CAST OF CHARACTERS
BROTHER WILBUR (Frère Guillebert)
MARVIN, the OLD MAN (L’Homme Vieil, Marin)
BLANCHE, his YOUNG WIFE (Sa Femme Jeune, La Femme)
AGNES, the GOSSIP (La Commère, Agnès)
PRODUCTION NOTES
Sometime around 1550, the anonymous Farce nouvelle de Frère Guillebert très bonne et fort joyeuse (RBM, #18) was published in the Norman city of Rouen by Jehan de Prest, in business there between 1542 and 1559 (RF, 6: 186; FFMA, 3: 237; SFQS, notes 1 and 217). It has been edited—again, paginated but without verse numbers—by Montaiglon (ATF, 1: 305–27), Tissier (RF, 6: 183–261), and Martin (SFQS at https://sottiesetfarces.wordpress.com/2017/03/30/frere-guillebert/). Although I know of no English translation, Tissier translated Frère Guillebert into modern French (FFMA, 2: 235–56), as did Faivre in Les Farces (1: 199–268), while another translation into Portuguese by Émilie S. Ribeiro, Gabriela L. Marques, and Marie B. de Almeida is, sadly, no longer available online. Summaries of our play appear in Petit de Julleville (RTC, 140), Delepierre (DLU, 32–37), and Faivre (Répertoire, 172–74); and, as a testament to its popularity, discussions of it can be found in Philipot, “Notice sur la farce de Frère Guillebert”; Witkowski, MTA, 155–56; Dufour, Histoire de la Prostitution, 296–302; and Koopmans, RSJ, 581–89. At 522 verses, Frère Guillebert is long and complex enough to have warranted 235 annotations in SFQS and to occupy a full eighty pages in RF, where Tissier corrected some hundred errors in the ATF edition (RF, 6: 186–87). While it unfolds in the usual rhyming octosyllabic couplets, it is structured around a series of poetic set-pieces featuring different rhyme schemes (RF, 6: 207–8; below, § “Language”).
Of special interest: Frère Guillebert bears a signature, even if we don’t fully understand its meaning: du jeune clergie [or clergé] de Meullers. M.P.V. (1: 327), For Tissier, the clergé might have been Norman student-playwrights enjoying an unusual freedom of speech (RF, 6: 187–90; FFMA, 2: 238), notwithstanding Petit de Julleville’s contention that ecclesiastical authorship (or admission thereto) was out of the question (RTC, 140). But Martin reminds us that clergie was also a synonym for the Franciscan “Brothers Minor,” the title character’s monastic order (SFQS, notes 105 and 235) and whose founder, Saint Francis, is central to the plot.
Plot
Enter “Brother Wilbur” for one of the raunchiest sermons ever. It’s a sermon joyeux, to be exact, which was both a parodic literary genre in its own right (RSJ, 585–89) and a descendant of the rhetorical art of preaching (ars praedicandi) with its variations on a sermonic theme.1 This one clocks in at seventy—count ’em!—seventy verses devoted to sexual recreation and procreation; and—action!—the fix is in for Willy’s assignation with an old fart’s unnamed young wife (here, “Blanche”). Aided and abetted by BFF Agnes, Blanche feigns a pregnancy-related craving that will dispatch her sleepy spouse to market first thing the next morning. So far, so good—until Marin (here, “Marvin”) forgets his purse, which sets off the standard farcical chain of events when he returns home to retrieve it.
Ciel! Mon mari!—Quick! It’s my husband! Hide! And a brother does, diving headlong into a coffre, a common trunk-like chest elevated on four legs (SFQS, 116). Unfortunately for him, that’s the precise location of Marvin’s purse (bissac); and, as hubby feels around for it, he seems poised to grab that other purse: Willy’s scrotum (as in #3, Highway Robbery). An understandable misprision. A bissac was a strap-on sac with two hanging pouches (below, § “Costumes and Props”). Whence, the crisis of Slick Brother Willy and its not-so-metaphorically imminent castration (which, for Martin, channels that of Abelard [SFQS, note 109]). Unbeknownst to Marvin, he’s got Willy by the balls, prompting the preacher to rhapsodize about his own endangered equipment in a positively Villonesque Last Will and Testicle (1: 318–20). Willy is so petrified, moreover, that haste literally makes waste. He would have shit his proverbial britches (braies), the play’s key prop, had he been wearing them at the time. Instead, with a little direction from Blanche, Marvin eventually grabs up not the money-bag (bissac) nor that other “bag” (the ball sac) but Willy’s drawers. He then reexits for market. Exit Willy too for anywhere but that bedroom; and exit Blanche for an emergency advice session over at Aggie’s. Indeed, this is one of very few farces to feature extensive scenes of women tawking amongst themselves (as in Extreme Husband Makeover [HD, #11, sc. 4] and Confession Lessons [FF, #3, sc. 2]). Meanwhile, back on the road for the second iteration of Marvin’s errand …
Ooh, that smell! An overwhelming stench alerts Marvin to the distinctly nonhygienic pair of drawers that he is now carrying instead of his purse. But before he can double back yet again to raise hell, he is intercepted by Aggie. She convinces the codger that he is transporting none other than the talismanic, fertility-inducing britches of Saint Francis himself (les braies du Cordelier).2 Seriously. How else could Blanche have become pregnant by the likes of Marvin? Her spouse then buys the fishy story hook, line, and stinker, as does his counterpart in the Dutch farce Lippin, discounting the evidence of his own eyes (Medieval Dutch Drama, ed. Prins, 48–51). And his nose. The malodorous pair is then returned to its rightful owner, Brother Willy, whose own pair is safe at last. In the end, when all are invited to rub their noses in the mystical drawers, farce rubs our noses in its send-off: mind your boys, boys, and kiss my ass! Slick Brother Willy is a masterpiece (of ass) that, narratively, linguistically, poetically, and materially, disseminates and “comedifies” a theory and practice of the purse.
Characters and Character Development
Technically, our leading man is probably a “Gilbert,” a Germanic “wild boar,” or a “Gil” of the Second Shepherd’s Play; but, for obvious reasons, he is Willy-boy here: a real dick from a long line of farcical Willies.3 With his bissac, his mini-me, and his little Franciscan “brothers in gray” (1: 306), he—they—make for the collective star of the show. Charged with reciting half the play’s lines (FFMA, 2: 238), Willy is prone to synecdochic turns of phrase: women are “tits” or “nips” (1: 306–7) and men are the testicular part for the genital whole (“Introd.,” § “Euphemism and ‘Comedification’ ”). After all, couille denoted either one ball or the entire member (SFQS, note 21). Guillebert even sounds like couille vert or “green dick” (SFQS, note 3), the medieval equivalent, I suppose, of today’s la bitte en fleur or “rising dick.” But here’s the other thingy: for all his bravura, he is just as chicken-shit as Mr. Allcock of The Shithouse (HD, #2), taking flight ASAP when the going gets tough because, for all his fixation on his balls, he doesn’t have any. As in Cooch E. Whippet, it’s anybody’s guess as to how much this vaguely bisexual, bissac-ual, or gender-nonbinary fellow actually does with Blanche (FF, 338–39). Consider cross-casting or trans-casting gender-ambiguous actors.
