Sexual Perversity in Chicago and the Duck Variations Page 7
EMIL: Huh?
GEORGE: Yeah! What do you think? You can't shoot ‘em on foot? What!?
EMIL: Yeah?
GEORGE: They got laws. Seasons. Didn't you ever hear of Duck Season?
EMIL: Of course.
GEORGE: Well, duck season is when you can kill ‘em. Legally.
EMIL: And when is it?
GEORGE: Duck season?
EMIL: Yeah.
GEORGE: Uh, the spring. Several weeks . . . The fall several weeks.
EMIL: . . . whenever the duck is around!
GEORGE: No, it's . . .
EMIL: Eh?
GEORGE: No, I . . .
EMIL: Eh?
GEORGE: Well . . . ?
EMIL: EH?
GEORGE: . . . yeah!
EMIL: They got the season so the only time it's not legal to shoot ‘em is when they ain't here. . . . yeah.
EMIL: They're no dummies.
GEORGE: Yeah.
EMIL: Influence . . . strings.
GEORGE: It ain't cheap to hunt ducks.
EMIL: Are you kidding me?
GEORGE: No. You need land.
EMIL: You need a lot of land.
GEORGE: At least a mile. And you need . . .
EMIL: Guns.
GEORGE: One gun only.
EMIL: And a spare.
GEORGE: And some ammo to put in the gun.
EMIL: Telescope.
GEORGE: And those hats.
EMIL: A blatter to call them.
GEORGE: Not always necessary.
EMIL: But good to have in an emergency. . . . A bag to put them in.
GEORGE: Big boots.
EMIL: A raincoat.
GEORGE: A radio.
EMIL: You gotta take lunch.
GEORGE: You need a lotta things.
EMIL: A license.
GEORGE: And a lot of luck.
EMIL: Oh, yes.
GEORGE: It's easy to pick out a little wobbling duck from miles in a clear blue sky?
EMIL: No.
GEORGE: A LOT of luck.
EMIL: And practice.
GEORGE: Who's got the time?
EMIL: Every day. A half hour anyway. Practicing . . .
GEORGE: . . . is where they separate the men from the boys. At that moment there is no turning back. You're committed. You've been blatting around and searching the sky and crouching ‘till your back hurts. From dawn on.
EMIL: Yes.
GEORGE: Lying on the cold Earth, trying not to look like anything. Hoping. Praying for that ONE DUCK . . .
EMIL: A low flying duck . . .
GEORGE: That one chance to show what dreams are made of. Until . . .
EMIL: Yes?
GEORGE: Until . . . off in the distance. Beyond the horizon ‘til you don't even know what it is, is a honking. The honking comes closer. Closer and louder. You see a far-off blur. The blur becomes a speck. The speck gets bigger. It's a big speck. It's a dot. The dot is advancing and it's honking and the honking is louder and becomes clear and precise. You can just make it out. Flapping. Flying straight in a line to join its comrades. Frantic. Lost. Dangerous. Vicious: A DUCK. . . . and on he comes. You quietly raise from the ground. One knee . . . two knees. You lift the gun, you put the gun on your shoulder and point it at the duck. It's you and him. You and the duck on the marsh. He wants to go home and you want to kill him for it. So you fire the gun. Once, again. Again. Again. Your ears are ringing. Your eyes are covered in spots. You cannot see. You are quivering and you gotta sit down. Your heart is going fast. . . .
EMIL: Where's the duck?
GEORGE: . . . slowly. Slowly you lower yourself to the Earth. Your joints creak . . .
EMIL: Where's the duck?
GEORGE: . . . with the weight of your body. Your shoulder aches from pounding, and your . . .
EMIL: WHERE'S THE DUCK?
GEORGE: The duck is dying.
EMIL: Out in the marsh.
GEORGE: Out in the marsh.
EMIL: Oh no.
GEORGE: In a flock of feathers and blood. Full of bullets. Quiet, so as not to make a sound. Dying.
EMIL: Living his last.
GEORGE: Dying.
EMIL: Leaving the Earth and sky.
GEORGE: Dying.
EMIL: Lying on the ground.
GEORGE: Dying.
EMIL: Fluttering.
GEORGE: Dying.
EMIL: Sobbing.
GEORGE: Dying.
EMIL: Quietly bleeding.
GEORGE: Thinking.
EMIL: Dying.
GEORGE: Dying, dying.
EMIL: But wait! This here! He summons his strength for one last time.
GEORGE: No.
EMIL: Maybe he beats around and tries to make it . . .
GEORGE: No.
EMIL: Back in the air?
GEORGE: No.
EMIL: One last . . .
GEORGE: No.
EMIL: A flutter of . . .
GEORGE: No.
EMIL: A little . . .
GEORGE: No.
EMIL: He's dead, isn't he?
GEORGE nods.
EMIL: I knew it.
GEORGE: The Law of Life.
FOURTEENTH VARIATION
“For Centuries Prior To This Time”
EMIL: You know, for centuries prior to this time man has watched birds.
GEORGE: I still watch ‘em.
EMIL: To obtain the secret of Flight.
GEORGE: We're better off without it.
EMIL: Yeah.
GEORGE: They'll go to their graves with it.
EMIL: The Ancient Greeks used to sit around all day looking at birds.
GEORGE: Yeah?
EMIL: Oh yes. They'd take a chair and go sit and look at ‘em. Just watch them all day long and wonder.
GEORGE: I, too, would wonder. A crumbling civilization and they're out in the Park looking at birds.
EMIL: These were the Ancient Greeks. Old. Old men.
Incapable of working.
Of no use to their society.
Just used to watch the birds all day
First light to Last light.
First Light: Go watch birds.
Last Light: Stop watching birds. Go Home.
Swallows. Falcons.
Forerunners of our modern birds.
And the forerunners of our modern States.
Greeks. Birds.
Used to sit out all day long. Sit on a bench and feed them ...
Give them little bits of . . .
GEORGE: . . . rice?
EMIL: Rice, yes. History is not completely clear on that point, but we can imagine rice. For the sake of argument. Rich, sleek birds of prey.
GEORGE: And fat old men.
EMIL: Watching each other.
Each with something to contribute.
That the world might turn another day.
A Fitting end.
To some very noble creatures of the sky.
And a lotta Greeks.