Michael McClure: Josephine the Mouse Singer

[Josephine tears off the tiara and throws it on the floor and jumps up and down on it.]

JOSEPHINE:

Darn it!

[Prettily jumping up and down, crushing the tiara.]

Darn! Darn! Darn!

[She looks around furiously.]

I'm so mad I could snap and bite!

[She takes a little jump on the smashed tiara.]

Darn!

[She kicks the tiara out of the pool of light. She speaks contemptuously.]

WHAT
I
WANT
IS
FREEDOM
for my art!
My songs are unique,
immortal, different!


[She poses beautifully in the posture of song.]

Freedom for my art
and they could give it to me!
My songs serve the people.
My singing brings them
together
—even if they stand there
with noses in each other's fur,
or clothes, they know
when
they hear
my songs
that they're together.
That there's a transcendence
beyond everything and . . .

[She jumps up and down lightly in a fury.]

Oh damn! Darn!
They must learn to give me liberty
and freedom for what I want!
I'm reasonable!

[She looks in her mirror.]

I'll go to the court of judges.
They'll hear me!

[She swirls a scarf over her shoulder.  There is a back¬ground sound of occasional drumbeats.]

I'll pull my reward like a rosy
freckled apple
from the highest
branch.

[She coughs a little cough.]

How weak I am.
I give my all
in singing.
I
burn myself up
swiftly
—a bonfire of leaves
lit in many places.
I'm a hot red flame
with little smoke.
I'll
tell
them.

[Josephine hurls on a light cape and begins to march vigor¬ously, determinedly, and lightly. She walks in a spiraling pattern. The pool of light follows her around the bare stage.]

I'll
let them know
once more!
I'm mad!
Oh darn!
I'll tell the judges to free me so I can sing.

[Tableau of Josephine. Her arms upraised. Light pulls down to a tight spot on her and then goes out.]

JOSEPHINE:
BUT
I
CAN
NOT
do my best.
I
sing for you
over and above
my daily labor.
After I sing
I must work
—you know I am delicate
and I cannot
recover my full
strength.
There is not time
to
rest.
Then there is some
great grief
or problem
and
I
must sing
and bring
you together
once again
and raise your
spirits
with
my songs.
It is a cycle.
I
sing
then I must
work.
Then I have
no rest
(for singing drains me)
but
then I
must sing
again—for you . . .
and I
am further
weakened.
Each
concert
comes
out of me
and is for you.
But
you
cannot
have the heights
of my potentialities.
YOU CANNOT HAVE THE WHOLE
SPIRIT
for
I
am constantly
weakened
in my great endeavor
for your benefit.
I am growing weaker
all the time.
[She coughs.]

I cough.

[A sycophant mouse comes up an each side to lightly sup¬port her.]

And I limp.
If you
will give
me my full
strength—as I
was meant to have
it for
my singing
—for my singing alone—
and grant me an exemption
from daily labor
—not because it is odious
to me—but
because my songs
and singing
are so much more
than labor
THEN,
THEN I
can sing
for you with
full devotion,
concentration, refined
skill primed with energy,
and highest art.
YOU
CAN
all
feel
what
I
feel.
You can be
like gods
of liberation.
But I am
chained
by
work.
—I grant you work is necessary
duty.

But
for
my great calling
and my gift I'd
never
request
this
just demand.

[She coughs. She limps.]

NEVER
has this request been
made of our tribe
before . . .
[Josephine turns to face the direction where the judges will appear.

[A light appears on the face of Baby. Baby speaks two words out loud—wonderingly, in love, and to himself.]

BABY:
She's wonderful!

[Baby clacks his dowels.]

[There is the rap of a gavel on wood. Then a clack of the dowels as the light on Baby's face goes black. There is an¬other rap of a gavel.]

JOSEPHINE [turning]:
Oh, hear me, judges of our people,
kind great judges,
no one has made this just
request
before.
I
make it not
for myself but
for the tribe
that they
may feel
and know
what I know
and
can bring them with
my song
—like pearls of wheat glistening
with the dew
by early morning moonlight.
Free me from the need
to work.
Give me liberty,
exemption, liberation
from labor,
so I may only
sing,
Oh judges.

JUDGE:
Daughter of our people,
like a kindly
father we hear
your plea
and see your outstretched hand.
We understand
the moving of the moon
and the roaring
of the sea
and we know
KNOW
what you
ask
and it is our task,
Josephine, to tell you no!
The joy of work must never take a dimmer glow!
NO, JOSEPHINE!

