LITMIR.BIZ

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is very unusual. You eat it—you grow bigger. Your body becomes strong and your head—double—

      THE DANGEROUS MAN: Is that really desirable? Such a big head?

      NIETZSCHE: There are jewels—ow! (He trips and falls on a bench)—Valuable jewels in this holy bread.

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Posing against a white screen): I heard him say something unusual.

      THE DANGEROUS MAN: So did we all.

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: He said—there are “Jews” in this bread.

      NIETZSCHE: No, no, you misunderstand me. There are jewels, valuable jewels in this bread.

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: I would not eat this bread if there were Jews in this bread. (Slowly advances and takes the bread from Nietzsche. She turns toward the audience and puts her hand on the knife) You understand why I say that? Jews—I do not eat Jews. You better make me believe there are no Jews in this bread, because, my dear Fritz— (Lifts the knife out of the bread) —if there are Jews in this bread, then I will put not even the tiniest morsel of this bread in my mouth. But on the other hand— (Lifts the knife higher. A siren is heard, and she swoons to the floor. Then she slowly rises to her knees) —if I am certain there are no Jews in this bread, then I will open my mouth and allow a few tiny crumbs of bread to enter my own, sweet— (Licks the edge of the knife)

      NIETZSCHE: I do not move.

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: If you don’t move, you’re in trouble, Mr. Nietzsche.

      NIETZSCHE: I hope to prove to you, however, that I do not bake Jews in this bread. So please. Feed me some of my own bread. (She holds the knife to his mouth) I would never eat bread baked with Jews inside. Because to do so would be to hurt, terribly . . .

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Let’s find out.

      NIETZSCHE (Licks the knife): What I have in my stomach now. —No Jews in there!—only—jewels baked in my bread, now in my stomach. (Suddenly holds his stomach in pain, tumbling to the floor, as the Scholars beat him) Oww! Can you possibly understand how painful to me to have sharp jewels inside one’s stomach?

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Still kneeling on the floor): I am imagining that.

      NIETZSCHE: You tell me what it feels like in the imagination.

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: It would be very painful.

      NIETZSCHE: Yes! It is!

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Like broken glass—

      NIETZSCHE: Yes! It is!

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (As a small target passes in front of her eyes): Or long splinters, driven into the hands, or into the feet. Or eyes wide open—

      NIETZSCHE (Cowering at the wall): Please stop—

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Staring straight into the sun, which is probably the most painful thing I can think of—splinters going into my eyes!

       (They all scream as the target leaves her eyes and the lights brighten.)

      VOICE (Over loud music): Eyes eyes eyes!—

       (A Phallic Serpent rises from the ocean, then sinks down again.)

      NIETZSCHE: Where is my Chinese horse? Where is my Chinese horse?

      THE DANGEROUS MAN (Overlapping): What the hell are you talking about? I don’t understand you, Mr. Nietzsche.

       (Nietzsche falls to his knees.)

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: My God—here is a voice we dare not allow to speak directly because— (Puts her hands on Nietzsche’s brow) —the madness of this voice is infectious, and if one hears this voice speaking directly for itself, one is intoxicated by such speaking, one leaps from high windows, one plunges into wide rivers—from the power of whose turbulence—no escape seems possible.

      THE CHILD (Prancing in the ocean, singing): I know where that voice is coming from—I know where this voice is coming from—

       (The Scholars bring on two stuffed horses, which they throw back and forth. Nietzsche grabs one of the horses and dances with it affectionately. A Voice is heard over the music:)

      VOICE: Here is a man—here is a man, here is a man who simply cannot opt out of his own self-destructive motives—who listens to himself only.

       (One horse is wrenched from Nietzsche’s grasp, and he runs for the other, but that second one is thrown past him—he grabs for it but ends up clutching only his own body. He advances to the probe, throws himself against it and sings:)

      NIETZSCHE: Where is my Chinese horse? Where is my Chinese horse?

       (A wild dance follows. One of the horses is placed on Nietzsche’s back, and he prances around the stage as the Child hits her cymbals and the lights fade to black.

       When the lights come up, the Dangerous Man is at the side of the stage dressed in a bloody apron and feathered hat, holding a tray of raw meat. Nietzsche slumps, exhausted, on a bench, embracing his horse.)

      VOICE: Here is a man.

      THE DANGEROUS MAN: Hard to believe, Friedrich Nietzsche, philosopher of power—the missing years of sweet, gentle, Bad Boy Nietzsche—years in the desert, in the lonely mountains of China—unknown years in lonely rooms in Chinese rooming houses— (Drops the tray to the floor with a loud crash) —visited in secret—by the ghosts of wise men seeking power—ghosts of ancient China.

      THE CHILD (Bending over the tray): Where is my Chinese horse?

      NIETZSCHE (Rising, hugging his horse): This is my Chinese horse.

      THE DANGEROUS MAN: Chinese or no Chinese, that doesn’t mean shit to me.

       (A crash of Chinese cymbals. The Beautiful Woman, with bare breasts, appears above the ocean.)

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: I can relate to this, please—I too am banished to some nether region, where the best I can do is to try understanding the goddamn rules on this particular shithouse planet—

      THE DANGEROUS MAN: Sorry about this, Mr. Nietzsche.

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Disappearing): That bastard is NEVER sorry!!

      THE DANGEROUS MAN: Hey!—spiritual self-laceration is not to my taste.

      NIETZSCHE (In his own world, hugging his horse): Nobody sees my Chinese horse. Nobody sees my Chinese horse. Nobody sees my Chinese horse.

       (The Child bounces up and down on a second horse as the Scholars dance around her. The Dangerous Man reenters carrying a ceremonial red Chinese wagon wheel.)

      THE CHILD: Is it not true that to pursue and sing whatever one truly desires inside each moment as it passes—this is to pursue—incoherence in fact—

      THE DANGEROUS MAN (Overlapping): Chinese whores and horses! Chinese horses and whores!

      THE CHILD AND THE DANGEROUS MAN: True! True! True! True!

      THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Reappearing, fully dressed, as things quiet down): Mr. Nietzsche is a man who sees the darkness where other people think there is a light still shining.

      THE DANGEROUS MAN: That doesn’t mean shit to this

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