The unnamed young wife is “Blanche,” more in honor of Tristan’s Blancheflor than of Tennessee Williams’s Blanche Dubois. She is thin and pale (1: 307, 312), “blanching” at the mere thought of the nonperformant Marvin. But, overall, ambivalence and ambiguity are the order of the day for a ballsy woman with prud’homie (1: 324), who alternates between humor and malice, manipulation and panic, direction and misdirection, and feelings of entrapment and acts of empowerment. Getting caught in flagrante, for instance, was no laughing matter, as when an adulterous wife was murdered by her husband in 1567 for having had sex with a priest (Davis, Fiction in the Archives, 138–40). And, although her anomalous condition as “thin and pregnant” lacks a certain verisimilitude, that is the very issue addressed by the magical mystery drawers.
Assisting Blanche in all the comings and goings is her gossipy girlfriend (La Commère), identified in the text as “Agnes.” While I don’t see any evidence that she is a widow, she indubitably has what Martin calls “pimp-like tendencies” (SFQS, note 40) when she gets, entremetteuse-like, in the middle of things. Given Aggie’s reminiscing about her activities “back in her day” (1: 309), she might be older and, by her own reckoning, wiser than her BFF. She’s certainly a gifted practical joker and the author of the drawer-dropping denouement.
Last but not least, meet Marvin, “The Old Man” of the Cast List (L’Homme Vieil) and “The Husband” or “The Man” in the script (L’Homme), where his name is heard as “Marin,” a “friend of the sea” (1: 310). Quelle coincidence! Blanche’s fool’s errand sends him out for mussels, among other goodies. In point of fact, I suspect that manger des moulles (1: 312) is a long-lost synonym for “fucking somebody over,” all the more so in that moule also meant “dildo” (SFQS, note 193; Faivre, Farces, 1: 266n). Initially solicitous, “Marvin” does his best to satiate his insatiable wife; but solicitude soon explodes into rage, followed by gullibility when he falls for the fishy Francis story. As a model for Marvin, try the nearsighted, volatile, farcical Mister Magoo.
Language
Pride of place goes to our play’s five poetic set-pieces, of which Marvin gets one: a stench-motivated, twenty-four-verse soliloquy (1: 323) with such fabulous rhymes as foutiné/domine (“fuck”/“the Lord”). But the rest is all Willy. He delivers an incomparable sermon joyeux (1: 305–7; below, note 4); an ode and a rondeau to Blanche (1: 309, 313); a testamentary bequest of his genitalia (1: 318–19); and a final prayer in which he commends unto the Lord his spirit—and his balls (1: 319–20). It all begins with that sermon on the “mount” that proves quite the mouthful to translate.
Oddly enough, Faivre and Martin view it as extraneous (Répertoire, 172; SFQS, note 40); but I beg to differ. It is in the sermon that Willy first broaches the crucial bissac (1: 305), its role in all manner of purges captured by this refrain in what we can safely term vulgar Latin: Foullando in calibistris, / Intravit per boucham ventris / Bidauldus, purgando renés. Loosely translated—is there any other way?—this is a description of coitus. Fouler, fouiller, or foullando denotes “messing up” or violently “banging away” when the penis (bidauld) enters the so-called vaginal “mouth” (boucham ventris), yielding something like: “In fucking around in the snatch, the dick passes through the vulva, comes in and unloads” (SFQS, note 4). But, since Willy is up for anything and since the bidauld could apply to both the male and the female genitalia, the sermonic refrain actually anticipates the materially bipartite bissac. If anything is foullando (“messed up”), it’s the limpid sense of who’s giving, who’s receiving, and where (SFQS, note 11). In calibistris sounds as much like a female “jewel box” as it does the male “jewels” on their way in: cailles + bisstre = stones + wine corks (RF, 6: 209n–10n): that is, in the vaginal treasure chest (custodi nos), the family jewels (or dildoes) get “polished up” (fourbir). And, with regard to the hospitable boucham ventris: is somebody’s mouth wide open to give another “bro job” (#7), whence, the need to gargle (1: 319)? What is l’orifice de la pance (1: 319)? A vaginal “hole in the belly” or the back-door hole on the flipside (RF, 6: 210n–211n, 244n)? Not that farce ever minds confusion about which hole is which, as in the allegedly accidental honeymoon sodomy of Farce of the Fart (FF, 82–83). And let’s not forget Willy’s racy rhyme of “purgatory” and “suppository” (purgatoire/suppositoire [1: 311]). In sum, there is something about this cocky oration that is relentlessly effeminate in its masculinity and emasculate in its femininity, something profoundly androgynous from the get-go about Willy’s quest to make of two halves one (w)hole.
Otherwise, Slick Brother Willy speaks the language of sex. Fluently. In the notes to his edition, Tissier produced what amounts to a medieval Urban Dictionary of obscenities (RF, 6: 205–7). In addition to the love-boxes, snatches, jewels, collection plates, muff-diving, and helmet-polishing, we get plenty of greased entryways, buttered butts, hiding the sausage (larder le connin), dicking around, cocking things up (cauqueson, cauquer), and—believe it or not—the huihot, Middle French for “hoo-hoo” or “hoo-ha” (1: 323; below, note 23). You name it, it’s in there.
Sets and Staging
By my dramaturgical count, Slick Brother Willy calls for at least three locations and thirteen scenes, the latter quite rare for a genre that privileges the one-act and even the “one-scene.” The principal set is Blanche and Marvin’s bedroom, situated in what is presumably a modest abode with no servants to answer the door. A four-poster bed will do nicely as a place to hang discarded articles of clothing. Other locations dictated by the text are: Aggie’s place, perhaps next door, and the road to market, possibly traversing a bustling village. Decisions must be made as well about where Willy’s show-starting sermon takes place. Remember: medieval preaching was solo-performance art. Jacomin Husson, for example, chronicled the Good Friday antiphonal frenzy promulgated by one Brother Oliver in 1515: “he did something that no one had ever seen before: for he showed a sacred Host and had the people cry out for mercy when he showed them the Host.… And when our Lord died on the cross, he showed a crucifix, again calling out ‘Have mercy!’; and the people also cried out loudly” (Chronique de Metz, 294–95; cited in DBD, 229). Or consider the Latin diary of an anonymous fifteenth-century Franciscan active in Italy, as rediscovered and brilliantly analyzed by Carol Symes. This extraordinary document offers unflinching self-assessments of his sermons that ranged from “effective [and delivered] with passion and in a ringing voice” or “brought an audience to tears” to “not as passionate … as it should have been” or “really boring and badly preached” (“Knowledge Transmission,” 210–11). So, where’s Willy? He could be pontificating at the marketplace or at church; he could roam peripatetically among the spectators; or he could elocute from a makeshift pulpit before the curtain goes up, the better to reflect the timelessness and “placelessness” of a Willy who winds up in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, about time: yet another atypical dimension of our farce is that it takes place over two days (as in Extreme Husband Makeover [HD, #11]).
