches us, really enters our hearts.

Lazarus:
I never personally got to know the dude. You think there’s a chance that Jesus
and moi might have been good buddies?

Francis:
But this is what I’ve been trying to tell you all along.

Lazarus:
I mean, didn’t our saviour hang out with hookers, thieves, lawyers
and other reviled social outcasts?

Francis:
They were holy outcasts.

Lazarus:
Really now?

Francis:
Those outcasts were pre-ordained, chosen by our Father to assist Our Lord
in his holy crusade.

Lazarus:
That’s kind of re-painting history now, isn’t it? Crusades? Oh Christ,
don’t get me started.

Francis:
If it wasn’t for the Church I wouldn’t give a demon like you the time of day.

Lazarus:
Must I remind you, my magnanimous Father Frankie. Judge not lest ye—

Francis:
Yes, Our Lord did lower himself to mingling with the prostitutes and thieves.
Maybe even some of those diseased homosexuals.

Lazarus:
What?

Francis:
But that was in the past, before the Crucifixion. He was a man among sinners, here to show the great depths of his father’s forgiveness. Once he was nailed to the cross, sinners repented. Those who didn’t were cast straight into hell.

Lazarus:
No intersections? No second chances?

Francis:
It is time for us to turn away from corruption, out of gratitude
for the great sacrifice made by our Lord.

Lazarus:
Whose sacrifice are we talking about here? And why do I somehow have the feeling our dear saviour missed my banana boat.By a mile.

Marguerite:
I’d brew you a fresh cup mon ami, but making coffee was never my specialty.

Lazarus:
Is there any record of Jesus hoity-toitying with the rich and the so-called holy?

Francis:
Even if he did, he never debauched himself.

Lazarus:
Of course he didn’t. Not with that foolproof armour his Daddy surrounded
him with to keep him in line!

Francis:
That’s not true! He was as human as you and me. He chose good!

Lazarus:
Please.I’m not drunk enough to withstand your evangelical beacons. [shakes Francis’ hand from his shoulder in disgust] And quit calling me “your Lazarus”!

Francis:
[cupping his hands over his ears] Hear no evil!

Lazarus:
Honey, why don’t you come out and say it? If Jesus was around today, he’d give the pope and all those cardinals one heck of a flogging.

Francis:
No no! You’re wrong. He did die for you, my dear brother. Oh my Lazarus, if you could experience just a spark of his glory, his vivid transcendence—!

Lazarus:
Boy could I use a nice long permanent nap just about now.

Francis:
If not for the patience of our Lord, I’d be dead, a cold corpse lining—

Lazarus:
Yes, yes, lining the gutters of Saint Denis Street.

Francis:
But I’m alive! Completely, utterly alive!

Lazarus:
Are you actually insinuating that you and I, not to mention the other inmates
holed up in this barracks, are alive?

Marguerite:
Have some respect! I did spend all my formative years here, after all. Being shaped by and sometimes, yes, even caressed by these miserable walls.

Francis:
I remember the first time I entered the house of God, my father like a giant as he walked me through those huge oak doors. So clean, so polished, votive candles rising around me like a white tide. And the altar!

Marguerite:
Altars! Candles! Pfffft!

Lazarus:
My parents thought that shoving me into those altar boy robes would cure my antisocial tendencies.

Francis:
Why do you judge them? They only wanted the best for you.

Lazarus:
Don’t give me that crap! They wanted to keep my dirty little mind good and busy-busy-busy.

Francis:
Is that such a terrible thing?

Lazarus:
Last time I looked, cutting off someone’s breathing was a crime.

Francis:
I can’t talk to you at all.

Lazarus:
My enemy is the world and all its damnable chaos.

Francis:
Oh Lazarus! Now you understand! Damnable chaos! This is why God sent his Son! He heard us crying out!

Lazarus:
Crying out? To some earless, eyeless, mindless and emotionless monster in the sky?

Marguerite:
Oh-oh!

Lazarus:
What the hell for? I’d only end up out in the cold or worse, in that over-polished shoebox you call your room! Cut myself off from living, contaminated, sin-spewing society? No, no, no, Frankie. Would your Christ do anything else?

Francis:
He is above all corruption.

Lazarus:
The way I see it, you’ve got to get out there and revel in chaos! Cover yourself in chancres.

