Act I, Scene 6

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

MR. KINCADE: Manager of the NYCDoHD, a man in his late 40s. Dressed to the nines.
ZACHARY PATIPERRO: A young man, 23 years old. his blond hair uncut, a broken nose, a jagged one-inch scar on his forehead, otherwise attractive in a rugged way. He’s obviously poor and his clothing is indicative of this. Wears a heavy pea coat, and a stocking cap that he stuffs in his pocket when not worn.
BETTY: Co-assistant Manager. A woman in her middle 30s. Speaks little. Only visible when her desk is illuminated.
MARSHALL: Co-assistant Manager. A man in his middle 30s. Speaks little. Only visible when his desk is illuminated.
CHORUS: All the employees’ voices in unison.
GALLERY: A group of about twenty people, waiting for their numbers to be called. Some will have small parts. Some act as Chorus.

SETTING: The office of the New York City Department of Human Development (the NYCDoHD). A desk, Down Center, facing right; a straight-back chair in front of it, facing left. Center Stage, Right to Left, twin rows, five each, of similar “manned” desks (a chair in front of each, facing the desk), all in “near-total” shadow. Two of the desks in the center of the nearest row are occupied by Marshall and Betty. Downstage left (between Mr. Kincade’s desk and those of the other employees) a private office door. Upstage, Center to Right, a bleacher-like gallery, nearly full of extras. On the wall above the gallery is an oversized electrical device blinking the next number to be called. The office entrance/Exit door, Upstage Left. Just inside the door is a Take-a-Number Machine. A large picture window adjacent to the Exit, Upstage Right to Left (about half of it eclipsed by the gallery), shows continually blustery weather outside and occasionally silhouetted people walk past it on the sidewalk, trudging by, bent into the squall.

PLACE/TIME: New York City Department of Human Development, January 1930, the beginning of the Great Depression.

#   #   #

FINAL DIALOGUE FROM PREVIOUS SCENE (A few words modified in the interests of continuity)

ZACHARY:
I would be creating stained glass in Firenze, Italy to this day had not Mother written that Father’s ship had docked in Cadiz. Naturally, I was off to Spain. You understand, of course, a son’s love for his father?

MR. KINCADE:
I’m guessing your father wasn’t there.

ZACHARY:
(Looking down a full ten seconds, then back.)
And so … I was off to Japan.
 
MR. KINCADE:
(Shaking his head slowly, bewildered)
To follow another sighting?
 
ZACHARY:
(After an audible sigh, and a slow shake of his head)
To seek peace.

TO CONTINUE

ZACHARY:
(Long pause)
From sun-up until the waning hours of the night, often with but three hours sleep, I swept and scraped and scrubbed the stables of the Zen Monastery near Hiraizumi until the great Master deemed me humble enough to learn.
 
MR. KINCADE:
Quite a step down from rubbing elbows with the Pope!
 
 ZACHARY:
 Nothing is getting past you! You leave me no place to hide! You tapped into my hubris…
(Snapping finger)
… and in a trice! It took Master Tatazuno longer. When at last he did discover how calcified the corruption was that blanketed my essence, he expressed in his clipped, falsetto voice that I leave his serene presence and seek out my demons in the maelstrom of a metropolis, there to face them—there to defeat them.
 
MR. KINCADE:
(Clapping, then clasping his hands before him.)
At last! At last! So after that grand tour we end up right here in New York City. Mr. PATIPERRO needs to confront his demons. But first Mr. PATIPERRO needs to fortify himself to fight them. Mr. PATIPERRO needs food and lodging.
 
ZACHARY:
No, no… I have a flat, Sir—for a few more days. I need no lodging.
 
MR. KINCADE:
So Mr. PATIPERRO needs food. And to pay for his food and the rent on his flat, Mr. PATIPERRO needs a job. Is that a fair assessment?
 
ZACHARY:
A fine, balanced summary.
 
