CAROUSEL WIND
Act 1 Scene 2
[Joy is at her parent's summerhouse with parents and her grandfather, an ex Vaudeville performer. They have a beach house on the Jersey Shore near the Amusement Park where all this occurs. Most of the action takes place in the backyard which is inundated with dandelions. They are having afternoon tea.]
Molly:
We've got to do something about all these dandelions. Frank, [pointing to the neighbor's yard] next door keeps his lawn immaculate. I feel guilty when the wind blows the seeds that way.
Grandad: [wearing a
fedora]
It's like an invasion of paratroopers.
Nanny:
Now don't get started on the war...[to Molly changing
the subject]
I see you've kept up the tradition of Afternoon tea. Do you do that everyday,
or is this just for our benefit?
Molly:
I try to have it every day. Even when I'm at
the train store I take a tea-break at four. And Sundays we always have roast
beef and Yorkshire pudding, with upside down peach cake for desert.
Joy:
Grandad, can you show me one of your Vaudeville
routines?
Nanny:
Don't get him started, he'll never stop.
[to Grandad]
And you know what your doctor said.
Grandad:
How about the "Lion Tamer and the
Poet," that one isn't too strenuous?
Nanny:
Just that one and then it's time for your nap
Grandad: [Sings, dances and makes funny gestures]
I might have been the juggler who left things
up in the air
I might have flown from my trapeze and found nobody's there
I might have been the tight rope guy whose slip was Freudian
But I was just ambitious climbing one too many rungs
Nanny, Molly and Grandad
[in harmony]
Cause I feel just like the big top when
the hurricane hits town
And I wonder will the show go on before it's off the ground
Grandad: [sings]
I might have been the sad eyed clown who couldn't
get a laugh
The masochist magician who sawed himself in half
Or the all too human cannonball who jumped the gun
But I was just ambitious climbing one too many rungs
Nanny, Molly, Joy and
Grandad [in harmony]
Cause I feel just like the big top when the hurricane hits town
And I wonder will the show go on before it's off the ground
Grandad: [sings]
I might have been a fire eater a hellish breath
inside
I might have been a swollower of daggers not my pride
I might have been a tattooed man with words on tip of tongue
But I was just ambitious climbing one too many rungs
Nanny, Molly, Joy and Grandad [in harmony]
I might have been an acrobat a pretzel out of
shape
I might have been Houdini who didn't quite escape
I might have left the circus and had a lot more fun
But I was just ambitious climbing one too many rungs
Nanny, Molly, Joy, Grandad and
the Great Engineer who steps out of the house [in harmony]
Cause I feel just like the big top when the hurricane
hits town
And I wonder will the show go on before it's off the ground
Grandad: [sings]
The Equestrian Director stopped this song and
said
You might have been the lion tamer who lost his head
"It's better to be a word tamer and make a slip of the lip
Than to be a lion tamer and forget to bring your whip"
Nanny, Molly, Joy, Grandad and the Great Engineer [in harmony]
Cause I feel just like the big top when the hurricane
hits town
And I wonder will the show go on before it's off the ground
Grandad: [speaks]
When
I was a budding poet I had a summer job
working in the circus with the lion tamer.
My duties entailed cleaning the cage floor
and putting Wintergreen
Breath Mints in the lions' mouths.
It so happened that one day
I neglected my duty to clean the cage floor
where the lions did their routine.
I had been struck
by the sudden urge to write a sonnet.
I took an unscheduled break
and inscribed the sonnet
on the back of a circus poster.
The lion tamer came in to the cage,
right in the middle of my poetic inspiration,
slipped on something
and soiled his bright red silk pants.
He got quite upset about that and said,
"Put your head in here,"
referring a one particular lion who was yawning.
Now I've done all kinds of things
to get inspirations for poetry, and so forth
so I put my head in that lion's mouth.
I didn't hesitate
because the Lion Tamer
had a whip and a chair in each hand
and I'm not inclined to argue with someone
holding a revolver to my head.
I put my head in the lion's mouth.
It was at that instant
I realized that I had neglected my duty
of inserting the Wintergreen Breath Mints.
And while my head was in that lion
I heard the phone ring in the
distance as the lion tamer was paged.
Then I heard the pathetic sound of a whip
being dragged across the sawdust
as the fearless one left the cage.
It turned out to be quite a long call.
So I had time to think
about that sonnet I had just written.
I wondered, with my head still in that lion's mouth,
was it worth it to risk one's life,
just for the sake of literature.
After all, it wasn't a very good sonnet.
Well that was the summer
I learned the importance of literary criticism.
What stuck in my mind most though
was the esprit de l'escalier
from the Equestrian Director.