Francis:
No, no. Chaos is something derived from our own choosing. Our actions and desires. Chaos comes from within!

Lazarus:
I thought Satan was responsible for all that?

Francis:
We choose chaos. Or we choose order. Order rooted in the supreme.

Lazarus:
Back to free choice again, are we? You’d better take another good look outside that decaying window of yours.

Francis:
But he shall protect the righteous!

Lazarus:
There’s no such thing as perfection down here, only chaos multiplied by chaos. I’m curious though—what is your definition of perfection?

Marguerite:
Tell us, great disciple.

Francis:
The body. This human body! [thumps his chest] To treat this body as it was intended to be treated. The temple of the soul!

Lazarus:
Didn’t good old Jesus threaten to do away with the temple?

Francis:
That was the biblical temple! He said he would rebuild it in three days!

Lazarus:
Well there you go. I’ve been following my bible to the letter B, doing my damnedest to knock the stuffing out of this miserable carcass so that the minute Jesus arrives with his renovation permit he can do me completely from scratch.

Francis:
Joke, joke joke! That’s all you ever do.

Lazarus:
That was no joke, mon frère. If this body is a temple, my soul must be darker
than hell itself.

Marguerite:
I wouldn’t go that far!

Lazarus:
The point is, darling Francis, that I freely choose this dark arena. I am a gladiator in control of my destiny.

Francis:
I will never believe that, my brother.

Lazarus:
Maudit!

Francis:
I don’t want to hear that again!

Lazarus:
If you can babble about Jesus, why can’t I babble about Maudit?

Francis:
Certain words should be forbidden outright! [picks up a rag near the sink and starts wiping the stove]

Lazarus:
They’re all in the dictionary! Does not the good book say “be true to thine own self?”

Marguerite:
Don’t get me wrong, Francis, I love those clean habits of yours—any super would kiss the ground you walk on, but how can anyone could spend his life scrubbing, mopping and talking about purity!

Francis:
I must do everything within my power to battle degradation.

Lazarus:
Admit it Frankie, a little degradation now and then is good for you! Like a sneeze. Achooo! Lets out all those horrible germs!

Francis:
You are marching toward eternal damnation.

Lazarus:
I never denied that, dear friar. [Marguerite collapses in laughter on the floor nearby]

Francis:
You have the mind of a pig in a sewer! [drops the rag and scurries to one of his pine shelves, strikes a match and lights a fresh votive candle next to a plastic statuette] I am not a friar. Although I once considered becoming
a Franciscan Brother.

Lazarus:
Yummy-yum-yum, those innocent, dewy-eyed brothers! You can sign me up any time, Brother!

Francis:
O Good Shepherd [his hands cup the red candle holder] please forgive Lazarus your lost lamb, who knows not what—

Lazarus:
Baa-aa, baa-aa, correction please! I know precisely what I’m doing and will thank you not to insult me by inferring otherwise. After all, it isn’t as if I haven’t experienced the joys of holy love.

Francis:
Stop it! [falls forward, catching himself on the kitchen table] Stop it right now! You’re interrupting my prayer.

Lazarus:
A long long time ago, when I was an obedient altar boy back home in San Francisco, devoted Father Jamie opened his arms to me. [slumps back in the arm chair next to stove] He knew my parents considered me unwanted baggage, knew they wished I’d never been born.

Francis:
No, no! Please don’t.

Lazarus:
He knew I was hungry for attention and friendship. So Father Jamie went beneath and below the call of duty. Offered me solace. Comforted me with candy and handshakes and hugs.

Francis:
Lord, deliver Lazarus your servant—

Lazarus:
And a freaky kind of torture some people might confuse with sexual pleasure. Two years. I don’t know how I endured it, why I didn’t just jump off the cathedral roof and have done with it.

Francis:
—who knows not what he says or does!

Lazarus:
Oh Christ, when I think of those days I wonder how the hell I survived. “Turn around! That’s a good boy!” [imitating husky, menacing Father Jamie’s voice] until I thought my forehead would crack against the hard linoleum. His cold hands. My face stained with tears and dirt.

Marguerite:
Dirty monster! Even makes Cabrelle look like a saint! Oh what I’d like to do to him!

