THE SONG OF THE CHERUBIM
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
TERI, A TEENAGER
EMMA, HER MOTHER
ODILE, EMMA'S SISTER; TERI'S AUNT
Scene: A rotating restaurant - the kind of place that might be found on the top floor of a skyscraper or hotel. From a just discernible inward sloping of the wall behind the table and the trapezoid shape of the picture windows arrayed along the wall, we realize we are in a segment of a large geodesic dome. Outside the windows the night sky, full of stars, slowly moves from left to right as the restaurant rotates.
The three women sit at a table, coffee mugs before them. EMMA and ODILE wear full-skirted, blousy floral-patterned dresses. TERI wears a plaid men's shirt and stylishly cut slacks, also of a floral pattern, but darker-hued than the material in the older women’s' dresses. EMMA and ODILE wear high heels. TERI wears running shoes furnished with flashing lights at the heels.
All three women have green hair. It is stiff and wiry, extending four inches or more from their heads. EMMA’s hair and ODILE's is artfully shaped. TERI's hair, which is a little shorter than the others', has been shaved off to well above her ears and to a point high on the nape of her neck. At the front, her hairline is a gentle convex arc, extending down from her bare temples and centered above her forehead.
EMMA [to ODILE]: Tell her.
TERI shakes her head and mutters something under her breath.
EMMA [to TERI]: What. You listen to your aunt, even though you don't listen to me. [to ODILE] Go on. Tell her.
ODILE: I don't have anything to say.
TERI tosses her head triumphantly.
EMMA [to ODILE]: But you told me, you told me what you think.
ODILE [taking EMMA's hand]: Sweetie, we've been telling each other things all our lives that we wouldn't tell anyone else.
EMMA: But you said it was wrong.
ODILE: I said a lot of things.
EMMA: You said it is wrong. Wrong is wrong.
ODILE: There are all sorts of wrongs -- the wrong number, the wrong answer, the wrong
parade.
EMMA: But it's morally wrong.
TERI throws back her head in disgust.
ODILE: I never said that. It's not morally wrong for Teri to get a Mohawk.
TERI [to EMMA]: Now you know why I listen to her instead of you.
ODILE [to TERI]: It may not be morally wrong to get a Mohawk, but it's wrong because you'll regret it.
EMMA [to ODILE]: But what about her cherubim?
ODILE: Teri is over eighteen. She's responsible for her own cherubim.
EMMA: No, no, not now, not with the music fading everywhere. We're all responsible now for all the cherubim, not just for our own.
TERI puts her hands over her ears.
ODILE: The music has faded before. It always comes back.
EMMA: Not this time. It’s fading for good, it’s disappearing for good, because of us. We're all responsible, all of us.
TERI: My mother, the musicologist.
ODILE [to TERI]: You know, honey, you just have to accept that this is the way your mom is. She's been like this since we were kids. Everything that happens is the end of the world. It's always good to have a few people like that around.
TERI: But not as your mom.
EMMA [reaching across the table and taking TERI's hand]: I know I've been hard on you. But you do understand, don't you? Ever since you did this [gesturing toward TERI's hair] your music hasn’t been as beautiful as it was before. Do you think no one can hear the difference?
ODILE: She's made her choice, Emma.
EMMA: No sane person chooses to ruin her own music.
TERI: It's not ruined. It's just... It's quality that counts, not quantity.
EMMA and ODILE shake their heads and cluck dismissively.
EMMA: Is that what they teach at school at these days?
ODILE: When you get to be our age, Teri, you'll understand how irrational that is.
EMMA: And how do you think it makes us feel when we hear you say that? Ever since you were born, what do you think I wanted for you, and your aunt wanted for you, more than anything in the world? We wanted you to enjoy as much of your own music as you possibly could. And you did. You had more cherubim than any other girl we knew. And then [pointing to TERI's hair], this!
TERI: You don't even know what music is. You never listen to the music. All you care about is how loud it is, how many cherubim someone has.
EMMA: That's not true, honey. I know the music is beautiful, even if only a few cherubim are singing, but...
TERI: Monika's getting a Mohawk too. We'll listen to each other's music.
EMMA: But what about when there are other people around, at school, at parades, in the elevators, when you take a train? You and Monika won't be able to hear your own music. All you'll hear will be other people's music.
TERI: Look, I didn't want to get into this but, well... [defiantly] I believe it might be possible to hear yourself think during the daytime.