The real pièce de résistance, however, is the pivotal Scene 9, where the lost and found bissac poses seriously amusing challenges. Just how flagrante is Blanche and Willy’s delict? What does Blanche find unsatisfactory about her “one lousy shot” (povre coup [1: 322])? Its speed? Its quantity? And what is their state of undress when Marvin risks finding the pair? There’s a mad rush to hide Willy, who should definitely shake the proverbial tail feather. (Use goose-down bedding [1: 315] and have the feathers literally fly.) But what about verisimilitude? What about John Cleese’s counsel that, in farce, “absurd situations have to be made believable” (“How to Write the Perfect Farce,” 1)? How realistic is it that a brother would pause for an entire ode to his endangered manhood at the very moment of Marvin’s imminent ball-busting grab (Faivre, Farces, 1: 202–3)? Sure, Marvin can grope slowly and unsuccessfully; but the rest of it turns on how to stage what goes down at the coffre at the foot of the bed.
Willy’s utter panic about the safety of his scrotum tells us that the two purses are perilously close to one another. The thing is, his precise position has a lot to do with prepositions. Blanche has directed that Marvin won’t see Willy if he’s “stretched out under the chest” (estendu soubz ce coffre). But, during Marvin’s purse hunt, she also reports having laid out the bissac on the chest (sur ce coffre) (1: 315–17). One option is to remove the fourth coffin-like wall of the coffre to give the audience a balls’-eye view inside. But I suggest that bottomless Willy should dive under the chest: just not all the way under. Once down there on all fours, the Frenchman is “scrunched up like a frog” (se tenir en raine) and, in that unhappy stance, his protruding purse can easily be mistaken by nearsighted old Marvin for the money purse, which is, at first, still located on top of the chest (1: 317). Likewise protruding is Willy’s naked derriere (SFQS, note 118) or, for Faivre, his fat ass (Farces, 1: 233). To resolve the unstageability of such thingies, Thierry Martin recommends that Blanche toss some linen over the offending extremities (SFQS, note 118). But that doesn’t completely dispense with a dramaturgical problem that occasioned Tissier to pen a whole section about nudity onstage (RF, 6: 201–4).
Willy twice speaks of “lying right on top of [Marvin’s bissac]” (1: 316, 320), which would tend to indicate that he dove not under the chest but onto it, lying facedown therein in a posture that, by the way, he urges explicitly in his opening sermon (1: 306). But, if Marvin’s purse is on the chest and Willy’s butt is under it, how can our boy in gray be lying on top of the bissac? He might have grabbed it hastily, ventures Martin, to cushion any potential blow (SFQS, note 122), which would further account for out-of-it Marvin’s inability to find it. It’s equally plausible that, in a panicked dive for cover, Willy accidentally knocks the purse under the chest before assuming his position. I’d advise the latter. But that’s nothing compared to how Willy beats his hasty retreat. When the Franciscan bolts sans underwear, he proposes to use his bare hands to support his ball sac (sac à couille). “I guess I’ll just have to make a fist,” he ejaculates graphically, “and take Brother Willy in my own two hands. Nature’s own jockstrap!” (Je prendray mon v[it] à mon poing; / Mes mains me serviront de brayette [1: 321]). (As in Blue Confessions Montaiglon elided both couille and vit as “c” and “v” [above, #2, § “Plot”].) This makes for a Rabelaisian riff on monks as “free ballers,” as it were, and wont to let their boys flap in the wind (SFQS, note 29): “they don’t wear breeches with any bottom,” says Panurge, “and their poor member stretches out at liberty unbridled, and thus goes dangling down onto the knees, as do rosary beads on women” (CWFR, 188). But check out Tissier’s stage direction, caressant son membre: “Willy is caressing his virile member” (FFMA, 2: 249). Really? Onstage? Unless you believe in medieval pornography—deliberate or accidental—I think not (above, “Introd.,” § “Pornography”).
Costumes and Props
Brother Wilbur has two costume changes. For his sermon and his final appearance in Scene 13, he is garbed in Franciscan gray (SFQS, note 226); and why not give him a farceurs’ drum like Pontalais’s to quiet the house (above, Pardoners’ Tales, § “Plot”)? For the assignation with Blanche, however, he sports a doublet (pourpoint) and “leggings”-style trousers (chausses) (1: 314). (Apparently, it was infinitely more scandalous for a woman home alone to receive a Franciscan than a secular male visitor [SFQS, note 29].) And, by all means, take advantage of farce’s trademark interplay of the literal and the metaphorical and have him show up with a bag of nuts. Dress Blanche in a tight-fitting nightgown with a massive décolletage and a peignoir. Other bedroom props include: goose-down pillows and a number of chamber pots, some overflowing.
Needless to say, the crucial props are the bissac and the braies: the purse and the “britches” or “drawers” (below, note 2). While the latter could be worn as either undergarments or over-garments (RF, 5: 273n), let’s assume that we’re talking about drawers. Britches have two legs; and a bissac is comprised of two pouches hanging on either side of a strap that was hung from the shoulder or neck (SFQS, note 101). Marvin’s bissac must be small enough to resemble a man-purse but, at the same time, large enough to double as Saint Francis’s britches. And one more thing: this may not be the first time that Brother Willy has shit a brick. As with similar props in Shit for Brains (FF, 271–74) or The Pardoners’ Tales (#10, note 27), the purloined bissac is filthy: the property of an “ass”—or an “asshole,” quoth Marvin, “that’s hardly clean” (un cul guères net [1: 323]). I leave any olfactory effects up to you.
Scholarly References to Copyrighted Materials (in order of appearance and indicated by© within the text)
· “Dry Bones.” [“Dem Bones.”] By Jay Weldon Johnson and J. Rosomond Johnson. (19th c.)
· “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” [Adeste fidelis]. Traditional (ca. 1600s or 1700s).
· “This Old Man.” Traditional.
· “De-Lovely.” By Cole Porter. ASCAP Work ID: 340019152.
· “A Bushel and a Peck.” By Frank Loesser. ASCAP Work ID: 320102867.
· “Ride a Cock Horse to Banbury Cross.” Traditional.
· “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.” By Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. BMI Work #608621.
· “Field of Opportunity.” By Neil Young. ASCAP Work ID: 360219907.
· “Run for the Roses.” By Dan Fogelberg. ASCAP Work ID: 480149122.
· “Achy-Breaky Heart.” By Kenneth Gregory Watters. SESAC Work Number: 55896468.
· “Baby, It’s You.” By Burt Bacharach, Mack David, and Barney Williams. ASCAP Work ID: 320111553.
· “Nothing Compares 2 U.” By Prince. ASCAP Work ID: 440162807.
· “Shake a Tail Feather.” By Otha Hayes, Verlie Rice, and Zephire Williams. BMI Work #1318017.
· “We May Never Pass This Way Again.” By Darrell Crofts and Jimmy Seals. BMI Work #1617190.
· “Shiny Happy People.” By Bill Berry, Peter Buck, Mike Mills, and Michael Stipe. SESAC Work Number: 689794367.
