Matthew P. Garcia
First Man/First Woman

"What can man say about woman, his own opposite? Woman always stands just where the man's shadow falls, so he is only too liable to confuse the two." - Carl G. Jung

(A small room; there is a small wooden bed in the center of the room and rather small window behind the bed that faces a road. An icon of the Virgin Mary is pinned to the side wall with a knife. There is a suitcase by the door. The man is standing by the window looking out. The woman is sitting at the edge of the bed with her back to the man. Her hands are folded in her lap and she stares at them with her head bowed. There is a knock at the door.)

Man: Who's there? (No response. There is another knock.) Who's there?

Woman: Why don't you answer it?

(The man turns away from the window, stares at the woman and makes his way to the door. He presses his head against the door, leaning his body into it. His eyes close. Pause.)

Man: I heard your voice in the garden.and I was afraid, because I was naked, so I hid myself. (He locks the door, draws the chain, goes back to the window and continues looking out.) When you found me, I was sleeping and you carried me home. I knew it was you from the way I felt in your arms.

(He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a letter; he reads the first few lines, tears it up and eats it. Pause.)

Woman: Your father's name was Gustav.

(Pause. He considers this, mouthing the name.)

Man: Gustav? Are you sure?

Woman: Yes.

Man: What did he look like?

Woman: He was tall, but he walked with a stoop. His eyes were dark like yours. He told me once that you looked the same way he did when he was your age.

(The man turns away and continues looking out. Pause.)

Man: The light is changing. You took care of everything then?

Woman: Yes.

Man: So it won't be long then?

Woman: No, it shouldn't be very much longer.

(The man takes a deep breath. The woman slowly lifts her head with her eyes closed, her head hangs back, and she opens her eyes. She stands slowly and collapses to the ground. She lies on her side with her head resting on her outstretched arm, her back to the man. There is another knock at the door.)

Man: Who's there?

(There is no answer. He breaks away from the window and makes his way to the door. As he passes the outstretched woman he collapses next to her. He combs her hair with his hand. Pause.)

Woman: You were born among tamarind trees. You collected the tiny yellow flowers in your pockets and gave them to your mother. Your father would laugh and say, "He's just like me."

(Pause. He considers this.)

Man: Tamarind trees? Are you sure?

Woman: Yes.

(Pause.)

Man: I'll be going soon you know?

Woman: I know.

Man: I will think of you often.

(Pause.)

Woman: There was a letter.they brought me a letter after you'd gone.

Man: And.so where is it?

Woman: I ate it.

Man: Why would you do that?

Woman: I don't know.

Man: Well, what did it say?

Woman: I don't remember.

Man: Why don't you remember?

Woman: I was afraid. I wanted to leave.

(The man stands abruptly and paces. He stares out of the window. He pulls a watch out of his pocket, and looks at it.)

Man: It shouldn't be too much longer.

(Pause.)

Woman: Your father was like you are. He would look at himself in the windows of the house, unsure of what was staring back at him. Until he saw the reflection mirror his movements, he couldn't say whether or not that figure was himself.

(Pause. He considers this. The man searches his pockets.)

Man: I had a letter.I'm sure I had it.here in my pocket with my watch. It was folded four times. I remember that.four times.

(The woman turns on her belly and stares at him. She hoists up her midsection, arching her body and slowly walks her hands to her toes. She rises, walks toward the door and grabs the suitcase by the handle. She brings it to the bed and sits down beside it with her back facing the man; her head bowed.)

Woman: You should open it.

(The man, standing by the window, turns and looks out. Pause.)

Man: The sky is turning red. It's started to rain over a line of lychee trees behind a metal fence. I can smell the road from here. (There is a knock at the door.) Who's there!?

(No answer. There is another knock, harder. The woman springs up. She picks up the suitcase and places it back by the door. She collapses beside the door, propped up with her back leaning against the wall. Her eyes close. Pause.)

Woman: When you were a boy you drowned a cat in a watering trough. At first, the bubbles excited you, so you held it there to see how long it would last. But the bubbles stopped.and everything became still and very quiet. That was the first time you felt fear.real fear. Your father found the cat floating in the water. He never mentioned it.