Lazarus:
“Repeat what you have seen and done here and I’ll tell your parents the truth about you. Did you think I didn’t know about you and Robby McKale?” No Father Jamie! I promise, Father Jamie!

Francis:
[presses the plastic statuette to his lips] Liar! Liar!

Lazarus:
Thanks to that hairy old toadstool, I was unable to have a normal relationship for a long, long time.

Marguerite:
No! Don’t tell us any more!

Lazarus:
There are some things we can’t afford to lie about. The world would prefer to shut people like me and our poisonous secrets away in their pious cabinets.

Francis:
Every priest I’ve ever met is a saint!

Lazarus:
Then you truly are one of the lucky ones!

Francis:
To slander a man of the cloth, one of God’s own shepherds!
[squeezes the statue to his chest]

Lazarus:
That’s right! Let’s all slander the real perpetrators in this world. Naive ten-year-olds who allow—no, invite!—themselves to be tortured.

Francis:
Lazarus, you’ve gone too far. I know you get your jollies tormenting me. I can accept that, offer it up for my daily penance. But you had to push me beyond tolerance. As if a priest, a man who devoted his body, mind and soul to the holiest—

Lazarus:
Baa-baa black sheep.

Francis:
I am truly disgusted with you. I wish to God you would...oh God how I wish you’d overdose on your evil pills. Or die from some horrible disease. [drops his statue as tears flood his face, drip onto the lacquered pine shelf holding the candle]

Marguerite:
[rushes into Francis’ room] Careful, Francis. You’re dripping tears all over that beautiful pine shelf!

Lazarus:
To wish me dead? Do mine ears deceive me? Wrong, wrong, wrong darling! Mortal sin. A whopper like that’ll set you back three years in Oratory pilgrimages.

Voice of George:
Shut up!

Lazarus:
It’s too late. You’ve already got me beaten! That’s right, Frankie, you’re two thirds of the way to the graveyard! [drops the end of his cigarette into the pilot light]

Francis:
Go to hell! [slams his door]

Lazarus:
Sorry. Already been there.

The front door slams downstairs.

Lazarus:
Francis? [shuffles through the exit door and down the out-of-view creaking, tilting staircase] Who’s down there?

Food Courier’s voice:
Chen Chews delivery for Mister Parko!

Lazarus:
Why that fat greedy rat, ordering Chinese. Oh GEORGE! [rushes back through the exit and begins pounding on George’s door] Wake up! Wake up!
Time to pull out the chopsticks!

George:
[pulls open his door] I told you, jerk-off, to stay faraway—

A young woman dressed in winter clothes, slightly coated with snow, appears in the exit doorway carrying large take-out order bag; she has a gentle yet no-nonsense expression.

Food Courier:
Mister Parko?

George:
[pushes past Lazarus] Is that my take-out? How much do I owe you?

Lazarus:
But you just told Kleo you’re flat broke!

George:
For once would you mind your own business!

Food Courier:
That’ll be eleven dollars and seventy three cents.

Lazarus:
Must be pretty crappy chow for eleven bucks!

George:
[shoves Lazarus out of the way] Here— [digs out his wallet and hands the Food Courier a bill]

Lazarus:
Twenty bucks? At this time of the month? God, I had no idea you were so flush!

Food Courier:
[nervously hands George back some bills and coins] Here’s your change.

Lazarus:
Honey, you look exhausted. Don’t tell me you’re biking your way around
the city in this weather?

Food Courier:
[shrugs] How else am I supposed to get around?

Lazarus:
Don’t tell me they’re also paying you minimum wage? [food courier nods] Georgie, I hope you’re not thinking of depriving this young pioneer of a tip.

George:
I should break your head wide open. Here, damn it.
[slaps a coin in the Food Courier’s hand]

Food Courier:
Thank you [uncomfortably].

Lazarus:
Ooh, she’ll be able to buy her very own Chen Chews franchise with that buck!

George:
Fuck off! [whirls back inside his room and slams the door]

Lazarus:
The same to you Mister Night Watch Man. [turning back to the food courier] God that breeder gives me the crawlies. Bet the food stinks too!

Food Courier:
[containing her laughter] To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t eat it myself. You can smell the rancid oil for blocks!

Lazarus:
How old are you?

Food Courier:
Nineteen. You?