· “That Smell.” By Allen Collins and Ronnie Van Zant. BMI Work #1483429.
· “Get Ready.” By William [Smokey] Robinson. ASCAP Work ID: 370083240.
· “Let’s Hear It for the Boy.” By Dean Pitchford and Thomas Snow. BMI Work #858383.
· “The Mess-Around.” By Ahmet Ertegun [Nugetre]. BMI Work #981371.
[Scene 1]
Enter Brother Wilbur, [possibly wandering among the spectators. Once onstage, he settles on a perfect spot within earshot of Blanche and Agnes. Each time he utters his Latin refrain, he makes gestures representing the sex act.]
BROTHER WILBUR
Foullando in calibistris,
Intravit per boucham ventris
Bidauldus, purgando renés.4
[What? You don’t know no damn Latin? Now hear the word of the Lord!© Pokeamus igitur in vulvibus. Gaudeamus cum jismibus.] People! Be fruitful and multiply! Bang away! In becoming one flesh, may your fountain be blessed and, sure as shootin’, my own cup runneth way the hell over. O genitalia gloriosa! Release us o’ Lord and come all ye faithful!©
[E pluribus unum. Yippee!
Foullando in calibistris.
Corpus “delecti.” Let us {s}pray.…]
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to perform acts of great devotion. Listen and learn from my unctuously soothing words full of piety; for—yea!—my sermon touches upon the very incarnation of thy rod and thy staff, which comfort the hell out of me when, in they go! Head, ears, and tail, straight into the precious womb of you ladies.
As for you, girls, you’re probably saying to yourselves: “You don’t say, Daddy-o! What’s up with that? Quo modo? Come again?” [Well, that’s what this sermon on the mount is all about.]
E pluribus unum. Yippee!
Foullando in calibistris.
Corpus “delecti.” Let us [s]pray.…
Now, let’s take this whole thing bit by bit, shall we? In today’s reading from the Holy Scriptures, our text says foullando, [from the Latin foulare, which gives us fouler, and, then,] en foulant: I foo, you foo, we all fool around like crazy down there in that bag of goodies o’ yours! That’s right, folks: this is the money shot: [In becoming one flesh, may the fountain be blessed!] You gals got the collection plate; a gentleman wants to open that purse and make a donation.
You hear what I’m sayin’ to you, baby girls? Get it? If we menfolk wanna latch on to those pretty little titties and head on down for a pickle tickle, well, mum’s the word. It’s all in good fun-bags. And don’t you be tellin’ your mamas! I say, ladies: why would God have given you a snatch if He didn’t want us to snatch it? So, snatch that joystick and stick it in! Booty calls! And, if you know what’s good for you, down you go! Ass in the air, lest that bum get bruised! O smiles of a holey night!
In becoming one flesh, may the fountain be blessed.
And never will it hurt to pee, foullando in calibistris.
So, heads up, all you red-faced, strapping young men, crowned with glory and partial to the female of the species! Perform an inspection! Check out that toolbox before working those tools and, then.… Knick, knack, Saint Paddy whack, give the dog a boner!© But plunge ye not into the darkest of smelly depths, lest, when ye purge, ye get the clap.
In becoming one flesh, may the fountain be blessed,
Lest Purge-atory greet your wee-wee, when foullando in calibistris.
And, hey, girls! Pretty little girls! Holy bazongas, the girls! [From sea to shining C-cup!] The ones who would never say “back off” when we’re rocking out on those milky white titties! Here’s the thing: Ave Maria gratia plena! Careful you don’t get knocked up. Blessed be the fruit of thy womb? Not.
In becoming one flesh, may the fountain be blessed.
But not to start a family, foullando in calibistris.
And all you young married ladies out there, who can’t quite manage to score even half of what you’re craving: don’t you be leading a brother on, you hear? It’s not for you to take the reins. This is the kind of thing daddy can take care of in his sleep. So, just tuck a boy in and let him hammer away.
In becoming one flesh, may the fountain be blessed.
But watch out! no paternity, foullando in calibistris.
But wait, there’s more! From right here in my pulpit, I can highly recommend the company of my boys in gray, cinctures and all. You have my word: when you do a brother a good turn, ’tis a glorious offering unto the Lord. So, indulge away! Up the wazoo! [In my Father’s house, there are many rooms.] A full pardon awaits you, I’ll have you know; so, go for that corpus “delecti.” It’s delightful, it’s delicious, it’s delictable!© And let us [s]pray:
When becoming one flesh, may that fountain be blessed.
E pluribus unum. Yippee! Foullando in calibistris.
Now, it’s true: you got some real beauties out there, perky little girly-girls up for a roll in the hay, let you love on ’em a bushel and a pecker,© and beat that grain and thresh around. Only, then, they’re all worried when they find themselves with a little bun in the oven. And, then: “Lord have mercy!” they say to themselves: “however did that come to pass?” Wanna know how, my sweet honey Beatrice? [I won’t talk seven circles around it:] Pokeamus igitur, baby!
Intravit per boucham ventris:
E pluribus unum. Yippee!
As for all those barren old bats—butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, right? They’re just dried-up relics now, playing the lady. Bottom feeders! Shitload o’ prudes! Like it comes as some big surprise when they hear we’re into women. Believe you me: those bitches have fucked their asses off till all that’s left is a broke-down palace. So, release us o’ Lord and come all ye faithful!© It’s fuckin’ cathartic, which is what is meant by our theme:
I told you: purgando renés!
Corpus “delecti.” Let us [s]pray.
[Now, drumroll, please!] Ladies, allow me to introduce myself: your humble servant, Brother Wilbur, at your service. Ask and ye shall receive! Got your knight in shining armor right here, all ready to buff you up and buff up your stuff! That is my specialty. So, ride a cock horse© to gooseberry cross and, away we go! Old Faithful’s gonna have you back in the saddle in no time. Come one, come all: that’s what I say:
Bidauldus, purgando renés!
Corpus “delecti.” Let us [s]pray.
[Just tell ’em Willy Boy is here because … What do you say, folks? One more time?]
[Doubled version begins here.]
You lusty men: when makin’ hay
and poking ’round inside the hoo-hoo:
Clean out that purse before you spray
inside that cunt. It’s what you do-do.
Avoid the clap and all the goo-goo,
lest through an ass darkly you see,
Foullando in calibistris.
O milky-titted little pretties!
Those haloed nipples: ooh-la-la!
Panties are never in a twisties:
Tada! Tata! And hoo-ha-ha!
We’re on. You’d never say “Ta-ta!”
Just I and thou: no babe makes three,
Foullando in calibistris.
You married gals who’d like to stray,
whose men can’t give you what you need:
Don’t lead them on. It’s pray to play!
And, should you wish to take the lead
in other beds while hubby sleeps,
the spouse still has paternity,
Foullando in calibistris.
With all my brothers, pray, make nice.
Bang! bang! without paternity!
’Tis liberty I preach, no vice.
Why, no! it’s Christian charity.
Lend hands, lend lips! I guarantee:
You’re pardoned most delictfully,
Foullando in calibistris.