He was the one who pulled me out of the lions' jaws;
after reading the sonnet
that I had dropped on the cage floor.
He said: "It is better to be a poet
and make a slip of the lip
than to be a lion tamer and
forget to bring your wits"
Or is it wit,
No, it's: "forget to bring your revolver."
[Everyone claps and laughs]
Grandad:
I'll never forget the time I was in Africa
and I felt something licking my hand.
I looked down and saw a lion,
So I shot it with my bayonet
Nanny:
Now he's started...
Molly:
Why don't you do the Little Soft Shoe?
Grandad:
This one is set in an English Park, Nanny could you do the bit with the copper?
[sings:]
When I was so young
Around thirty two
The times were so tough
And we had to make do
I always pulled through
With a little soft shoe
A bench for a bed
All drenched in dew
My only cover
Was yesterday's news
I always woke up
With a little soft shoe
Nanny: [nudging him with a baking roller she brought out from the kitchen]
From the man in blue...
Grandad: [sings]
When silver falls
Through the lining
And you've lost your only
Patch of blue
Then you can be sure
That something shining
Is bound to make
A breakthrough
I was a bum
But a gentleman too
I always managed
To pay for my stew
The best way to make it is
With a little soft shoe
When silver falls
Through the lining
And you've lost your only
Patch of blue
Then you can be sure
That something shining
Is bound to make
A breakthrough
I was a bum
But a gentleman too
I always managed
To pay for my stew
The best way to fake it is
With a little soft shoe
[more applause from family]
Great Engineer:
How about that train dance? I'll put a plank down over
the grass.
[he gets a plank from a pile
beside the house]
Grandad:
Just this last one. [Grandad starts off slowly shuffling his feet, wearing brown brouges. His hands move like pistons starting slowly then picking up speed. He tilts his head back and whistles like a train. The dance is slow in duration.]
[applause]
Nanny:
That's enough for today. [She takes Grandad inside. The lights turn orange and dim suggesting it is evening.]
Nanny: [from inside]
Call the Doctor! Grandad is having a stroke!
[A stretcher is taken in and two EMT's carry Grandad out. Flashing lights suggest an ambulance. Stage lights darken and a split scene appears. In the foreground is a campfire on the beach, with Enigma and Mr. Poet, in the background while the song "Death" is being sung the Montagne family are at a hospital bedside as Grandad is passing Away.]
Mr. Poet: [sitting across from Enigma with guitar]
Did you ever see the movie "The Seventh Seal?"
Enigma:
Is that about an Aquatic creature?
Mr. Poet:
No. It's about a medieval knight who is visited
by Death, you know, the Grim Reaper, who has come to take the knight away. So
the knight bargains with Death over a game of chess. This song is a humorous
look at that situation. [Sings:]
When death comes for you
It's hard to make him leave
You have e to have a plan
And an ace up your sleeve
Play him a game or two
Keep your poker face
You can even shake his hand
But avoid his cold embrace
Cause you can cheat on Death
And live with a tale to tell
But if you cheat on love
Fury waits for you in hell
Death is dressed in black
Straight from a Bergman flick
Sit him down for chess
And take him out with tricks
Glance above his shoulder
To some phantom unseen
And when he isn't looking
You take away his Queen
Cause you can cheat on Death
And live with a tale to tell
But if you cheat on love
Fury waits for you in hell
Death hates Love
When the love has no end
That's why death
Has false love for a friend
Still, Death needs love
Like a door needs a knob
For if there were no love
Death would be without a job
You can't escape from Death
He lets you cheat on him
Cause there may come a time
He will have you cheat again
Death has false Love breathing
Down your neck so cold
With True Love as your trump card
Disgusted Death will fold
Cause you can cheat on Death
And live with a tale to tell
But if you cheat on love
Fury waits for you in hell
Enigma
So you give death the Devil's attributes
Mr. Poet:
Yes, but remember, it's just a song
[The next day in the backyard of the summerhouse, Joy is with her mother at the table drinking tea]
Molly Montagne [to Joy taking a poem from her puzzle box]
I keep my favorite poems in here.
I have one that is just four lines,
But it explains that going to the source of a river,
One that begins on a mountain,
Is like returning to your maker.
Your grandad liked it:
I heard a saying that went:
'A friend is like a mountain
Seen best from far away.'
Then I saw a picture of a
Picturesque peak
With the caption beneath it:
''It's not the mountain
That's stopping you;
It's the pebble in your shoe.'
So I shook out the pebble
And headed for the blue.
Then you try to climb the mountain
But there's a monkey on your back.
Were the cries from within me
Or from the people
Who were just down in the valley.
Close to the foothills
You realize what it stands for.
You see the mountain
For the transparent thing it is—
And everything else it isn't.