Lazarus:
You don’t want to go there, trust me. You’re a real honey, though. [gestures to the kitchen table] Like to share a glass of vermouth?

Food Courier:
That’s really nice of you but I’ve got to get back to the restaurant.

Lazarus:
Duty calls, eh?

Food Courier:
[turning to go] It’s been nice talking to you.

Lazarus:
You’re welcome any time. With or without the crappy food.

Food Courier:
[laughing and waving as she exits] 'Bye now.

Lazarus:
[softly] Bye-bye.

Francis:
[hurrying out of his room] Who was that?

Lazarus:
You know damned well that was Georgie’s food courier.

Francis:
You had no business taking up her time like that.

Lazarus:
If it isn’t Monsignor Frankie, raising his possessive hackles!

Francis:
That’s not true!

Lazarus:
I didn’t seduce her, if that’s what you’re wondering.

Francis:
That girl was barely older than Natalie.

Lazarus:
Shut it off, you silly ass. I just saved her from Ape George.

Francis:
How can you talk like that after you and Claude—

Lazarus:
You’re something else, you know that? [strides back to his room]

Marguerite:
Wait a minute, what’s that? There, there! [pointing to bits of mail tossed on his bed] What’s in that air mail envelope peering from under all that junk? [peels an envelope away from the flyers and places it right in front of him]
Looks interesting, Lazarus...

Lazarus:
[picks up the envelope] What is this? I didn’t see this come in today. Must’ve been stuck to that flyer. I can’t believe — no, this is impossible! [tears open the envelope] Ha ha, it is!

Marguerite:
Is that an airline ticket? My God, I’m seeing things!

Lazarus:
[softly] Charlie?

Marguerite:
Who’s Charlie?

Lazarus:
[hurries over into Francis’ room] Francis! It’s a heavenly day after all.

Francis:
Leave me alone, leave me alone! [tightly grips the rocker as he sobs] You bring nothing but menace and heartache.

Lazarus:
You’ll never guess what just came in the mail!

Francis:
Go away, you’re nothing but evil. I wash my hands of you.

Lazarus:
Oh Francis, we’ve been through this all before! You have your religion and I have mine. But we’ll always be friends. Won’t we?

voice of George:
I knew it! Shut up or I’ll cut your throats!

Lazarus:
Choke off, you drop-out from Dopemore High! Listen, Francis, I just heard from Charlie. Remember the accountant I told you about last summer?

Francis:
Which one?

Lazarus:
Funny, funny! His name is Charlie and he didn’t forget me. [pulls out envelope] Look at this! He even sent me a one-way air ticket to Australia! Isn’t this a scream!

Francis:
Australia?

Lazarus:
I don’t know yet. This whole thing is unreal. [excited, unable to remain still, paces from one side of the landing to the other, sitting down in the chair next to the stove one minute and standing up before he has a chance to be comfortable] I guess this means all your prayers have been answered! Lowlife Lazarus will finally be out of your hair.

Francis:
[tries to stand up] You’re leaving?

Lazarus:
I’ll probably turn around and come back like a boomerang! Australia could turn out to be one huge drag. All those kiwis and kangaroos!

Francis:
[collapses, hanging on to his rocker] Australia?

Lazarus:
Well of all the surprises— I never expected to hear from Charlie again. Lordy, Lordy! [pacing back and forth] I hope he won’t be disappointed.

Francis:
Charlie?

Lazarus:
I’ve lost a bit of weight. Just look at what’s left of this hair. And my eyes? Jeezus, how’d these tire-treads sneak up on me so quickly? [staring in the mirror above the stove, runs his fingers across his face]

Francis:
You look like a corpse.

Lazarus:
Oh quit being such an ornery little bitch! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, really I am! I didn’t mean that! But you know how sensitive I am about my vanishing youth. Oh there’s so much to do. New shirt. New pants. Gold corduroys—or black? Where the hell am I going to find the money? All I need is a few clothes, haircut, maybe a manicure. As I recall, Charlie was a bit on the uppity-up side.

Francis:
You look fifteen years older than you did last summer.

Lazarus:
My grandmother’s cheque will be here any day. Should I buy some tiger-striped thong? It’s been so long since I—! Damn these blizzards, I don’t know why the hell I ever traded life in California for this arctic travesty.