Girls beat that wheat, o Domine,
right off the chaff so violently;
but, then, surprise! Voilà bébé!
Bun in the oven, kicking thee.
“Alas!” they say, “what can this be?”
You wanna know, my honey Bea?
Per boucham ventris. Yum. Yippee!
The dried-up prudes have had their day.
They take on airs: it’s quite the game.
“Oh, what a shock!” they seem to say,
when they hear people screw: “Shame! Shame!”
Those fucked-up sluts are all the same.
Bidauldus purgando renés!
Corpus “delecti.” Let us [s]pray.
But now the time has come to meet …
Ladies, presenting Brother Willy,
juiced up for any meet and greet!
Just ask him and he’ll fuck you silly
’cause he knows how to mount a filly.
Polish his helmet! Have away!
Corpus “delecti.” Let us [s]pray.
[Doubled version ends here.]
[Curtain up, or exit Brother Wilbur]
[Scene 2]
[At or near the home of Marvin and Blanche toward day’s end, a mimed scene might depict the displeasures of married life. Blanche heads to Agnes’s place.]
The WIFE, BLANCHE, begins
God give you joy! Hi, Aggie—hey!—and health, and pleasure, and relief.
AGNES
Hey, girl. Come on in. Right this way.
BLANCHE
God give you joy! Hi, Aggie—hey!
AGNES
You’re pale! You’re gonna waste away. Good Lord, what’s up, girl? Where’s the beef?
BLANCHE
God give you joy! Hi, Aggie—hey!—and health, and pleasure, and relief ’cause, as for me, I pray for death!
AGNES
How come?
BLANCHE
It’s all beyond belief. Day in, day out, I’m stuck with that old lay-abed. And not in a good way, I’ll have you know. You think I get any action around here? It’s all “I want you, I want you”; but, then, zip! And with these tits and this ass? I’m just doin’ time, like I was in the pokey.
AGNES
Lemme guess: all pokey, no hokey-pokey.
BLANCHE
Lord have mercy, girl. It’s awful, just awful. He’s got nothin’! If he manages to even get it up once a month, he’s done for. Don’t matter how hard I try to butter him up—hug him, kiss him—it all falls flat. Whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth, if you get the gist. Can you believe I got married off to that old fart? Screw the genius who cooked up that witches brew, ’cause ain’t it just swill? Goes down like a bad beer, I tell you: waiting around all the time for grandpa to plow my fuckin’ field. Gimme a break.
AGNES
There’s always a loophole somewhere in those marriage contracts. What you need is a lover boy—there’s the ticket—preferably French. Somebody to get at that boilerplate and fill in the blanks. It’s only natural. Besides, sure as shootin’: there’s no way it’s God’s plan—or Mother Nature’s either—for a young lady to be languishing without. Just be sure to find yourself a specimen who knows how to hold his tongue: and where, and how!
BLANCHE
Ain’t that the truth! But a girl on the prowl’s gotta watch out for all those busybodies lookin’ sideways at her. Well, hell! [Stink-eye, my ass!] They can bitch and moan till they’re blue in the face. I’m gonna turn things around. In bed. What? Like this gorgeous bod should be food for worms without so much as seeing the same action as my mama? So, come all ye faithful,© that’s what I say! A friar, a convert, some brother-come-lately who only just got religion, a fuckin’ novice. Who cares? He can poke around in my collection plate anytime.
AGNES
Way to go, girl, right you are! And, by the way: been there, done that on my—. Back in the day, you know? Take it from me: when you can’t get no satisfaction,© it’s one bitter pill to swallow.
BLANCHE
Got it. I’ll be on the lookout, then. Something’s bound to come up.
Later, girl, I’m outta here to get … we’ll see. I’ll bide my time till I get mine.
[Exit Blanche; lights down on Agnes’s home.]
[Scene 3]
[On the road between the homes of Agnes and Blanche, enter Brother Wilbur. He sees Blanche and rehearses the gestures that will accompany his histrionic salutation.]
BROTHER WILBUR
Mercy, Madame, mercy on me,
lest I should die before my time!
My heart’s a hostage to your shrine,
its grief to ease by you alone.
I speak the truth: this is no line.
It pains me deep within my bones.
BLANCHE
Some come-on, Wills. Leave it alone.
Lovers don’t lead so ballsily!5
BROTHER WILBUR
To which, baby, I say I won’t.
Offer yourself three times to me:
a holy fuckin’ Trinity.
For verily, I say to … thee … thou … unto you … that, lending a helping hand to the poor and suffering makes for a glorious offering that is most pleasing to the Lord.
BLANCHE
[Shushing him] If our acquaintance were ever to come to light, my people would gouge my eyes out.
BROTHER WILBUR
No worries, babe: not one peep outta me about our little love nest. We’ll play it on the down-low. You’ll see. I’ll be walkin’ on eggshells: the quietest banging you never did hear. And I can always come on your tits.6
BLANCHE
Fine. Come by first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll send Marvin out shopping.
BROTHER WILBUR
In the field of opportunity, it’s plowin’ time again!© Old geezer won’t even know what hit him. [Now, run for the roses,©] ’cause this bud’s on him.
BLANCHE
Good deal. I’m all over that sucker. Go ahead, Pops, make my day.
[Blanche heads home and Brother Willy returns to the monastery to change clothes.]
[Scene 4]
[At the home of Marvin and Blanche]
MARVIN
Where’s baby girl been? Why so late? Now, tell me: where’ve you been all day?
BLANCHE
What’s so damn urgent it can’t wait?
MARVIN
Where’s baby girl been? Why so late? There’s no need to get all irate.
BLANCHE
Old bag o’ bones! Just go away!
MARVIN
Where’s baby girl been? Why so late? Just tell me: where’ve you been all day?
BLANCHE
[Sotto voce] Yeah, right. So there’ll be hell to pay? I’d rather be in Purgatory.
MARVIN
Do you need a suppository? How about an enema? We could get you the great expunger.7
BLANCHE
[{To the audience} Like they say, folks: Purge-atory.]
Marvin, living with you is one big drag. I’m languishing without here, and it’s abusive.
MARVIN
I don’t beat you. I don’t boss you around. If there’s anything you need, all you have to do is ask.
BLANCHE
That’s not the point. You just don’t get where it hurts. Do I really have to come right out and say it? I’m way too young for you.
MARVIN
Whaddaya mean? I keep my end up at least five times a month. [Well, maybe once a week.] Why, only just the other day, I shot my wad.
BLANCHE
Gimme a break, you big pussy, that’s barely enough to whet a girl’s appetite. I’d just as soon have nothing.8
MARVIN
What’s the problem? When you were still at your mother’s, you did just fine without the old cock-a-doodle-doo.
BLANCHE
Which only makes it hurt worse. [Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.] I’m dying of thirst beside the fountain.9
MARVIN
I’m doing the best I can, woman. Good God, I’m achy-breaky© all over from keeping my end up. Besides, my efforts must have paid off if you say you’re pregnant.