EMMA: [after a shocked silence, to ODILE]: I told you. She's joined that cult.
TERI: It's not a cult.
ODILE: Teri. Teri. Look at me.
TERI raises her head and looks at ODILE.
ODILE: You said you listen to what I say.
TERI: More than I listen to what she says [motioning toward EMMA].
ODILE: Okay. Okay, then. Now, don't answer right away. Think about it. Think about it. When the sun comes out, would you rather hear yourself think or listen to the music?
EMMA: We have all the nighttimes of our lives to hear ourselves think.
TERI: That is so limiting.
EMMA: She's going to shave off her hair and kill her cherubim...
TERI: They don't die. They migrate.
ODILE [to TERI]: But not all of them make it, honey.
EMMA: ...to shave her hair and destroy her cherubim. And why? Because she thinks that the difference between nighttime and daytime is too "limiting."
TERI: Why should we only hear ourselves think in the nighttime, why? why? Just because that's the way it's always been? What kind of a stupid reason is that? If I want to try and hear myself think in the daytime, I at least have the right to try, don't I?
ODILE [shaking her head; to EMMA]: You were right. It's that cult.
EMMA: There are children in Africa who would be happy if they had just six cherubim. You've still got hundreds, hundreds, honey.
ODILE: And daytimes are long in Africa, too. It's true, Teri, you have a lot to be thankful for.
TERI: Fuck the children in Africa. I don't happen to want to hear myself think about the children in Africa right now.
TERI raises her hand to her head.
EMMA and ODILE: No! No! No! Don't Terri, don't.
TERI ruffles her hair with her hand.
From TERI's hair comes the sound of awakening songbirds. As the sound becomes louder, the hair on TERI's head begins to quiver.
Birds awaken in EMMA's hair and in ODILE’s hair; their hair also begins to quiver. The chirping, cheeping, twittering, calling of birds increases in volume, until the sound fills the theater.
At the same time, the darkness outside the windows fades; the sun rises, sunlight fills the sky. Brilliant daylight floods the table, the women, the stage, the whole theater space, with a near-blinding light.
TERI, EMMA and ODILE sit transfixed, motionless, as if in a trance.
Curtain
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
TERI, A TEENAGER
EMMA, HER MOTHER
ODILE, EMMA'S SISTER; TERI'S AUNT
Scene: A rotating restaurant - the kind of place that might be found on the top floor of a skyscraper or hotel. From a just discernible inward sloping of the wall behind the table and the trapezoid shape of the picture windows arrayed along the wall, we realize we are in a segment of a large geodesic dome. Outside the windows the night sky, full of stars, slowly moves from left to right as the restaurant rotates.
The three women sit at a table, coffee mugs before them. EMMA and ODILE wear full-skirted, blousy floral-patterned dresses. TERI wears a plaid men's shirt and stylishly cut slacks, also of a floral pattern, but darker-hued than the material in the older women’s' dresses. EMMA and ODILE wear high heels. TERI wears running shoes furnished with flashing lights at the heels.
All three women have green hair. It is stiff and wiry, extending four inches or more from their heads. EMMA’s hair and ODILE's is artfully shaped. TERI's hair, which is a little shorter than the others', has been shaved off to well above her ears and to a point high on the nape of her neck. At the front, her hairline is a gentle convex arc, extending down from her bare temples and centered above her forehead.
EMMA [to ODILE]: Tell her.
TERI shakes her head and mutters something under her breath.
EMMA [to TERI]: What. You listen to your aunt, even though you don't listen to me. [to ODILE] Go on. Tell her.
ODILE: I don't have anything to say.
TERI tosses her head triumphantly.
EMMA [to ODILE]: But you told me, you told me what you think.
ODILE [taking EMMA's hand]: Sweetie, we've been telling each other things all our lives that we wouldn't tell anyone else.
EMMA: But you said it was wrong.
ODILE: I said a lot of things.
EMMA: You said it is wrong. Wrong is wrong.
ODILE: There are all sorts of wrongs -- the wrong number, the wrong answer, the wrong
parade.
EMMA: But it's morally wrong.
TERI throws back her head in disgust.
ODILE: I never said that. It's not morally wrong for Teri to get a Mohawk.
TERI [to EMMA]: Now you know why I listen to her instead of you.
ODILE [to TERI]: It may not be morally wrong to get a Mohawk, but it's wrong because you'll regret it.
