DEUS EX MACHINA—IN THE DREAMLESS WORLD
By ALBERT A. AZARMI

ACT ONE

CHARACTERS:

• MOTHER
• THE YOUNG MAN (her son, aged about 30)
• THE MINISTER (of the church)

(The stage is a room with dilapidated furniture: a bed and a few chairs. The lights brighten to reveal THE YOUNG MAN, apparently ill, pacing the room haphazardly. He walks toward his bed to lie down. His MOTHER stands on the opposite side of the room, looking sad and worried. She walks toward a table with three chairs. On the gray walls, various signs are posted, reading:)

• ONE WAY OUT
• MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL
• DEATH, WE WELCOME YOU
• LOST SOULS
• TO BE OR NOT TO BE IS NOT AN ANSWER
• DEUS EX MACHINA
• IF NOT DEATH, THEN WHAT?
• WHERE ARE THE DREAMS OF YESTERYEARS?

MOTHER Oh, Holy Mother, Mother of our lives and living. If not death, then what? Where are the hopes and the desires? (She raises her hands to the air, looking toward her son). Dear God, please help him to not die without dreaming a wonderful dream. I, too, am dying in a dreamless world—I do not mind it. But a youth needs to have a dream in order to grow and soar above—to the azure and beyond.

YOUNG MAN (Turning his head toward his mother.) Was not the Minister supposed to come, Mother?

MOTHER Who was not supposed to come, dear?

YOUNG MAN The minister of the church.

MOTHER I checked with the chancery six times this morning. The voice on his intercom promises to send the Minister over as soon as he is free from his parish duties. (She walks toward the telephone). Let me try him one more time.

(A young female’s voice is heard on the intercom: “Father will be quite grateful for your call. He will respond to you as soon as he returns to his Parish duties. Please leave a short message—and dream a lovely dream.”)

MOTHER (To herself.) The bitch always ends her greetings with the same phony wishes—as if we need her permission to have a dream. By the way, I forgot to tell you—I heard that the Father has just returned from his two-week retreat to India. While there, he got a pair of silver anklets.

YOUNG MAN What are silver anklets for?

MOTHER That is a new gimmick nowadays—to make the Minister look quite concerned for everybody. The anklets come with jingles. The sound is supposed to be annoying to ants or other insects.

YOUNG MAN What are the minister’s parish duties? I thought he was thrown out of the church.

MOTHER True. But he was forgiven. Now, he does much better saving people’s lives by creating hopes and dreams.

YOUNG MAN Mother, you must be dreaming.

MOTHER I wish you were right, Son. Only I am not able to dream.

YOUNG MAN Well, I thought you had said that to wish was to dream. How can you, then, wish and dream at the same time?

MOTHER We used to dream without wishing—wonderful dreams, too. In those dreams, we believed in God Almighty and enjoyed living. Now we are quite out of dreams. The only one who dreams—or is supposed to dream—is God. I was told that even God is not capable of dreaming.

YOUNG MAN How do you know that God is not dreaming anymore?

MOTHER Well, because he is actually a dream himself. We are made to dream him. If we do not dream him, how can he then dream?

YOUNG MAN That is a hell of a deal. Is it not, Mother?

MOTHER I would say that it is no deal at all, Son.

YOUNG MAN Then, what is the worth of living?

MOTHER Confidentially, my dear, the worth of living is dying. I say this with pain. But then, even for death, one has to have a dream. A man in our town, you remember, has been trying for months to end his life. Oh, how much he tried with agony to end his life. He just did not have a right sense of hope, a hope for resignation.

YOG MAN Couldn’t the minister help him?

MOTHER He tried his best to save the man’s life. Only in the end, he was more concerned about saving his own life. That is why, deep down, I do not want him to come to our home—trying to save your life. I think the minister has lost his belief in rebirth, hope, and any type of illusion—or hallucination.

YOUNG MAN But I like to hear his fake stories—even though he can come out repeatedly with new dreams or stories.

(There is a knock on the door. The sound of a jingle is heard.)

YOUNG MAN Here he comes, Mother—the last hope.

MOTHER (Yelling.) Yes. Come in, lifesaver!

(The MINISTER enters hastily. He has brown hair and looks quite worn out.)

MINISTER I was so busy today that I did not even get a chance to telephone you back. But I managed to read all your messages.

MOTHER Have you really, Father? By the way, the sound of your jingle annoys me to Hell.

MINISTER Don’t be so sarcastic, woman. Remember, I am all you people have got. Try to bear with me; that includes putting up with my silver anklet-jingle sound.