BLANCHE
Only because I prayed to Saint Whatserface that I’d get knocked up on whatever bitter dregs you manage to dribble out. And there’s something else. I can’t even bring myself to say it. You know.
MARVIN
Go on, Missy, out with it.
BLANCHE
Marvin, my dear, milord: I’ve got one of those cravings for … Lord have mercy! What if something were to happen to the precious fruit of my womb?
MARVIN
Just name it and it’s yours. [Pickles and ice cream?] Hot stuff? Cold stuff? Cooked? Raw? I’ll rush right out and get it for you.
BLANCHE
I’ve got me a craving for some great big cod. Fresh cod. And love-muscle—I mean: I love mussels. And white bread. And—oooh—a nice, fat, greasy shank of mutton. And some sweet wine and—are you listening, Marvin?—like from our wedding day: what was that again? The good white stuff?
MARVIN
You mean crème brûlée?
BLANCHE
There you go! By George, I think he’s got it. [{Aside} Vin blanc, not mariage blanc!] I don’t know how much longer I’ll hold out if I don’t stuff my face with some cream.
MARVIN
I’ll head out to market first thing tomorrow morning, dear. [Without further ado.]
[Lights down.]
[Scene 5]
[Before dawn the next day, lights up on Brother Wilbur in his chamber. He sings a merry tune, thumbs quickly through his Bible, discards it promptly, and heads to Blanche’s home.]10
BROTHER WILBUR
Rondeau
Baby, it’s you.©
She’s fixing herself up, it’s all for me,
and, thus, I must prepare genitally.
A masterpiece of Nature, folks, it’s true!
I’m up for it. Nothing compares 2 u.©
These boys were made for action, naturally.
It’s right they should be housed erotically,
lest stuff be led astray, up the wazoo.
Should Marvin be awake or should he sleep,
I must have at that coochie, coochie coo—
upon threat of disfigurement, it’s true—
and stand erect, awestruck romantically:
She’s fixing herself up, it’s all for me.11
[Scene 6]
[At daybreak, Brother Willy cautiously positions himself outside Blanche’s bedroom window. A sleepy Marvin awakes and prepares for market with some difficulty.]12
MARVIN
Is it morning already? Glory be! I’d best be getting up immediately. Adieu. I’m off! To market now with me.
BLANCHE
Adieu. And could you shop effectively [for once]? Please? Get good deals. And don’t forget anything.
MARVIN
Of course not. I remember. [He rubs his eyes and temples.] I’ve got it all up here.
[Exit Marvin.]
[Scene 7]
BROTHER WILBUR
Hello! Yo! Here I am, right on time, all ready to rise to the occasion.
BLANCHE
[She admits him.] You certainly are. Now, go on, strip. Off with the pants, off with the doublet, and get your ass over here. I’ve got your spot all warm for you.
BROTHER WILBUR undresses [and looks around anxiously.]
Are you sure this is all on the up-and-up?
[{To the audience} Could be entrapment, you know.] This whole scene gives me the willies.
Bless my soul, a guy can’t be too careful.
BLANCHE
If you’re that chicken-shit, you don’t deserve a real lady.
[Brother Wilbur overcomes his fear and jumps into bed with Blanche.]
[Scene 8]
[Lights up on Marvin on the road to market. He sneezes and reaches for his handkerchief.]
MARVIN
Isn’t that just my luck! I forgot my purse! I’ve got nothing! No bag, no pouch, no sack. I even forgot the basket [for my packages]. Best turn back right away and get my stuff.
[Scene 9]
[Blanche and Willy are doing their business when Marvin bangs on the door.]
[MARVIN]
Hello! Hey!
BROTHER WILBUR
Oh. My—. In the name of Saint John, Saint Francis, and Saint Johnson! What on earth is that?
BLANCHE
[She bolts out of bed, the feathers literally flying.] What do you think? It’s the Lord and Master! The jig is up. He must be on to us.
BROTHER WILBUR
Jesus H. Christ Almighty! It is your husband! O Lord, look down upon your miserable servant, for I do believe … The Devil made me do it! It sure as hell wasn’t God!
BLANCHE
Quick! Go hide! Anywhere! If he finds you, your goose is cooked.
BROTHER WILBUR
[Frantically seeking a hiding place] Oh my God, this is it! I’m a dead man. Help me, Saint Johnson! My butt is quaking! What if—? Do you really think he’ll kill me if he finds us together?
BLANCHE
Nastiest man I ever did see. I fear for your package.
BROTHER WILBUR
Screw this whole thing! This is the Devil’s doing, and I’m gonna have my ass handed to me on a silver platter. The feathers are really gonna fly!
BLANCHE
[So, shake a tail feather!©] He can’t stand being had. And, when he gets pissed—you’ll see—he foams at the mouth like a madman!
BROTHER WILBUR
Oh. My—. Our Father who art in Heaven, Ave Maria, and Jesus H. Christ Almighty! I’m screwed!
BLANCHE
Lord have mercy, this is no time for a sermon! Now, get a grip, buddy. Come over here and I’ll hide you.
BROTHER WILBUR
All things considered, I’m thinking that my best option at this juncture would be … to get the hell outta here, by God!
BLANCHE
Quick! Stretch out over there. He’s not gonna see your ass under that chest.
[Blanche helps Willy squeeze most of the way under the chest at the foot of the bed; but his purse-like scrotum protrudes.]
BROTHER WILBUR
My ass! That’s exactly what he’ll see. But, if this is really the only spot.… When you gotta go, you gotta go. I’m squeezed in as tight as I can, but cover my ass, wouldya? My boys are flappin’ in the wind here! O’ Lord, this I pray: Get me outta here in one piece, [by the hair of my skinny, skin, foreskin!]
[Blanche tosses some extra linen on top of Willy, which, as the audience sees, provides insufficient cover.]
BLANCHE
Shut up! Don’t be such a wimp! I’ll give you a hand as I’m able.
MARVIN
[Banging loudly on the door again] Hey! I say, hey! Are you gonna open this door or what?
BLANCHE
[Grabbing her robe, Blanche goes to the door.] Lord have mercy, dear! What brings you back so soon?
BROTHER WILBUR
[Delivering the first of many sotto voces] Back, shmack. Let him back the hell off. I’m scrunched up like a frog in here!
MARVIN
Can you believe the bad luck? I forgot my purse.
BROTHER WILBUR
Good God, the blow to end all blows! I’m lying right on top of it! In the name of Saint Benderover and—you too, Jesus—I’m a goner! Now what? Speak now or forever hold my dick? Lord have mercy, my one true God, this is it. And he was always such a good fellow, with his gleaming crown, his head held high. [And he shall never pass this way again.©]13
BLANCHE
[Don’t you remember?] I got it all ready for you on the chest before bed.
MARVIN
Go back to bed. I’ll find it. Careful not to catch a chill. [He fumbles around by the chest, grabbing on to whatever he can and comes dangerously close to Willy’s “purse.”]