Francis:
You look worse than old. You look dead! [confrontational as he steps outside his door] Like a miserable ancient hag. The ugliest, most—

Lazarus:
Remember Frankie, charity begins at home! Now I’m going to order some vermouth.

Marguerite:
[clapping her hands, frollicking around Lazarus] A party!

Francis:
Keep your vermouth. [goes back to his rocker, in which he propels himself back and forth, while Lazarus rushes back to his room]

Francis:
Why does everything decompose? [shifts his rocking chair to another spot in his cramped quarters then slides the small blue mat under it] Everying changes, everyone deserts me...

Marguerite:
[scampering over to Francis’ window] The scarecrow and priest are frozen in action. [gesturing to the votive candle] The beeswax in its red glass holder is dwindling into another hot, wasted lump.

Francis:
It always comes down to the same imperfection. [He softly twists the statuette in two then drops the pieces in a wastepaper basket under his sink] Everything is a lie. [seizes the red glass candle in its holder and hurls it at the crucifix on the wall above his bed, sending red glass and hot wax splintering everywhere] All lies! [he tears the covers from the bed] Lies!

Marguerite:
Stop it, Francis, you’re making a terrible mess!

Francis:
[collapses on the mattress] Why couldn’t he have loved me? Lord! Will you answer me for once and for all? I changed my entire life for you. Yet you leave me on this pyre, never dissolve the burning hole in my heart. Why?

Marguerite:
Oh Francis, the aftertaste of tears, sour coffee and gin race through you as you beg for sleep to come like an unexpected soothing veil. [turns to audience] Don’t worry. He does this about once every two months.

Lazarus:
[bangs on George’s door] Listen, George, if you’re going out in a while, would you be an absolute dear and pick me up a bottle of vermouth? Percy’s is just around the corner! [pushes a ten dollar bill under George’s door just as George opens the door]

George:
I finally realize that you have a suicide wish.

Lazarus:
[gapes at George’s pale, exposed chest before George furiously closes his bathrobe] I only need one teeny bottle of vermouth.

George:
I told you to keep your filth away from me! [stuffs the bill back at Lazarus]

Lazarus:
Listen, Georgie, I know that somewhere underneath all that hate and self-loathing there’s a real Mister Good Guy. [coughs] I think I’m coming down with the flu again, so I’d be utterly grateful if you’d trot over to Percy’s. [coughs again]

George:
You’ll have a hell of a lot more to worry about than the flu if you don’t keep your disgusting gay germs away from me! [Lazarus presses the bill into his hand again, but George automatically flings it back] Now I’ll have to scour my hands.

Lazarus:
Not another cleanaholic! [picks up the bill and pushes it back into George’s hand] I insist. Please make the effort.

George:
Christ almighty! Make the effort? Make the effort?

Lazarus:
We all have to come to terms with our violent tendencies.But I must
have my vermouth!

George:
Screw off, parasite! Some of us have to work. [slams the door]

Lazarus:
And some of us don’t. [kneels to pick up the bill, straighten and wedge it back under George’s door] Please Georgie, I know you’ve got a heart of pure platinum under all that bigoted, macho flesh! [sails into Francis’ room and hurls himself down on the bed] Wow, what hurricane slammed into this Holy of Holies? [staring around him at the disarray and picking bits of broken glass from the pillow]

Francis:
Your whole life is a perversion! I wish God would take you.

Lazarus:
I know you don’t really want me to die. Besides, maybe I’m the last thing God would want to go to all the bother of taking?

Francis:
I do! I do! In the name of Christ Almighty! Now do you believe me? [tears spill down his disheveled face as he pulls Lazarus face-to-face. His expression changes, his anger exhausted. He moves closer to Lazarus, his desperation fully exposed. Yet just as he is about to embrace Lazarus, Lazarus pulls away.]

Lazarus:
There, there! I’ve ordered the vermouth. That’ll cheer us both up.
Now, did we take our B vitamins this morning??

Francis:
I always take my vitamins. [pale] My body is the essence of purity.

Lazarus:
Sure it is, sugar. Pure as the post-blizzard slush that keeps
clogging the city’s arteries.

Francis:
My ears are shut.

