Joseph Riippi

RESEARCH: an Excerpt

ACT ONE

CHAPTER I

LIGHTS on when AUDIENCE sits.

Enter LUCY and MODERATOR.

LUCY and MODERATOR sitting in a room with a long mirror along one wall. They face each other from ends of a wooden table. The MODERATOR’s back is to AUDIENCE, such that they occupy something of his perspective. There are cups of coffee on the table. Styrofoam empties drip in a bin, indicating someone having been here previously. A video camera is on a tripod next to the MODERATOR and aimed at LUCY. There is a viewfinder trained on LUCY’s face. She is not necessarily attractive but she is interesting to look at. Perhaps she has very large glasses. If the AUDIENCE were given binoculars one could view this viewfinder from his or her seat and view LUCY’s face up close. This is important. There is also a microphone on the table. A few manila envelopes with papers rest neatly in the corner next to the MODERATOR. A notebook. LUCY has a purse with a blank book in it. It is a hardcover and has no discernable title or goldleaf but a bookmark might be interesting. She wears a scarf, gloves.

A long pause before LUCY speaks to indicate that they have been sitting there for a time.

LUCY

So no, then.

MODERATOR

No.

Brief pause.

LUCY

But why.

Same brief pause.

MODERATOR

Why would you think you could read in here?

LUCY

The last woman read. Or she had a book at least.

Brief pause.

The woman that was here before, I mean. Before me.

MODERATOR

The woman whom was here before you, you mean.

LUCY

That’s what I said. Briefer pause. She had a book, didn’t she?

MODERATOR

Shuffling papers. What makes you think there was someone here before you?

LUCY

It smells like paper. Like my mother was here. Sometimes the smell of books or libraries reminds me of my mother. Brief pause. Like, must, you know? Like bookstore mold. You know, you understand. Like a used bookstore’s moldy basement in rainy autumn. Southern Virginia, leaves ground into crackly floorboards, old copies of Walden, boots, Wellies--wellingtons, you follow? And beef Wellingtons. Cider apples, etc. LUCY holds her nose in the air for a long pause, cutting the MODERATOR off as he is about to deliver his next line. She is not instructive so much as sharing thoughts as they occur. Plus someone is always “here” before we are “here,” you know? What seems like first is never, really. To you at least. Not really. Columbus had to kill a lot of people to make believe—to make others and us, I mean—believe he was first.

MODERATOR

I was the only one here when you got here.

LUCY

Well, I won’t kill you for it. Pause. LUCINDA enters stage right where JASON is already seated in dark. She is late, removes a coat, drops a purse, etc. She whispers something to JASON, probably “Sorry, I couldn’t find a cab.” He nods, whispers back something like, “No worries, we just started.” The lights remain dim on their side of the mirror.

MODERATOR

I appreciate that.

LUCY

It smells like she was reading a really old book.

MODERATOR

The last woman who was here, was here yesterday. And she left yesterday. They’ve cleaned since then. He indicates trash bin. Whatever you smell isn’t her. It wasn’t her book. Brief pause I mean, that is, if there were, or if she had a book. Perhaps it is these papers. During the next lines LUCY unwinds her scarf from around her neck as she begins to feel more comfortable and in control. She uses the scarf and other accessories throughout the action as a way of indicating levels of stress or thought or intensity-of-memory. Tightening the scarf around her neck might be similar to the way a nervous smoker would light a cigarette in a police interrogation.

LUCY

What was she reading? I only read new books. Fresh off the presses. So fresh there’s no smell.

MODERATOR

I’m sorry, Miss Pearle, but we really need to move on.

LUCY

Except warm. I’d say new books have a warmer smell. You know? You understand what I mean? Comprehend? Acknowledge? See? You see. You see, you do. Warm isn’t a smell. Not really. Not in the way we use the word. Not even as much as “cold” can be a smell. But you get the idea. I have an idea of it so you must have an idea of it. Is it a stretch to think like that? That because I understand, it follows that you should, too? At least vaguely understand. Is there a word for that? There must be. In this language or in another. There are words for everything. And different languages.

MODERATOR

With all due respect, Miss Pearle, we must—

LUCY

Oh, of course you know. You see what I mean. You get it. “A new book can smell warm.” Just leave it at that. That’s the strange thing about new books. They are warm, then cool off after printing, but get warmer as they age, with all the handling. Even in the musty basement, the yellow pages. Warmer, not colder, not like—

MODERATOR

Interrupting. We really do need to move on.

LUCY

Why? Isn’t this— (indicates the space between herself and the moderator) —the point of all this? (indicates the mirror, rest of the stage).

MODERATOR

We do have specific topics to cover. This, them, you. (indicates the same as LUCY) All of it has certain objectives.

LUCY

Such as?

MODERATOR

Such as your father. The day he died. Brief pause. What he smelled like, if you prefer. Briefer pause. Warm. Or cold, you understand.

LUCY

Putting her scarf back on. Okay, so, my father. I see what you mean. Talk about my father.

MODERATOR

Yes.

LUCY

Yes. Long pause. Are we going to talk?

MODERATOR

Your father was a veteran, wasn’t he?

LUCY

A veteran?

MODERATOR

Of a war.

LUCY

Oh. Yes.

MODERATOR

He knew his way around a gun, I mean.

LUCY

If one were on the floor, I’ve no doubt he could find his way around it, yes.

MODERATOR

Chuckles. Funny.

LUCY

You think guns are funny?

MODERATOR

No, I—

LUCY

There is nothing funny about guns, my father would have said. There is nothing funny about guns excepting cartoon guns which shoot out flags with messages instead of bullets, like the coyote and the bird.

MODERATOR

Okay, so let’s talk about how guns aren’t funny.

LUCY

Makes a gun with her finger. BLAMMO! Now imagine an ad for a taxidermist hanging here. Indicates end of her index finger.

MODERATOR

Lucy.

LUCY

Makes gun with each hand now, like pistols. KAPOW! ZIP-BANG! BOOM-A-ZOOM! She laughs.

MODERATOR

As to your father, Lucy. I have his last words to you here. Or what you reported were his last words.

LUCY

Blows smoke off imaginary guns. What I reported.

MODERATOR

Yes.

LUCY

In cowboy voice, holstering the guns. What I done said to the sheriff.

MODERATOR

Yes.

LUCY

Regular voice. It was very cold that night. I remember that. They had me in the paddy wagon, the police car. The lights were on, but no sirens. They brought me an uncomfortable blanket. You could put a fire out with that blanket it was so cold. Points imaginary gun. FIRE! FIRE!

MODERATOR

Do you know what it says here?

LUCY

About the blanket?

MODERATOR

No—

LUCY

About the fire, then.

MODERATOR

No, about what you said your father said.

Joseph Riippi is the author of five books, including Research: A Novel for Performance and Because, which Flavorwire called one of “the best indie books of 2014 so far.” He lives in Fort Greene, Brooklyn.