EMMA [to ODILE]: But what about her cherubim?
ODILE: Teri is over eighteen. She's responsible for her own cherubim.
EMMA: No, no, not now, not with the music fading everywhere. We're all responsible now for all the cherubim, not just for our own.
TERI puts her hands over her ears.
ODILE: The music has faded before. It always comes back.
EMMA: Not this time. It’s fading for good, it’s disappearing for good, because of us. We're all responsible, all of us.
TERI: My mother, the musicologist.
ODILE [to TERI]: You know, honey, you just have to accept that this is the way your mom is. She's been like this since we were kids. Everything that happens is the end of the world. It's always good to have a few people like that around.
TERI: But not as your mom.
EMMA [reaching across the table and taking TERI's hand]: I know I've been hard on you. But you do understand, don't you? Ever since you did this [gesturing toward TERI's hair] your music hasn’t been as beautiful as it was before. Do you think no one can hear the difference?
ODILE: She's made her choice, Emma.
EMMA: No sane person chooses to ruin her own music.
TERI: It's not ruined. It's just... It's quality that counts, not quantity.
EMMA and ODILE shake their heads and cluck dismissively.
EMMA: Is that what they teach at school at these days?
ODILE: When you get to be our age, Teri, you'll understand how irrational that is.
EMMA: And how do you think it makes us feel when we hear you say that? Ever since you were born, what do you think I wanted for you, and your aunt wanted for you, more than anything in the world? We wanted you to enjoy as much of your own music as you possibly could. And you did. You had more cherubim than any other girl we knew. And then [pointing to TERI's hair], this!
TERI: You don't even know what music is. You never listen to the music. All you care about is how loud it is, how many cherubim someone has.
EMMA: That's not true, honey. I know the music is beautiful, even if only a few cherubim are singing, but...
TERI: Monika's getting a Mohawk too. We'll listen to each other's music.
EMMA: But what about when there are other people around, at school, at parades, in the elevators, when you take a train? You and Monika won't be able to hear your own music. All you'll hear will be other people's music.
TERI: Look, I didn't want to get into this but, well... [defiantly] I believe it might be possible to hear yourself think during the daytime.
EMMA: [after a shocked silence, to ODILE]: I told you. She's joined that cult.
TERI: It's not a cult.
ODILE: Teri. Teri. Look at me.
TERI raises her head and looks at ODILE.
ODILE: You said you listen to what I say.
TERI: More than I listen to what she says [motioning toward EMMA].
ODILE: Okay. Okay, then. Now, don't answer right away. Think about it. Think about it. When the sun comes out, would you rather hear yourself think or listen to the music?
EMMA: We have all the nighttimes of our lives to hear ourselves think.
TERI: That is so limiting.
EMMA: She's going to shave off her hair and kill her cherubim...
TERI: They don't die. They migrate.
ODILE [to TERI]: But not all of them make it, honey.
EMMA: ...to shave her hair and destroy her cherubim. And why? Because she thinks that the difference between nighttime and daytime is too "limiting."
TERI: Why should we only hear ourselves think in the nighttime, why? why? Just because that's the way it's always been? What kind of a stupid reason is that? If I want to try and hear myself think in the daytime, I at least have the right to try, don't I?
ODILE [shaking her head; to EMMA]: You were right. It's that cult.
EMMA: There are children in Africa who would be happy if they had just six cherubim. You've still got hundreds, hundreds, honey.
ODILE: And daytimes are long in Africa, too. It's true, Teri, you have a lot to be thankful for.
TERI: Fuck the children in Africa. I don't happen to want to hear myself think about the children in Africa right now.
TERI raises her hand to her head.
EMMA and ODILE: No! No! No! Don't Terri, don't.
TERI ruffles her hair with her hand.
From TERI's hair comes the sound of awakening songbirds. As the sound becomes louder, the hair on TERI's head begins to quiver.
Birds awaken in EMMA's hair and in ODILE’s hair; their hair also begins to quiver. The chirping, cheeping, twittering, calling of birds increases in volume, until the sound fills the theater.
At the same time, the darkness outside the windows fades; the sun rises, sunlight fills the sky. Brilliant daylight floods the table, the women, the stage, the whole theater space, with a near-blinding light.
TERI, EMMA and ODILE sit transfixed, motionless, as if in a trance.
Curtain