[The scene opens with Our Hero going through the doors of his new apartment building. In much the same way a Kafkaesque character awakes realizing that, while he was mentally or physically asleep, reality has subtly altered, he is alerted by the presence of a number of people standing on the steps leading up to a dais or riser. At the top of the riser presides a judge, a black man. The young people (as they seem to be almost invariably so) are situated on the steps leading up tot he riser. They are uniformly unmoving. Movement, it seems, is unneccessary to the ends they seek to achieve. The entire congregation is lead by a fat girl in a pullover sweater and long shorts. She has short black hair, and her ankles are exposed.]
Our Hero gleans this is some sort of performance piece.
Our Hero – “Hey, what is it you are doing over here?”
A boy down the hall peeps his head out of a side door, answers:
The Boy – “They are commencing a performance of Dracula. Or maybe it is just rehearsals. At any rate, I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?
Our Hero scratches his chin reflectively. A partition separates the front of the occupied steps from the rest fo the hall.
Our Hero – “It must be modern. Experimental. Redefining the parameters fo the theater space, breaking down the fourth wall, that sort of thing. I’ll be damned. Bertold Brecht is rolling over in his grave.
[The fat girl comes forward, walks down a few steps to the front of the partition.
Fat Girl – “I adjudge him to be guilty.”
Our Hero – “Who? the damn vampire?”
[The young people shift about on the steps a little nervously, but no one seriously leaves their position. There must be some precise reason human beings are so situated for a ritualistic reenactment. One might wonder what it says about the nature of energy, time, geometry and force.]
Our Hero – “Mathematically positioned, they are. Mathematics dominates everything, it does. Mathematics is the secret language of the universe, it is.”
[A man in a wheelchair is carried down the steps. His face is a mottled horror of pustulent bils and sagging, deeply lined or scarred skin. He is dressed in modern conservative clothing, as are all the other actors. His face is clearly the result of old age makeup.]
The “Imp of the Perverse” takes hold of Our Hero. Leaning into the large, rectangular window in the wooden partion, he yells “Hey, this fellow want to participate. Should we let him in?”
The assembled performers look around them in slow confusion, as if coming out of a dream.
(2015)
Passages 