The Magic Circus The Magic Circus - Scene 15
The Magic Circus - Scene 15
Monday, 08 December 2008 22:51
Monk walks the grounds of the Huntington, passes through zen garden, goes inside. Finds a seat at a table big enough to work on his drawings. As he’s thus occupied an old Indian man (OIM) approaches. The OIM stands behind Monk until Monk, sitting, turns around to face him.
Monk – Can I help you?
OIM – Oh, I don’t know. I thought I might be able to help you.
Monk looks around the empty room; low bookshelves, paintings, neatly arranged rows of tables, and two big windows shed light on the room.
Monk – Really?
OIM nods, hands held against chest, fingers touching.
Monk – In what way?
OIM – This way, that way, The Middle Way.
Monk – (laughs) You’re funny.
OIM – Yes. I went to funny school, long time.
Monk – Studied under Professor McFunny, I suppose.
OIM – Swami McFunny, actually.
Monk – No shit.
OIM smiles, nods.
Monk – Well, then, maybe you can help me out, because I could use the help of a master.
OIM leans closer looking at Monk’s drawings.
OIM – With your art?
Monk – With my life.
OIM – Oh, but life is art, and art is life. You cannot separate them, I no longer am aware of where one ends and the other begins.
Pause
Monk – Like with Scotch tape when the end sticks to the roll and you have to run your fingernail around it to find the seam?
OIM – (smiling) Exactly.
OIM stands peacefully smiling at Monk who squirms.
OIM – And sometimes…probably half the time (raises finger, winks) you must start over in the other direction.
Monk gets it. Laughs. Points finger at OIM and winks back.
OIM looks over Monk’s shoulder at drawings.
OIM – So, what are you creating?
Monk – Oh, I’m just drawing some animals.
OIM shakes head slowly, sadly and breathes.
OIM – Your use of “just” is unjust. You draw and you create, behind every creation is a story. What is the genesis of your creation?
Monk stares at OIM, looks around empty room again.
Monk – Do you really want to hear this?
OIM – I asked. And I have free time.
Monk – Everyone else’s costs money.
OIM looks out window, leaning down to see where the sun is in the sky.
OIM – It’s noon on a Tuesday. Shouldn’t you be working like all the other good people in the world.
Monk – (waves hand) This isn’t exactly a disco.
OIM – No. And it’s not a Country Club, either. This is Los Angeles in the 21st Century, where most people’s highest aspiration is to enjoy themselves as much as possible before they die. Right now, though, this room is ours and we have the opportunity to share a moment, a moment to talk about life and art.
Monk – Or art and life.
OIM smiles. Monk’s been looking up to OIM’s face, awkwardly, his neck is sore, he looks down and sees OIM’s feet, plain ugly in thin sandals beneath cuffs of khakis frayed and floodwater high. They were not happy feet.
OIM – What is your name?
Monk stands to introduce himself properly, sticks out his hand, hesitates.
Monk – William.
OIM – William. Are you sure it’s not Bill or Billy. Maybe Mac or Buddy. What do your friends call you?
Monk – Monkeyboy.
OIM – Good friends these?
Monk shrugs.
OIM – Tell me about these animals (points to drawings).
Monk – Well, alright. They're part of a circus…
A happy couple enters the room, laughing, touching. The OIM and Monk look up from the drawings. The couple’s appearance breaks a spell.
OIM – Yes…
Monk starts talking, camera pans back, words grow inaudible. Monk and OIM are seen against the light of the window from the distance of the opposite wall.
End Scene