by
Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INT. THE LIGHTS COME ON TO REVEAL AN ELDERLY WOMAN SITTING AT A SMALL TABLE FACING THE AUDIENCE. SHE IS DRESSED IN THE TRADITIONAL GARB OF A CARNIVAL FORTUNETELLER. A DECK OF TAROT CARDS IS OFF TO HER SIDE, WRAPPED IN SILK OR FINE LINEN. A BRANDY FLASK SITS OFF TO THE OTHER SIDE.
Hello, hello!
Please come inside. Sit down there across the table from me.
SHE MOTIONS TO A
NON-EXISTENT CHAIR IN FRONT OF THE TABLE
“My, my. What a
pretty one you are!
“No, no, my
dear. Don’t be concerned over a silly old lady like me. Sit! Sit!
“So, you want to
know the future? Maybe the past? Yes?
“Well, of course,
you already know the past! At least you think you do, but my cards have a way
of helping you remember it.
“Ignore the
noises of the carnival outside. Here it is just you and me.
“Now, I will
unwrap the cards, and we shall begin.
SHE UNWRAPS THE
CARDS AND PUTS THEM IN FRONT OF HER
“Yes, that’s
natural silk they are wrapped in. I’m not some carnival hack, not Madame Gianopoulos. I
have dealt these cards for over seventy years.
“What? Why,
thank you. No, my child, I don’t look ninety years old, do I?
“Now, take the
cards and just shuffle them the best you can. Any way is acceptable. The cards
have to taste you.
“Yes, that does
sound unpleasant, does it not? Let’s say they must know you, but listen to me
prattle on.
“Very good. Yes,
the cards do feel oddly warm. Ah! They are ready.
THE
FORTUNETELLER TAKES THE CARDS AND LAYS THEM OUT AS DESCRIBED IN THE MONOLOGUE.
“Let me lay them
out before you facedown. Four in the first row, three in the second, and one in
the third row: the past, the present, and the future.
“Now let us look
at the past, maybe a past you have forgotten?
“Oh, look! It is
the Spring Maid in Flowers!
“What? You don’t
remember the Spring Maid in Flowers being in the Tarot? Why, of course not.
These are my cards. My special
cards.
“Oh, look how
young and pretty she is! How innocent! How she revels in the dawn of each new
day. Ah, how it makes me remember my own childhood, but now we may not be as
innocent? What a world of sorrow we live in.
“Here is the
Summer Meadow, but it is inverted. Oh, the pretty little one is not living in a
very nice place. How distressing. She had all that purity, but she lives amidst
people and places that are not so uncorrupted. Let’s look at the next card.
“The Fiends of
the Heart. Oh, this is dreadful. Look at the picture. Look how the child
cringes from the beasts that crowd around here, the monsters that have been
sown into her heart by those who were monsters themselves.
“No, child, you
do not need to shy away. There is no need to cover your eyes. It is just a
picture, see? It is just ink on a pasteboard.
“Let’s move on
to the next. This may be a Cinderella story, yes?
“Ah! The
Questing Youth!
“Now, now, how
can the woman in the picture look like you? Her back is turned to us. How do
you know what you look like from behind?
“Yet, she is
looking for something. She is searching, but what is she questing for?
“The next card!
“Oh! The
Blessing, inverted. Oh! Well, we need not talk of this one at this time. Let us
look to the present, shall we? Let us do so. Quickly.
“The Lovers
Slain. Oh. Oh. One moment, dearest. Yes, my hands do tremble so. Ignore them. I
am an old woman.
“Let me have
that flask there. The brandy inside will steady my hands.
SHE TAKES THE
BRANDY FLASK IN TREMBLING HANDS AND TAKES A SIP.
“You are
correct. The slain lovers are all men, and there they lay, the poor dears, in
one large carrion pile. They dared to love somebody. Let’s see who that could
have been.
“Ah, the
Puppeteer!
“Yes, her eyes
are not kind, are they? They have no love or tenderness within their
depths. Her marionettes lie limp on their strings. Used and now useless.
“Please do not
look at me that way. See, now? There are just two cards left.
“The Vengeful
Dead. Look how they reach out from the pasteboard!
“Please, my
dear. Please put the knife away. Please. Look! There is just one more card. You
have to admit the cards have power, don’t they?
“This last card
is your future. Just let me flip it over.
“It is blank!
“Nothing but an
eternity of whiteness, but look! Something takes shape within the card itself.
“But my dear,
where have you gone? Do you not want to see this card? The woman trapped within
looks just like you.
THE
FORTUNETELLER TAKES A LONG GLANCE AT THE CARD
“I shall call
this card A Broken Doll in Hell.”
THE STAGE LIGHTS GO OUT
Written permission must be given for this monologue to be performed with the following conditions:
1. I must be given credit as the playwright.2. Admission may not be charged unless the organization is a registered nonprofit or educational institution.
3. A video of the performance must be sent to me either through YouTube or another video hosting service.