[Bangs gavel]

NO!

BABY [calling]:
Josephine!
Where are you?

[He clacks his dowels]

I heard you!

[Josephine steps into the light. She is startled to see Baby. She turns away from him. She puts her hand to her brow in embarrassment and displeasure]

BABY:
Darling, how beautiful our
love was in the moonlight
pouring through the bars
underneath the porch.
How
lovely
you clutched
me as we moved
into blackness.

[Josephine starts to walk away. The spotlight follows her. Baby follows in the spot. Josephine does not turn to look at Baby]

BABY [continuing]:
Josephine, it's me—me, your lover.
Stop, don't go.
Remember . . .

JOSEPHINE [turning, in grief]:
Don't!

BABY:
I'll never stop,
my dearest.

[Josephine turns and walks. Baby pursues her]

BABY [continuing]:
Recall fur rubbing
together—and our shoulders
pressing. Castles came into
being all around us—star-
studded, pearl-encrusted—
with limitless vistas
to the past and present
and the future.
Red roses
opened
and pollen
fell on us in snowstorms
of perfumed pleasure.
Lightning bolts of velvet
shot back and forth
between us.

JOSEPHINE:
Sure, yes, and sable silhouettes
of our joys built cities
and opened shops and performed
operas on the cliff tops
among the endless
forests of our feelings.
Satin eagles in clown
masks took us from
our bed of petals
and flew us
to
the
sunset.
I
remember
all
of
that!
Now
stop!
STOP!
I'm walking away.
I do not know
you.
That was
a
moment!
It is all past.
Now is now.
Those vistas were
stage sets for the comedy
of imagination.
I'm
in search of ...

BABY:  
You're after me.

JOSEPHINE :
. . . in search of the real,
the reality of song.

BABY:
My arms are songs.

JOSEPHINE:
My songs are arms.

BABY:
My body tells me
you must have my babies.

JOSEPHINE:
Disgusting! We'd be
like any others! Growing
paunchy! Turning stupid.
Freed of aspirations we'd be
dull bags of flesh.
We'd
be
as
all
the others.
There'd be
no difference.

BABY:
I love you!

JOSEPHINE:
Can you hear me?
You love me because I am
different—I am Josephine
the Singer. But the feelings
—all the fireworks—fly
between
any two in our tribe.
I
am
not
different
in my body—
I am Josephine
in my songs.
Any
female
can give you
pleasure.

BABY:
I love you!

JOSEPHINE:
You are trying
to make me ordinary!
You'd
reduce me
to being a
female.
You'd
sacrifice
me to your maleness.
Can't
you hear?
I
am Josephine the Singer!

BABY:
You must be the mother of my babies.

JOSEPHINE:
Get away.

[Josephine and Baby walk away with the light following them.]


BABY:
This is perfect love.

JOSEPHINE :
This is ordinary love
for all love—all love
I tell you—is perfect.
And all love is ordinary.

BABY:
This is like nothing
else I've felt.
Be the mother of our children!

JOSEPHINE [stalking away in the light]:
My songs are my only children.

BABY [pursuing her as light moves with them]:
Wait!

JOSEPHINE [fleeing]:
Go away, Baby, go away!

BABY [pursuing]:
Josephine!

JOSEPHINE:
My songs are my only children.

BABY:
They don't have fur and whiskers
or loving, piping voices!

JOSEPHINE:
Stay there!

[Josephine runs out of the light. Baby is left standing in light. The stage goes to black.

[Drumbeats turn to ringing of the bike bell.

[The light comes up on a group of mice—Sycophants One and Two and others. They are seated at a table.}

SYCOPHANT ONE [ringing the bike bell]:
Meeting called to order.

SYCOPHANT TWO AND OTHERS:
Hear! Hear!

FIRST MOUSE:
We must relieve Josephine
and obtain, for her, an exemption
from
odious
labor.

SECOND MOUSE:
All right.

THIRD MOUSE:
What can we do?

SYCOPHANT TWO:
Why don't we do this orderly, sirs?
We've been called to order.
SYCOPHANT ONE:
That's right.
I called us to order.

FIRST MOUSE:
It's now or never.
We must do something.

THIRD MOUSE:
I agree.

SECOND MOUSE:
We've been called to order.