MR. KINCADE:
And you will need this job until—let’s see … until next spring or summer. You’ll continue to work until then, or until your father is sighted, which, of course, would draw you to him like a pound of beefsteak to a shiner. Is that … Oh, never mind. Let me just review my notes. I took good notes.
(Leafs through the papers he had earlier stacked.)
Let’s see, what are your job skills? Oh, here. You might be able to trudge your way through one or two tuna runs. Not much call, though, for that around here. How about making stained glass windows? Let me check my list here,
(Beat)
but … no, I’m afraid most of the churches in the city already are outfitted with them. I previously mentioned the lack of cowboys needed in the city, so I’m afraid that skill will remain unused. Let’s see, what else do we have here?
(Beat)
Oh, yes, it seems you clean a mean stable. What would I find that under? Maybe muckraking? No, no … nothing there. And—and that’s about it, isn’t it? Wait! But no—
(Smile of victory on his face.)
I don’t suppose you’d consider renewing your brief adventure as a prizefighter, would you?

ZACHARY:
I am a little out of shape, Sir. But yes, I—I can get in fighting trim… given a month’s time and the proper nourishment. Then, there’s the license. One needs to be licensed in New York to fight professionally.
 
MR. KINCADE:
All of which costs money, doesn’t it, Mr. PATIPERRO? Money for this and money for that. It seems it all boils down to money …. Mr. PATIPERRO needs money. Mr. PATIPERRO needs a job.
 
ZACHARY:
(Studying him with a wounded look)
But now, you’re mocking me … aren’t you, MR. KINCADE.

MR. KINCADE:
Jobs are tight, Mr. PATIPERRO, for people with your … job skills. That and your patchy history of what?—vocational longevity?
 
ZACHARY:
But I’m willing to do anything! And I’m determined to prove my staying power. I’ll agree to sign a long-term contract. And the employer can set the terms of it, in his own language. If I default on the contract, I’ll let them do with me what they will. They can toss me into prison, if they wish.

MR. KINCADE:
There are laws governing—

ZACHARY:
But I’ll sign a waiver … They can stand me up against the wall, un-blindfolded, and shoot me. It won’t matter. 

MR. KINCADE:
Mr. Patiperro!

ZACHARY:
It won’t matter because it won’t happen! And it won’t happen because I commit to them—body and soul—to staying. I put myself, voluntarily, between the teeth of their syllogistic vise. I shall enroll in their pension plan, their medical, their dental. I shall attend all the company functions—the picnics, the Christmas parties. I’ll—
 
MR. KINCADE:
I’m sure, Mr. PATIPERRO. But there’s nothing available. Please understand … there’s nothing.
 
ZACHARY:
There’s got to be something. I’ll do anything.
 
MR. KINCADE:
Nothing.
 
ZACHARY:
(Standing, in enthusiastic pantomime)
But listen, I can buck boxes, wrestle ropes, hoist, load, unload, sweep, scrape paint, skipper, sail. I am my father’s son, after all! The one thing you would appreciate about my father, Mr. Kincade. He was your model for vocational longevity! He was always on the sea—
 
MR. KINCADE:
Yes, yes I know … somewhere. Dock-work is always slow during this season.
 
ZACHARY:
Then, as a waiter … Let me show you my subtler charms. Candles lit with speed and finesse. Oh, if there were a banquet room here, I would race around it for you, and no candle on any table would extinguish. There’s no season for my brand of excellence. Setting and clearing tables, emptying ashtrays, lighting cigarettes, removing furs, shelving canes, hats, smiling, smiling, smiling, carting away refuse, waiting tables, ordering cocktails, suggesting wines, opening the bottles with a pop. Seating patrons with dignity and sophistication. Sir, if I had a tail I vow I could never stop wagging!
 
 MR. KINCADE:
Yes, I’m sure. However—
(Standing, extending his hand)

[Zachary slowly gets to his feet and stares down at the hand extended to him]

MR. KINCADE (Continues):
Please, Mr. Patiperro, don’t make this more difficult on me than it is now ….

END OF SCENE 6