MOTHER Believe me, sir. You may be all we have got, but it does not mean that what we have is worth a sausage. You are our last hope. If only we had not had you and your kind from the beginning, the world would have been, possibly, a safer place.

MINISTER Now, hold your horses, woman. (He pauses for a minute). What I must tell you today may change your attitude a little.

MOTHER What do you have, my savior?

MINISTER I have bad news, and I have good news.

MOTHER Save the good ones for the day of rebirth—judgment. Now, what is your bad news?

MINISTER I know a young man in your neighborhood—not too far from where you live. For years he has been trying to kill himself, but to no avail.

MOTHER I remember the young man you are talking about. I thought he was already dead.

MINISTER Not yet. But sooner or later he will be chewing himself all up. He has practically chewed up part of his body. He says chewing himself does not give him as much pain, for he has no nerves or any sensation to feel pain. His only pain is his inability to die.

MOTHER Can’t he find something else to chew on, instead of his own flesh?

MINISTER When there is no hope, there can be no appetite.

MOTHER Could you not use one of your skills of necromancy in order to save the man’s life?

MINISTER Do you mean miracles?

MOTHER (Mockingly.) I mean, magic.

MINISTER Who the hell do you think I am, a magician?

MOTHER Certainly not a god from Mt. Olympus.

MINISTER (Annoyed, trying to change the subject.) Now, the good news.

MOTHER One of your good, delightful stories or dreams, I hope.

(The MINISTER takes a tin box of opiates—apparently narcotics—out of his side pocket. He is excited.)

MOTHER You take so much of that stuff—it will soon lose its effect of hallucination and make you delusional.

MINISTER By my dream, you are quite correct. Everybody nowadays is practicing some kind of narcotic substance. In the news today, I heard that soon there will be an epidemic of some sort of disease. The entire continent may be wiped out. America soon may have her share of extinction. Without a dream, sooner or later, the world shall be obliterated.

MOTHER (Interrupts him.) It seems you have heard or read so much fake news. I hate to tell you: to me, life is nothing but the dead skin of a rattlesnake—it sloughs every year with a new skin.

MINISTER I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut for a few minutes and listen to me. What I heard may have been a rumor or an advertisement. After all, the existence of the universe is based on advertisement. The mass media originated in Heaven. We all, forever, welcome advertisement. But the news I heard was not from Heaven—it was official news.

MOTHER Tell me, Father, will these dying people you are reporting here (on certain authority) go directly to Heaven after death?

MINISTER Well, how can you think of Heaven and Hell when our very Divine Power is cybernetic? Every time I speak with you or with your son, I become so doubtful about my own existence. Our quest is not choosing between Heaven and Hell but rather being comfortably alive in a comfortable community. Actually, to look at it differently, the report I have just received could be a fortunate one for those who died… and at last, the possibility for us to die soon. (The minister pauses a few seconds). “I, too, want to be in that number when the saints go marching in.”

MOTHER Ha, ha, ha—a cliché of a church gospel song, Father. Certainly, you did not come here to tell me about your experience of dying.

MINISTER You are right. Thanks to you for opening your fat mouth, making me forget my original mission—which was saving a life. How is our young patient doing today?

MOTHER Go see him for yourself.

(The MINISTER walks toward the YOUNG MAN, who is lying on the bed uncomfortably.)

MINISTER How are you getting along, young man?

YOUNG MAN (Tired and moaning.) Father, we are all dying. As for me alone, it is surely taking a long time.

MINISTER (Looks at the MOTHER.) Kind of a philosopher, isn’t he?

YOUNG MAN Forget about the philosophy, Father. Tell me: what have you brought me in the line of beautiful dreams?

My son, beautiful dreams I have none. Stories and imaginations, I have plenty.

MOTHER We all have plenty of rotten, redundant stories. Go through my deceased husband’s file cabinets and bureaus and see them for yourself.

MINISTER Dear lady, in order to have fresh stories, one has to imagine freshly, fancifully, and purely. In the meantime, our hope and desire work as oblivion. We are the by-products of oblivion. We enjoy our lives because we can easily forget our past and start anew—the pillar of man’s history. The history of mankind, then, is nothing but make-believe. (He looks at the YOUNG MAN.) We enjoy our lives because we can easily forget our past and imagine the future. And since oblivion is our blessing, I would like to tell you a few stories. You remember the story of Prophet Job?

MOTHER Certainly, he remembers. We all remember.

MINISTER How about Adam and Eve?

MOTHER Save your time, Father. He remembers all those Biblical and mythological stories and characters: from the East and from the West—from the Orient to Heaven and Hell—we all remember.

