Fool for Love and Other Plays by Sam Shepard

April 17, 2011 at 8:00 am Leave a comment

Cowboy Mouth
Slim: Cut the shit, baby. You never knew that guy; he’s a million years old. Just tell the story.
Cavale: I do so, I do know him, Slim. He hung himself on my birthday. My birthday. And some lady tole my mom I was made from a hanged man. Poor bastard. And, Slim, he had a crow too. Just like Raymond. I read this dream book Baudelaire writ, and he said Nerval came to him half-crow, half-half-half-ass. Nah. I’m just teasing. I’m sorry Nerval, Slim. I don’t wanna’tell this story. It’s stupid. I’m sick of telling about people killing themselves, it makes me jealous.
Slim: Okay! Okay! Then don’t tell me a story! Don’t never tell me a story! Don’t never tell me another fucking story! See if I care! Nobody gives a rat’s ass anyway! I’m gonna’ play rock-and-roll! I’m gonna’ play some mean, shitkickin’ rock-and-roll!”

———–

Fool for Love, From left, Larry Lamb, Juliette Lewis and Martin Henderson in “Fool for Love” in London.
Eddie: May, I’m trying to take care of you. All right?
May: No, you’re not. You’re just guilty. Gutless and guilty.
Eddie: Great.
(He moves down left to table, sticking close to the wall. Pause)
May: (quietly, staying in the corner) I’m gonna’ kill her ya’ know.
Eddie: Who?
May: Who?
Eddie: Don’t talk like that.
(May slowly begins to move downstage right as Eddie simultaneously moves up left. Both of them press the walls as they move)
May: I am, I’m gonna’ kill her and then I’m gonna’ kill you. Systematically. With sharp knives. Two separate knives. One for her and one for you. (she slamms wall with her elbows. Wall resonates) So the blood doesn’t mix. I’m gonna’ torture her first though. Not you. I’m just gonna’ let you have it. Probably in the midst of a kiss. Right when you think everything’s been healed up. Right in the moment when you’re sure you’ve got me buffaloed. That’s when you’ll die.
(She arrives extreme down right at the very limits of the set. Eddie in the extreme up left corner. Pause.)
Eddie: You know how many miles I went outa’ my way just to come here and see you? You got any idea?
May: Nobody asked you to come.
Eddie: Two thousand, four hundred and eighty.
May: Yeah? Where were you, Katmandu or something?
Eddie: Two thousand, four hundred and eighty miles.
May: So what!
(He drops his head, stares at the floor. Pause. She stares at him. He begins to move slowly down left, sticking close to wall as he speaks.)
Eddie: I missed you. I did. I missed you more than anything I ever missed inmy whole life. I kept think’ about you the whole time I was driving. Kept seeing you. Sometimes just a part of you.
May: Which part?
Eddie: Your neck.
May: My neck?
Eddie: Yeah.
May: You missed my neck?
Eddie: I missed all of you but your neck kept coming up for some reason. I kept crying about your neck.
May: Crying?
Eddie: (he stops by stage-left door. She stays down right) Yeah. Weeping. Like a baby. Uncontrollabe. It would just start up and stop and then start up all over again. For miles. I couldn’t stop it. Cars would pass me on the road. People would stare at me. My face was all twisted up. I couldn’t stop my face.”

Entry filed under: Blogroll, Books.

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