Lazarus:
Anyway, everyone knows alcohol is twice as potent when you pop a couple of B’s.

Francis:
Those vitamins are for my health.

Lazarus:
But today’s a celebration. [leans over, gently starts picking up the pieces of Francis’ broken votive candle. At that moment, George’s door bangs open and George stomps into Francis’ room, his bathrobe flapping]

George:
For once and for all, if you lazy queers don’t shut your traps I’m going straight to the cops. I am a decent hard-working man and I’m  expected at the factory in less than six hours. [flings the ten dollar bill at Francis’s feet]

Francis:
I am not a faggot!

Lazarus:
Is that the same illustrious employer who stiffed you out of two weeks’ rent? No wonder I’m so allergic to work!

George:
Just one more incident and I won’t be held accountable. [he stomps back to his room] Useless leaches. If I was running this country  there’d be no more welfare dished out. I’d have every last pervert rounded up and shipped to Death Valley.

Lazarus:
Well I’ve already been to Death Valley and can assure you that there’s nothing as remotely interesting as death in the place. As for you, I’ve seen better paunches on worn-out bellydancers! [purrs as George slams his door] Ooh! [leans down to retrieve his ten dollars] So much for all that good neighbour bullshit. I guess I’ll have to brave what’s left of my immune system and buy the damn vermouth myself.

Marguerite:
[rushes over to Francis’ room] My God! Break it up boys! For my sake, at least?

Kleo comes in through exit doorway, cuts past Lazarus and knocks on George’s door as Lazarus goes into Francis’ room.

George:
What the hell do you want now, you lowlife fag?

Lazarus:
Careful Georgie-Porgie. That’s the love of your life you’re insulting.

George:
[pulls open door] That’s it, I’m—oh! Kleo! It’s you.

Kleo:
I came to collect my things.

George:
You came back?

Kleo:
[sniffing the Chinese food] Been ordering out? I thought you were flat broke.

George:
Oh that? I uh, borrowed some money.

Kleo:
From those welfare neighbours of yours? Listen George. We’ve been going
downhill for months. And after today’s violence, I’ve decided that I just
can’t handle your problems any more.

George:
My problems?

Kleo:
[cuts past him into his room] That’s right. Your problems.

George:
Ah, you’re just upset because of Barbara. Believe me, that’s all over, I swear.

Kleo:
Seeing you with your ex-girlfriend was a shock. Now it feels like more of a wake-up call. I’ve known something was wrong for months.

George:
Look, I’m just going through some rough times right now and when I
iron everything out—

Kleo:
You’ve been going through rough times ever since the day I met you.

George:
It’s this rooming house, isn’t it? These sick freaks? The stench?

Kleo:
A more mature man would have moved out or done something, anything to change his crumby life. But no. You just sit in a big self-sorry heap, moaning and groaning and violent.

George’:
I guess you never really gave a damn about me.

Kleo:
The truth is, I haven’t been giving much of a damn about me. What amazes me is, I really fell for it. I sensed you were seeing other women, but only when I saw Barbie lying across your bed did the truth sink in.

George:
You’re turning into a total paranoid, you know that?

Kleo:
Call me whatever you like. I just want to clear out of here as fast as possible. The problem with you, George, is you’re a narcissist. You can never get enough attention, never meet the “right” woman because no single invididual can satisfy you. So you’ll just go on devouring one woman after the other.

George:
Don’t go, Kleo, please. You’re the most incredible woman I ever—

Kleo:
[she emerges from his doorway, still stuffing her tote bag]
Save that talk for your next victim.

George:
Where the hell do you get off treating me this way? [begins sobbing] Don’t go, we can fix things— [as she walks through the exit door and downstairs he rushes after her]

Lazarus:
[emerging from Francis’ room] Well! That’s the end of that!

Marguerite:
You know what that means, don’t you Lazarus? [sound of voices arguing downstairs, followed by a door being slammed] You’d better lock yourself behind that door. Quickly!

Lazarus:
[Marguerite frantically tries to signal as Lazarus wanders across the landing] The big patoot had it coming to him. Cheating and complaining all the time, lying, taking her money...

George:
[comes barrelling through the exit doorway and lunges at Lazarus] I warned you, didn’t I? Today is the day I'll teach you that lesson.