(Pause. He considers this and continues looking out of the window.)

Man: The wind is tossing the trees. I can hear it from here. The letter-it arrived by courier, the paper was soiled. I folded it four times over.it must be here somewhere.

(The man turns abruptly, and stares at the woman. He moves toward the suitcase, brings it to the bed and opens it. Inside are small bottles of perfume, various garments, trinkets and a black pistol wrapped in a red silk scarf. He stares at it. There is a knock at the door. He shuts the suitcase and slides it under the bed. He moves toward the woman and kneels down in front of her. Her head is bowed with her eyes closed. He lifts her head and she opens her eyes. He stares at her. Pause.)

Woman: She would turn over on her belly while you were sleeping and stare at you. She would cover your face with the blanket.

Man: Are you sure?

Woman: Yes. She would laugh and say, "Look at you, just like your father.that's what all your worry has done."

Man: What was her name?

Woman: Evelyn.

Man: Evelyn? Are you sure?

Woman: Yes.

Man: What did she look like?

Woman: She looked like Venus Anadyomene. That's what you told her once as she was wringing out her hair.

Man: And what did she say?

Woman: She smiled, and said "No.I am the flowers scattered by Zephyrus."

Man: And the letter.what did it say?

Woman: It said, "There are times when a time comes and all the rest is insignificant."

(The man stares at her. He touches her face as though to kiss her, but turns away suddenly. He moves toward the window, and looks out. Pause.)

Man: We were close.very close. I very carefully reached out and put my hand on her shoulder. She turned and she looked at me. I saw her mouth for the first time. It was parted enough that I could see her tongue behind her teeth like a snake hiding behind a stone. I knew then what her lips were for. I drew myself forward. I tasted them with my lips. I carried her into my blood.carried her-moment by moment. She was a proud woman.always proud.

(Pause. The woman takes a deep breath, pushing her chest forward. She stands slowly and walks toward the foot of the bed. She lifts it and drags it toward the window, revealing the suitcase. She sits at the edge of the bed, her head bowed, with her hands folded in her lap. There is a knock at the door. The man turns away from the window, stares at the door and turns back to the window.)

Woman: For as long as you can remember, you felt at home in the woods. You would enter wild places and clear a path. Down one particular path you erected a shelter of fallen pine.

Man: Shelter.

Woman: You brought her there.

Man: Who?

Woman: Evelyn. You laid her down on the pine needle bed.

Man: Evelyn.

Woman: She remembered how the needles poked into her blouse, how hot it was. The horseflies and mosquitoes drained her of any light she had left for you.your indelicate body collapsed over hers-she lay perfectly still.

Man: She gave herself to me.

Woman: You sensed everything. The earth was a closing hand.

Man: A closing hand.it was foolish to resist.

Woman: And then came the letter.

Man: It arrived by courier. There were stains on the envelope. I found a corner on the seal and with my index finger.I tore the seal. It was a light letter, one page, with careful, small print. It said.

Woman: "Sometimes some things are greater than ourselves." I folded it four times and put it in my pocket.

(The man takes off his shoes and sets them neatly by the bed. He grabs the suitcase, kneels in the center of the room and opens it. The woman is to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed with her head bowed. He begins pulling out its contents and setting them on the ground.)

Man: He took me out late one afternoon. We walked for hours down a trail along a canal that opened out into the bay. I followed him the entire way staring at his back. He didn't speak. We reached the water as the sun was beginning to set and found a brown pelican pinned beneath two large rocks, one at each wing, its trunk had been burned away. There were symbols scrawled on the ground around it.I could not decipher them. He looked at it for a while as I watched from some distance away. I was afraid to go near him. He stood over it and lifted his head. He looked out over the water toward the horizon. I approached slowly, walking, carefully around the smoldering heap of feathers. He told me, that a sacrifice is when a man, in sorrow, gives something to God so he will look upon him with favor. I didn't understand.he didn't speak to me again. (There is a knock at the door. The man stands and walks toward the image of the Virgin Mary impaled on the wall. He kneels down before it. The woman rises from the bed and crawls to the center of the room over the suitcase.) Tamarind trees.yes.I'm sure they were tamarind trees. I remember.I saw the shadow swaying on the ground...I didn't want to look up.