SYCOPHANT ONE [ringing bell}:
We'll begin.
George, what do you say?

SYCOPHANT TWO:
I think first we should get
ourselves level. Take off
our caps and scratch our heads.

[He scratches his head.]

FIRST MOUSE:
I second that!

SECOND MOUSE:
Shall we vote?

SYCOPHANT ONE:
Shhhhhh!

THIRD MOUSE:
I have an idea.

ALL:
Hear!

THIRD MOUSE:
We could
go to bed and sleep
till
Josephine
receives the exemption
that she's
after.

MOUSE ONE:
NO!

MOUSE TWO:
That's unthinkable.
Too bold!

SYCOPHANT TWO:
There might not be
enough of us to
register our
disapproval
that way.


MOUSE ONE :
And we'd get
hungry
in bed.

NEW MOUSE [entering the light]:
Oooops!
Sorry I'm late.
But
I've got a thought.
We could picket!
Walk around
with signs.

SECOND MOUSE:
The tribe won't
like that-that's
pressure.
We could
make things
worse.

FIRST MOUSE:
Or, if we're going to create anger
—let's win
our case.

MOUSE:
Look, we can do
her work for her.

MOUSE:
No!

MOUSE:
Certainly
not.

MOUSE:
That's easy!

MOUSE:
No, this is a moral
issue.

SYCOPHANT TWO:
Here's an idea!

ALL:
Hear! Let's hear!

SYCOPHANT TWO [pause]:
On reflection, it won't work,
sirs and ma'ams.
SYCOPHANT ONE:
You must tell it
if you bring
it
up.

[Baby enters, distracted.]

BABY [to himself]:
We've got to help her
even if we invent
new passions
to
do
it!

SYCOPHANT TWO:
Nothing like it
has ever been done before.
It's unthinkable.

THIRD MOUSE:
Well, tell it.

SYCOPHANT TWO [warming to it]:
Oh, it's a scary one.

SYCOPHANT ONE:
Nothing is as scary as a cat.

NEW MOUSE:
That gave me a chill.
Don't say that.

THIRD MOUSE [to Sycophant Two]:
Tell us.

SYCOPHANT TWO:
Well, here it is, sirs and ma'ams,
we set up our own court.

NEW MOUSE [shocked]:
No!

BABY [to himself]:
Maybe this is it!

SYCOPHANT TWO:
And some of us are judges . . .

FIRST MOUSE:
Bravo!


SYCOPHANT ONE:
And since we're the only judges
we give Josephine what
she wants.

FIRST MOUSE:
We'll do it!

SECOND MOUSE:
An ad hoc court!

SEVERAL MICE:
Hooray!

SYCOPHANT TWO:
Now, there's one trick to it.
One flaw.

FIRST MOUSE:
What?

SYCOPHANT TWO:
Why will the people pay
any attention to us
when they're used
to the other
court of judges?

BABY [to himself]:
Yes?

SECOND MOUSE:
Yes. Why?

SYCOPHANT TWO:
I've thought about it . .

[Pause]

SYCOPHANT ONE [excitedly ringing the bell]:
Well, tell us why.

SYCOPHANT TWO [scratching his head]:
Well . . .

SYCOPHANT ONE:
Yes!

SYCOPHANT TWO:
Nothing like this has
been done before.

SYCOPHANT ONE:
In our lifetimes?


SYCOPHANT TWO:
Maybe never.

MOUSE ONE:
What? Tell me
before I pee my pants!

SYCOPHANT TWO [pause]:
We kidnap the judges.

[There is a shocked silence.]

Then we're
the only ones.
The only judges.

SYCOPHANT ONE:
That's horrible!

SYCOPHANT TWO:
We lock them
in the dark
and we make
ourselves
the judges.

FIRST MOUSE:
I like that.

SECOND MOUSE:
We can't do that!
It's illegal.

FIRST MOUSE:
Hooray for the kidnapping.

THIRD MOUSE:
They'd do awful things to us
afterward.

SECOND MOUSE:
And it would backfire
on Josephine.

NEW MOUSE:
The judges would ruin
her when they got free.

SYCOPHANT ONE:
And it would backfire on
everyone . . .

SYCOPHANT TWO:
It was just an idea, Miss.

FIRST MOUSE:
Yeah, it wouldn't work.

NEW MOUSE:
I've got to get going.
—Late for dinner.

SECOND MOUSE:
Me too.
See you later.