Lazarus:
[begins to cry as George chokes him] Help me, someone, he—!
Oh please don’t hurt me, I didn’t really mean—

Francis:
[rushes out of his room toward them but holds back, wringing his hands together] Please God, don’t let him kill Lazarus. In the name of God,
please don’t—

George:
You shut your mouth or you’re next! [Francis retreats back to his room, still mumbling prayers]

Marguerite:
[screaming] Claudie! Claudie! Help! Emergency! Get up here now!

Claude:
[comes rushing through the exit doorway] Mr. Parko! George! Stop that!

George:
He’s been baiting me from day one. He has this coming to him! [attempting to push Lazarus upside down] I told him if he kept it up, I’d mop the floor with his filthy head!

Claude:
That’s enough, George. He’s learned his lesson. [after a continued struggle, George lets go] Are you okay, Lazarus? [gently helps Lazarus up onto his feet] Go and lie down now, take it easy. [turns to George] Come on with me, George, we’ll have a drink and talk it over, there’s a good guy.
[guides George through the exit doorway]

Marguerite:
[clapping wildly] I nominate Claudie for the Nobel Peace Prize!

Lazarus:
[shaking, his voice jittery and teeming with adrenaline as he makes his way back to his room] I’m freaking out. Is this it? Am I dying? Oh that bastard. I’ll take care of him one of these nights, when he least expects it. I’ll get him.

Francis:
[standing in his doorway] Vengeance is best left to God.

Lazarus:
I never knew anybody who really loved me. Charlie loves me! [he walks back to his room through the still-open door] God I could use a drink. Frankie, you got any of that hard stuff on hand? Anything?

Marguerite:
Come on Frankie, our boy could use a stiff one!

Lazarus:
[flops on his junk-piled bed and hugs the airmail letter] Oh, Charlie. Where the hell have you been? Why now? Why all these months later?

Marguerite:
I was just getting warmed up. I’ll share your celebration if you like!

Lazarus:
What the hell have I got that would make me that appealing?

Marguerite:
Maybe you’d be surprised at all the good you’ve got to offer, Lazarus.

Lazarus:
Weird how ravaged one’s body can get in a lousy few months. [getting up to look at himself in his dresser mirror]

Marguerite:
Lazzy, you always were your own worst critic. Isn’t it about time for a change?

Lazarus:
Getting old is a death sentence. Frankie should show a little gratitude. If it wasn’t for me, he’d have nothing to get up for every day.

Marguerite:
[nodding vigorously] Can’t argue with that.

Lazarus:
I wonder what Charlie would say if I stepped off that plane next week?

Marguerite:
I think he’d like you just fine!

Lazarus:
It’s been so long I can’t even remember his face.

Marguerite:
Go ahead, give it a try. Bet it’ll all come back to you.

Lazarus:
Did I ask him to dance?Or did he make the first move? Did we meet at Parody’s? Le Quark? Or Belles Rêves...?

Marguerite:
[lying back on the untidy bed, her voice taking on a wistful, nostalgic tone]
Or any number of steamy bistros crammed with hungry bodies back
in the seductive June air...

Lazarus:
...when Mount Royal was worth the long, late night walk...

Marguerite:
Ah, you remind me of those crazy days when I was too young to care about
where I was going.

Lazarus:
Funny, how quickly the future comes.

Marguerite:
Faster and deadlier than you suspect, Mon Cher.

Lazarus:
Like acid dust...

Marguerite:
...eating lines into the very flesh you once believed would never betray you.
Still, we mustn’t allow ourselves to wallow in misery.

Lazarus:
Was it New York Charlie whose mouth I embraced...

Marguerite:
...as the moon crept through the naked branches of budding maple and birch...

Lazarus:
Was it Maritime Charlie I kissed goodbye at the corner of Sherbrooke
and Rue Saint Denis—

Marguerite:
—as the incense of raw new earth inundated your senses?

Lazarus:
Or Japanese Charlie whose devouring grip—

Marguerite:
—and hypnotic disposition—

Lazarus:
—swept me off my feet?

Marguerite:
[plants a giant kiss on the air] We’ll see each other again!

Lazarus:
Let’s keep in touch!

Marguerite:
But which Charlie or Byron or Frank didn’t speak those words?