(Pause.)

Woman: Your mother looked out at you from the house as you scaled its trunk, and crawled across its branches. You ate its fruit. Your father, standing behind her, put his mouth to her ear, "I wish he weren't so much like me" he said.

Man: I looked up.and when I looked up...I looked up.and I looked up.

Woman: And what did you see?

Man: I can't remember.

Woman: Why can't you remember?

Man: I was afraid.I knew what it was.I wanted to leave.I ran.

Woman: Where did you run to?

Man: To a place nearby, I was building a shelter there for myself, deep in the woods. I sat there with my face buried in my knees. I didn't want to look up. (Pause) No, I can't say I remember what I saw.

(Pause. The woman takes the scarf out of the suitcase and unwraps it carefully. She spreads the scarf on the ground and places the pistol beside it. She grabs a small bottle of perfume and begins spraying the scarf.)

Woman: He would sit outside in the same hickory chair that his father sat in and look out at the world. He thought it was all quite lovely, the way the birds nested in the trees; he could hear them in the night with his ear turned up. But this earth, in spite of its loveliness, he could not come to terms with. He looked out, like a phantom, at a life that he could not live. He saw the tamarind trees.but stared at the shadows their boughs casted on the ground.

Man: Shadows.

Woman: Then, he'd sit you on his knee and stare at you. He went over it in his mind, countless times. This is my son. I created him out of nothing. I give him this world. It is my place to sit him here and overlook the land. (Pause) I am a man with the son on his knee.

(Pause.)

Man: And the father said to the man, "Who told you that you were naked?" And the man said, "The woman you gave me to be with." And he said to the woman, "What have you done?" And the woman said, "The serpent." (He looks at his watch and turns to the woman) I'll be going soon. In my heart I know the distance I will travel, to the same place...a narrow trail that ends in the sea.

(There is a knock at the door. It continues. The woman stands with the scarf in her hands. She walks over to the man who is kneeling before the Virgin Mary. She stands behind him, holds him against her and kisses the top of his head. Pause. She begins wrapping the scarf around his head. He offers no resistance.)

Woman: Last Tuesday you sat in your study.no.Sunday. You were cleaning your study, sweeping.and the dog.no.there wasn't a dog. You were alone. There was a fly, a huge fly hovering over the desk-iridescent. It was not an ordinary fly. You captured it in a jar to watch it-perhaps for inspiration. You set in on the desk and continued to work, the pile neatly organized by the door. And you sat there.lost. You set the jar before you; held it up to the light. The fly struggled, for a while, and then composed itself. It shined.no.it must have been something else, it couldn't have been a fly.but the eyes! (The woman collapses and begins to writhe on the ground. She reaches for the pistol, holds it against her womb and then slowly drags it up to her heart. She stands, and walks toward the man. She points it to the back of his head. He takes in deep breaths of the perfume) You couldn't stand to watch it, you let it go and found that it still wasn't free. It struggled at the window, for a while.and then became still. Then it became just like everything else. It became the tiny yellow flowers, it became your mother's cupped hands over her eyes, your father's awkward gait, it became Evelyn, it became every trail you ever you ever walked down. Everything merged into one mass. The whole earth became a jar. And freedom-there was no freedom, because everything was just like everything else and these things were inseparable in their fate. Everything was still and very quiet. Yes.I'm quite sure of how quiet it was. (The woman's eyes open wide, she stares at the back of the man's head; he is hyperventilating.) Cursed is the earth for your sake, and in sorrow, you will eat of it all the days of your life.

(There is a loud blast, the knocking ceases, the woman and the man both fall to the ground. Blackout.)

_ _

Matthew P. Garcia's plays First Man/First Woman and Social Drinkers, or The Humanists have been staged by the American Laboratory Theatre and New Theatre, respectively. Recent writing credits include poetry featured or forthcoming in Cimarron Review, Skidrow Penthouse, Poetry Quarterly, Caliban and others.

>> Back to Issue 18, 2015