BROTHER WILBUR
Good God! He’s headed right up my—. Oh, no! Not there! What in the name of Saint Valentine am I supposed to do now? Lord have mercy, what if he gets his hands on—hell, no! Not there! He can take the clothes off my back but—my God!—not the family jewels! I’m so scared, I could shit! [He does. Or at least farts.]14
BLANCHE
No, [Marvin], not over there! You’re at the wrong end.
MARVIN
So, where is it?
BROTHER WILBUR
Forgive me, o Lord, and have mercy on my soul. I prostate—prostrate—myself before Thee.
MARVIN
Good God Almighty! Who cut one? In the name of Saint John, it stinks to high Heaven around here!
BROTHER WILBUR
Like his shit don’t stink! If that sonofabitch were in my position—. Try being all tied up in knots like this! Good God Almighty! He would’ve ripped out a few on the spot.
BLANCHE
So? Got it?
MARVIN
Almost. That’s some slippery little sucker. I can’t quite get my hands on … It’s not here between the sheets. That thingy must be wedged in there but good.
[Marvin continues to grope while Blanche endeavors to distract him.]
BROTHER WILBUR
[{To the audience} You know what they say, folks: contents may have shifted during flight.] I move a muscle, and—touché!—I’m a dead man. Frères humains qui après nous vivez:15 is Brother Willy to die so piteous a death? Bare-assed, balls to the wind, and for what?
A word or two, perhaps, in remembrance of me: my Last Willy and test … test … Testament, while I’m still of sound mind and—. [He gasps.]16
[Doubled version begins here.]
[And now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my balls to keep.]
I’m all exposed. It’s getting chilly.
Alas, alack, slick Brother Willy!
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Before I head for Heaven’s payoff …
Before he cuts my fucking balls off!
[Doubled version ends here.]
To good friend Cupid, God of Love
I leave the soul of Brother Willy,
That Ye bestow it, from above,
to all the girls that I fucked silly.
My heart I leave in this, my will-y,
to her for whom my hour draws nigh.
And thus, Bro Willy, with a kiss you die?
O’ girls, o’ perky areolae,
sweet birds of youth, o’ angel faces!
To buff and polish your cuntzillae,
my dick goes to your secret places,
my balls—en garde!—straight to third bases—
the porky kind to grab some thigh.
And thus, Bro Willy, with a kiss you die?
To sweet young maids: I leave my britches.
Rub front and back17—my gift to you-you.
Ashes to ashes, sugar-britches,
and bust to bust against the hoo-hoo,
so, when you’re finished what you do-do,
you’re all set for the next joy ride.
And thus, Bro Willy, with a kiss you die?
Last up: for shiny, itchy people,©
pansy-assed studs, scented and gay:
Here is the church, here is the steeple:
Open all doors. Fire away!
Kiss, kiss, bang, bang! In the back way
to fuck your wives, perchance to die!
And thus, Bro Willy, with a kiss you die?
To drunken buddies everywhere,
I pray: should Willy pass away,
remember him when on a tear,
rinsing your drunken mugs next day.
[Your brother played it as it laid]
and never let his throat get dry.
And thus, Bro Willy, with a kiss you die?
MARVIN
I just don’t know where else to try. The Devil’s work gets pretty hairy.
BLANCHE
Why not pray to the Virgin Mary?
MARVIN
Good golly, dear, too mad! No way! That damn thing must be socked away. [Who’s handling our props anyway?]
BROTHER WILBUR
Into your hands, o Domine,
my spirit I commend. Allez!
Domine Deus, agnus dei,
feely-us testes—et anus!—
et impotente non sanctus!
Quo vadis? Eek! haec, ho-ho-hoc!
And what about my gorgeous cock?
Unkindest cut—right in the balls!
He’s almost there now, sac and all!
Saint Johnson! What’s a boy to do?
You’d kill a man whose balls are blue?
Good God! Prayers don’t do any good.
Should I just let him see my wood?
Or let him sack my tonsured head?
Adieu, beloved hairy nuts!18
BLANCHE
Quit looking! No, ifs, ands, or but[t]s! Look, dear! [She points to Willy’s drawers.] What do you call that doohickey hanging right there on the bedpost?
MARVIN
What the devil? Eureka! I’ll be damned! Habeas corpus! Oh, you great big beautiful—. Come to papa!19
Nota bene: he shall mistake Brother Wilbur’s underwear for his purse.
BROTHER WILBUR
At last! In the name of Saint Johnson, at last! What a relief! I can move a muscle!
MARVIN
Adieu, my dear. Now, just a little send-off before I go. Pucker up.20
BLANCHE
[To distract him, she gives Marvin the best kiss ever.] Knock yourself out. And leave me high and dry again, why don’tcha?
MARVIN
That was just the down payment. I’ll finish up when I get home.
[Exit Marvin]
[Scene 10]
BROTHER WILBUR
O happy day! and praise be to Saint Johnson! Slick Brother Willy shall rise again! [Just tell them Willy-Boy is here!]
BLANCHE
Oh. My—. Lord have mercy! He really had you between your rocks and a hard place!
BROTHER WILBUR
How the hell did he get his hands on his purse, for God’s sake? I was lying right on top of it.
BLANCHE
[Feigning ignorance] Jesus! So, what the hell did he take? He’ll be back again in no time!
BROTHER WILBUR
Good God Almighty! No way he’s up my Franciscan ass again! Hail, Mary, full of—! I’ll get dressed, grab my junk, and get the hell outta here! But where in the name of God is my ball sack? [{She looks confused.} My britches. My drawers. My underwear, for fuck’s sake!] I can’t find it anywhere!21
BLANCHE
Where was it?
BROTHER WILBUR
Next to my doublet: it was hanging right there on the bedpost.
BLANCHE
Mary, Mother of God, no way! That’s what he took instead of his purse! Lord have mercy, I’m a goner! Soon as he figures it out, he’s gonna kill me.
BROTHER WILBUR
And, my, my, my, would you look at the time! Gotta hit the road. And I won’t be crossing paths with him again. I guess I’ll just have to make a fist and take brother willy in these two hands of mine. Nature’s very own jockstrap! [Now, exit, stage left!]22
BLANCHE
Lord have mercy! Am I done for here or what?
You feel sorry for me, don’t you folks? I never had much luck in the romance department but—Lord have mercy!—what’s to become of me? [No, seriously: what do I do?] Make a run for it? If I wait around for him to get back, he’s gonna kill me for sure.
I know! I’ll go see what my girlfriend has to say.
[Exit Blanche]
[Scene 11]
[At Aggie’s home]
[BLANCHE]
Hi, Aggie—hey! [Oh, fuck it! I don’t have time for this:] Lord have mercy!
AGNES
You don’t look so good. He didn’t beat you, did he?
BLANCHE
I say, Lord have mercy, girl! I don’t know what’s to become of me. I’m a dead woman.
AGNES
Snap out of it. Every problem has a solution.
BLANCHE
So, help me out or I’m as good as dead. Lord have mercy, girl, what do I do? Looks like the hubby—genius that he is—grabbed Brother Wilbur’s underwear instead of his purse.
Weeping [Plorando]
And, then, he headed right back to market.
AGNES
Good God, is that all? Shit, girl! What else you got?