Lazarus:
His face...if I could remember his face... [stands and walks to the bashed mirror] Lines, lines and more lines. Blast Francis, that pathological, wishful-thinking liar! If anybody around here looks like a wizened hag, it’s that old prude.

Marguerite:
Maybe the little imbecile sees more of himself in you than he cares to admit!

Lazarus:
This isn’t fair. Where does that little shit come off calling me evil? Why is this happening to me? Oh, this is just too much! [obsessively runs his fingers through his hair]

Marguerite:
For the same reason you keep egging him on. It gives his dry, gray cold life a kick!

Lazarus:
[still staring at his reflection] Not much beauty left.

Marguerite:
You’re wrong there, Lazzy. [gets up and begins to circle him] You’ve got a hell of a ton more passion than you give yourself credit for. Trust me.

Lazarus:
[turns away from the mirror] I might as well just...

Marguerite:
Oh Lazarus, do you think I don’t know what you’re going through? For three months you’ve been unable to ignore the tufts of hair you leave in your bed and on the shower floor. The rusty streaks you cough up, your inability to sleep, exhaustion—my God, even I’m in better shape than you. [takes a swig] I think maybe I can help you after all, Lazarus. [bathed in a gradual white light, she reveals herself to him]

Lazarus:
[shocked, drops back on his bed] Oh Christ, now I’m hallucinating.

Marguerite:
No, no, Lazarus, you’re not hallucinating. I’m a ghost. Claudie was telling you the truth! And I’m the one Francis talks to now and then. Remember, when he tried to tell you about the murdered janitor? Well it’s me! Marguerite!

Lazarus:
It can’t still be the effects of last night’s party...

Marguerite:
It’s not, I assure you. Now, we spirits have access to certain knowledge. I happen to know you’ve written yourself off as of, when was it now...oh yes, November the eleventh. The day after Harvey dropped you. By the way, you’ll be happy to know that two-timer got his!

Lazarus:
Harvey?

Marguerite:
Yeah! [slaps her knee and emits a bitter laugh] Got dumped by that twenty-year-old football player he left you for! Isn’t that sweet?

Lazarus:
[lets out a cackle] Maybe that’ll teach that swaggering parasite to go around acting like he’s God’s gift to other men.

Marguerite:
I hate to say this, Lazarus, but he was right about one thing. If you keep going the way you’ve been going, you’ll be a goner before your time.

Lazarus:
What are you talking about?

Marguerite:
This is why I am appearing to you. To tell you you’ve got a long life ahead of you. But only if you stop burning that candle at—my God, sometimes I think your candle’s got three ends!

Lazarus:
But I—

Marguerite:
No silly! You don’t have any disease! Got that? You’re not dying!
So clean up your act and start living again!

Lazarus:
You mean I’ve been worried for nothing? [gets up off the bed, half-smiling and walks over to the dresser] Damn Charlie, whoever the hell he was. Damn him for not taking me with him last summer.

Marguerite:
Do you think that would have changed anything?

Lazarus:
I could be living in the land of koalas and kiwis, making love to the surf instead of putting up with Francis and his holy tirades.

Marguerite:
Boy Friday? Somehow that wasn’t ever your style.

Lazarus:
At this point, even serfdom looks good. [picks up the air mail envelope] Basking in another man’s desire and gratitude...

Marguerite:
Amen! Well then, my boy, we’ve got work to do! You’ll start off with some more sleep, lay off the ecstasy and booze, maybe even take some of Francis’ vitamins!

Lazarus:
[slowly walking out of his room, over to the stove] Maybe all I need is a couple of months to clean up. Put on a few pounds, cut out the junk food,
leave this hell hole behind for good...

Marguerite:
That’s my boy!

Lazarus:
How’s about it Frankie? Are you with me? [Francis creeps to his doorway, pressing another statuette to his chest, and watches as Lazarus clicks on a burner, presses the envelope to his mouth before feeding it slowly, ritually to the flame.]

Lazarus:
Farewell Ecstasy. [whispers melodramatically and puts his arm around Francis as both of them watch the flying embers falter to the floor.]

Francis:
Farewell, Australia...

Lazarus:
Farewell, Charlie...

Marguerite:
Farewell!

[Curtain]

Saint Francis of Esplanade
 © 2001 Sonja Skarstedt

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