Before you make the climb
You must get around to it.
I stepped out the back door
And saw the light
That had not yet graced the earth
Glowing in the wings of geese
I thought
The least I can do is rise with the geese.
Often I look up
And see the 'Vision of Victory;'
Wild geese in chevron flight.
Geese make the image
Of mountains moving
Through the sky;
At the same time
They make the valleys
In the clear air the mountain
Seems closer than it actually is.
You see everthing the mountain is—
And isn't...
After you've reached your peak
You have to challenge
Your personal best
I don't think I'll ever rest
Until I've reached my Everest
I'm not putting a human face
On an impossible dream;
I'm putting a Godly face
On a possible dream.
Joy:
That wasn't four lines.
Molly Montagne
I know. Here they are [sings]
Water falls with such a force
The stream carves out a groove
The sweeter song is near the source
Where stones begin to move
[Sings]
A long time ago
I was on the incline
And everything above
The clouds was mine
With the summit in sight
A few steps to go
I heard the cries
That came from below
I think I'm gonna make it
I'm gonna make it
Up to you
I've made it
To the mountain
This time
I'll see it through
Stayed in the valley
Put off the climb
Mountain remained
In back of my mind
The valley grew quiet
As time slipped away
Kept telling myself
I'll make it some day
I think I'm gonna make it
I'm gonna make it
Up to you
I've made it
To the mountain
This time
I'll see it through
My dreams are filled
With rocks and snow
Triumphant air is thin
You go as high
As you can go
And then
Your climb begins
I'm gonna make it
I've crossed the abyss
What is this mountain
Does it really exist
The impossible pile
Of rocks that I face
Is just an old friend
I forgot to embrace
Joy:
Do you have an extra puzzle box? I'm going to start collecting poems.
Molly:
Yes, My "English Country Garden" is missing
a few pieces. I'll go in and get it. [She
comes out and hands Joy the box. Then leaves Joy alone. As she tells her story
shadows are cast on the background behind her. The shadows are that of a carousel...]
You can't always find a silver lining in London, sometimes
you have to create it yourself. That's why my Granddad used to hand my mother
a broom and say: "Here's the broom go sweep the fog away." I have
two black and white snapshots of Granddad; in one he stands by a moving van
with wooden wheels; in the other he strikes a comical sailor pose. Granddad
was a mover by day; by night a tap dancer, performing vaudeville.
In the early Sixties, Nanny and Granddad left London's East End and settled
in Timmins, a mining town in Northern Ontario. They came to visit us one summer;
one of the few times I saw them. I dandled on Granddad's knee on the verandah
as he joked around. Some dandelion seeds floated by and he called them, "Paratroopers."
The war had left a deep impression on Granddad, but he tried not to let it show.
I asked my mother why his eyes looked away. She said it was 'shell shock' from
the trenches. Nanny and Granddad gave me a cardboard cutout of Buckingham Palace.
I lined up the miniature guardsmen in the car's rear window as we headed to
the beach. Granddad struck the pose of a sailor and Mom took the shot with her
Brownie camera.
Before they left we put a thick plank in the backyard for Granddad to do his
train dance. The dance mimicked a locomotive, starting slowly; picking up speed
as he roared down the track with his heavy brogues a blur.
Not long after they left I heard my mother say, "He has a heart the size of London. Whenever I was sad he'd hand me a broom and say..." My mother had learned how to cut through clouds herself; she kept a stiff upper lip.
We made the long trip north and parked by the red brick hospital. Everyone went
in except for me.. They said that Granddad was dying of cancer. "It's better
if you remember him the way he was."
When we returned I moved the plank and saw that the grass beneath had turned
white. No one had touched the plank since hearing the bad news. In the silence
Dandelions stood like the Queens guardsmen with their fur hats. The spheres
were like another world. A breeze blew the mane off a dandelion and I thought
of what Granddad had said: "Here's the broom, go sweep away the fog."
[Joy sings:]
Grandad had shell shock from World War One
Yet his heart was the size of London
He did a little soft shoe like a raggedy rogue
One last time made pistons of his brogues
A gentle wind could shake up your world
When dandelions turn to gray
Just think of Grandad Sweeping the fog away
He gave me a model of Buckingham Palace
Cardboard guardsmen assembled in a row
He was undaunted with an "about face"
Dandelion regiments lost their yellow
A gentle wind could shake up your world
When dandelions turn to gray
Just think of Grandad Sweeping the fog away
I was just a child dandling on his knees
As dandelion paratroopers floated on the breeze
I didn't get to see him those days were too gray
Grandpa said "Here's the broom go sweep the fog away."
A gentle wind could shake up your world
When dandelions turn to gray
Just think of Grandad Sweeping the fog away