SYCOPHANT ONE:
Meeting adjourned.
Try to think of something.

[The mice walk out of the light one at a time.}


SYCOPHANT ONE:
Make way for Josephine!

[She rings her bell.}
Josephine is coming.

JOSEPHINE:
I've strained my leg in laboring!
My
songs
will suffer
from this—and the tribe
will be the ultimate losers.
Singing
that is more beautiful
than love should not
be lost
by a people
who are in need of music.

PURPLE DRESS [in the other spotlight with Stocking Cap, etc.}:
What she does not know
—some of the old mice say—
is that if it were
truly singing
or real music
of great breadth
then we would not listen
or we would
be alarmed.
In fact,
they say
it is only
a token, the merest
shadow
of music,
that we will allow
ourselves to listen to ...

STOCKING CAP:
I don't understand.

ANOTHER MOUSE:
That's cynical.

SYCOPHANT ONE [in the other spotlight and speaking to Josephine]:
Could you be asking
too much
of the
judges?

JOSEPHINE:
It is like a vulgar trick.
The tribe gives me all
I want
—I mean
they fancy
that they give
me what I want
by giving me their
dull attentions.
Then
they
hold
back
and keep from me
the prime necessity
that would make my songs
completely blossom.
It
is
liberty
for
ART
that I demand.
I know my enemies claim it is revolution.
Nothing like what I ask has ever
happened so it is seen
as
a
threat.

SYCOPHANT ONE:
It is a crown on the highest branch.

JOSEPHINE:
I'd rather have it higher than lower.
Stop here. I'm going to think.

PURPLE DRESS [in another spotlight]:
We must tell Josephine about
the dead we've seen and all
the dying that goes on.

STOCKING CAP:
Do you think she cares?

PURPLE DRESS:
Well, yes,
I think she would.
She does not think of the deaths
as related to her concerts.
She sees those deaths,
like
songs,
as acts of Nature.

ANOTHER MOUSE:
Let's tell her.

PURPLE DRESS:
O.K.
We'll practice
telling her.

PURPLE DRESS [calling into the darkness]:
Josephine.

STOCKING CAP:
Josephine!

ANOTHER MOUSE [calling out]:
Josephine,
there's too much death
and dying.

PURPLE DRESS [calling to Josephine]:
You must be reasonable!

STOCKING CAP:
That's how we'll tell her.

PURPLE DRESS:
Remember when she was once
told that her songs were
folk-piping modified
to be singing
by the subtlety
of her consciousness?


ANOTHER MOUSE:
I'll never forget it.
Josephine gave me a chill.

PURPLE DRESS:
No mouse ever made
a face like that
before!

ANOTHER MOUSE:
It made my skin crawl.

PURPLE DRESS:
It was a smile of such
arrogance and haughty
contempt
that it tattooed itself
on my memory
forever.
Even from the back rows
I could see it.

STOCKING CAP:
It's about time to go back to work.

SYCOPHANT ONE:
There has been a tragedy in the life of Josephine.
Her pain is driving her to
greater intensity of song.
We cannot tell
you what her
sorrow is
but she is bereft.
It is a pain of loss.
She has lost someone.

SYCOPHANT TWO [reading from a scroll]:
Not only has she suffered loss
but she is exhausted from both
singing and her daily labor.
Unselfishly
she wishes only to please
you
in her
greatest pain.
Her sorrow in the beauty
of her songs may give support
to the tribe . . .
But . . .

[He puts the scroll away and continues.]

. . . she
must give in
to her pain and to her duties.
She
only wishes to bring you
the highest and the finest
so
rather than dilute her song
Josephine
will sing in the future
—till her wish is granted
by the judges—
she will sing
in the future
without grace
notes
in her
song.
There will be no grace notes.

[He looks at the scroll again.]

Her song will be unadorned.
No grace notes.

NARRATOR:
In fact, Josephine will be a smaller
and smaller episode
in our eternal history.

NARRATOR [continuing without taking notice of the heroes]:
Against our history,
was Josephine's piping
really—in fact—louder
than the memory of it will be?

NARRATOR:
Or does everything pass?
She has gone beyond
the earthly sorrows she expected
and like a chosen spirit
she will happily lose herself
in the endless throng of the heroes
of our people . . .

NARRATOR:
And soon she'll rise
to the ultimate redemption
—since we are no historians—
of being forgotten
like all her brothers.