BLANCHE
Yeah, well you don’t know him like I do. He’s gonna say I got plenty else, doin’ it right and left. Like I ever get more than a tiny, little dribble outta him. Or one lousy time. Cross my heart and hope to die.
AGNES
No, seriously: that’s it? Hail Mary, full of grace! Just go on back home. I’ve got a little performance to work up: a demonstration, if you will. I’ll just prove to him that he’s got the drawers of Saint Francis. You sit tight and play along.
[A quizzical Blanche prefers to watch Agnes make her preparations and receive gestural reassurance from her friend.]
Okay, I’m outta here. And, if I don’t manage to calm him down, well, I’ll have been a very bad girl who deserves a good spanking.
[BLANCHE]
Oh, my God, that’s a load off! You make me feel so much better. I’m outta here too, in a flash.
[Exit both women. Agnes hastens to catch up with Marvin on the road to the market; Blanche follows at a discreet distance instead of going home.]
[Scene 12]
[Lights up on Marvin, alone on the road but still fairly close to home. Agnes approaches and observes.]
MARVIN
Well, what do you know! I’m almost there. But, in the name of Saint John—ooh, that smell!© What on earth is that stench? That purse stinks so bad, I can hardly breathe! Smells like loose bowels … or mussels … or rotten clam. It’s almost as if …
Up my nose with a rubber hose! Purse, my ass! Good God, this is no purse! This is underwear! Right off somebody’s ass—and not a particularly clean one at that! Just look at the [filthy] ball sac! Turn my back for one minute and—. To the Devil with you, madam! Just wait’ll I get my hands on you. Opening up for some tomcat on the prowl. I’ll be goddamned if she makes a cuckold outta me!
Mussels, was it? I’ll give you muscle in a minute. The Devil take you and all your lowdown, dirty, rotten tricks! And the Devil can take me too if I don’t get back at you. I’ll slit your [pretty little] throat. Harrumph! Stuck it to me good, did you? That prick must have been hiding somewhere when I went back home. Jesus Christ Almighty, if I’d only known! I would’ve fucked you up royal right on the spot, by God, Monsieur … Monsieur … whoever the hell you are, Father What’s-Your-Face! You’re in there polishing up her hoo-hoo and it’s all hoo-ha-ha at the poor cuckolded sap?
I think not, motherfuckers! The Devil take the lot of you, by God, ’cause I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore! Stuck with the likes o’ your sorry ass, am I, my fine lady? The hell with you, bitch!23
AGNES
Good friend, are you quite all right? Such a commotion. Did you get mugged or something?
MARVIN
Good Golly! They sure stuck it to me! To market, to market with the old cuckold so he can cock-a-doodle-doo up her coochie, coochie coo! Sweeter than honey, bitter as—. Of all the goddamn gall! In the name of Saint Johnson, we’ll soon see who’s cocked up around here.
AGNES
Lord have mercy! Surely you’re not suggesting that my friend’s conduct might have been of questionable moral probity.
MARVIN
Conduct? [Waving the drawers] What the hell do you call this? Probity here, probity there. Her probity’s pretty much in your face! [Fuck this shit!]
Monstrat caligas [He shows the drawers again.]
AGNES
Lord have mercy, friend, you mustn’t think she’s done anything wrong. Why, my heart’s bursting out of my chest when I see you holding them like that in your own two hands. Lord have mercy! It’s the drawers of Saint Francis! Don’t you know a precious relic when you see one?
MARVIN
And how in the name of Saint Johnson did they wind up at my house?
AGNES
Seriously? Isn’t it obvious? [It’s divine intervention,] so help me God! Do you really think you could have fathered a child without the help of that holy relic?
MARVIN
Oh yeah? Who says I couldn’t?
BLANCHE24
[Fat fuckin’ chance.]
[AGNES]
Lord have mercy! You don’t have it in you.
MARVIN
Do too! Besides, I fail to see what service could possibly be rendered—good God!—by these.
AGNES
Oh, really? Anybody else comes across the jewels in the crown, they know exactly what to do. You rub ’em seven times, front and back, recite the profession of faith, and, then, you discharge your conjugal duty. [She handles the drawers.] This is amazing! They were thought to have been lost forever! And to think that, if we hadn’t bumped into each other like this—[{aside} more like if menfolk hadn’t been doin’ us like they do]—I never would have snagged ’im25—I mean snagged ’em: they would never have come down to us. But you better hurry up and give ’em back.
MARVIN
I’ll bring them back to the monastery myself, special delivery, with my own two hands.
AGNES
[{Sotto voce} And speakin’ of two hands:]
Brother Wilbur comes by a lot. All you’ve got to do is hand them over to him.
MARVIN
Very well, then, but first, let’s go see what the wife’s got to say for herself.
[Scene 13]
[Enter Blanche and, shortly thereafter, Brother Willy in monastic attire and initially unseen by the others.]
[MARVIN]
Hail, Mary, full of grace. Forgive me, dear, I’ve wronged you terribly.
AGNES
Girl, you’ll never guess what he was thinking about you! Never in his wildest dreams did our good man here imagine that you were in possession of the drawers of Saint Francis! He was quite beside himself—shocked, really—that such a thing should have come to pass.
BLANCHE
I had a feeling something was up when I found that pair just lying around the house. Needless to say, I’d rather rot in hell than ever engage in conduct that’s anything other than beyond reproach. I’d never stoop so low.
AGNES
Girl, you’ve got to give them back.
[{Aside} And we’ll soon see who wears the underpants in this family.]
BLANCHE
Lord have mercy, that’s true. But they’ve served us well.
[Under her breath] And served him right!
MARVIN
Good God Almighty, dear, it never occurred to me till right now this very minute, so help me God.
AGNES
Look! Over there! It’s Brother Wilbur headed right this way. Best to just hand them off to him.
MARVIN
Right you are. Say, Father, could you come over here please? We’d like to have a word with you.
BROTHER WILBUR
Might I be of service here? From what I see, I do believe so.
BLANCHE
These are Saint Francis’s drawers. If you could please just take this junk off our hands.26
BROTHER WILBUR
I’ll do it straightaway and case closed. But first: everybody on your knees and—[waving the malodorous drawers]—ask the good saint of Assisi to pray for our asses! And then, all three of you are gonna pucker up and kiss the drawers of Saint Francis. Your breath will smell all the sweeter for it.
[{Aside to the audience} What’s good for the goosing is good for the gander. And, while you’re at it, kiss my ass!]27
BLANCHE
You can rub-a-dub-dub ’em all over me, seeing as I’ve already come to know their great sweetness.28
BROTHER WILBUR
Well done, my sister, good job on that holy relic. Such a treasure!
MARVIN
Let’s go bring them back, Father, before everybody leaves. [They start to pass the hat to collect money.]
[To the audience] Hey folks! A place for everything and everything in its place or we’ll rub your noses in it too.
Do watch your steps, gents, as you go.29
BROTHER WILBUR
Bye, guys, hope you enjoyed the show!
[Possible closing music.]30
The END
From the young clergy of Meulleurs.
M.P.V.