MINISTER Your son seems to like the stories.

MOTHER He likes them because he wants to borrow ideas to hallucinate—to learn to become fictitious like you and the others.

MINISTER So that’s it? The poor devil is using me for his own games?

YOUNG MAN It is a lie, Father. It is an insult. Did you know that I am in the process of having my dream?

MINISTER (Looks at the YOUNG MAN with enthusiasm.) How can you tell that you are in the process of having a new dream? Amazing, son. If what you say is true, we can easily save the world. We need to save the world. We can sell it for a great deal of money. That is how a cult is made. That is how religion is made. Think of all the leaders of cults and religions. They are in the business of making their own cults and religions. Tell me, how do you know that you are in the process of having it, Son?

YOUNG MAN Because since last week, or even a few days before, I have been dreaming stories—segment by segment. Once the dream is complete, I will let you hear it.

MINISTER If, then, what you are telling me is true, my advice to you would be not to disclose it to anyone, not even to your own mother.

MOTHER (Tries to show her anger to the MINISTER.) You crooked charlatan—encouraging my flesh and blood to cheat and swindle.

MINISTER Keep quiet, woman. The boy knows what he is saying.

YOUNG MAN Father, I am a student (call me a disciple) of Jung and Freud—my two great idols. Opiates are the answer to their hallucination. If cocaine or opium is their problem, so is mine. So far, science is the answer.

MINISTER Do you realize that you may be able to save us all with this dream?

YOUNG MAN I know it, Father. I know it all.

MOTHER The only problem is, who would be the right person to interpret it?

MINISTER Do not worry about it. I know a dream seller who buys, sells, and interprets dreams.

MOTHER Then he could sell us a dream.

MINISTER I doubt if he has any fresh dreams to sell. For years people have been in the market to buy dreams. But no one, to my experience, has been able to dream.

MOTHER Where does this dream seller live?

MINISTER I’ll give you his address. (The MINISTER takes a business card out of his side pocket and gives it to her.) Here, this is his name and address. But if you meet with him, don’t mention your son’s dream. Knowing him, he may elicit all your son’s dream and pay you nothing in return. The best solution is to sell him a dream—not buy one. I will call him now—see if he is still in business. (He checks his wristwatch, then telephones the Dream Seller and waits.) Yes, he seems to be in business. (There is a few seconds of pause.) I will give her your telephone number—have her call you and, if possible, visit you.

(On the phone.) Tell me, my old friend. Have you come up with any new dreams since I saw you last?

DREAM SELLER (His voice is loud enough to be easily heard over the phone.) My good friend, if I have to venture to say: you are a wizard. How you sensed that I may have just traded for a fine dream. Do you want to hear it?

MINISTER Of course I want to hear it. I would die to hear it.

DREAM SELLER (Through the telephone.) A man told me that he had a dream where, with the help of a chemist, he managed to bake flats of bread comprised of dust, rubber dust, plastic dust, and sawdust—mixed with ocean water. I am going to try it myself today.

MINISTER Amazing discovery—an invention, even.

DREAM SELLER The difficulty is that the mixture of this cybernetic dough—whatever that means—may not be used at home. (He hangs up.)

MOTHER And I, too, have a plan. Maybe it is the same Dream Seller who goes around so as to entice people about the dream he must sell. I have no dream to sell—only to buy one to save my ailing son.

MINISTER I may take your son along with me to his residence. He may be the same man I am invited to visit tonight. You are welcome to come along—who knows, you may find a fresh dream to buy from him.

MOTHER I may take you up on that. It sounds exciting.

(The stage lights begin to dim. MOTHER looks at the ceiling and begins to pray.)

MOTHER Oh, sweet, Holy Mother. I have grievances to declare. Give me a sweet melody of the piper—a melody of the past. Give me soft, sweet words of the past to lull my son in his beautiful dream.

(She begins to chant a religious song as the lights fade away.)

MOTHER (Chanting.) Living in a dream— Waking in a dream— Walking in a dream— Dreaming in a dream—Oh, no, dreaming in a dream? Dream, dream, dream, dream, dream Make a dream, oh, my dream. Match a dream out of my dream. Allow me to fall asleep, oh my dream. Let me live in a dream, at least for a moment in a dream—dream, dream, dream…

(The stage lights fade to black.)

ACT TWO

CHARACTERS:

• DREAM SELLER (about sixty or older)
• WIFE (his wife, about the same age)
• WOMAN (a customer)
• MINISTER
• YOUNG MAN

(A dilapidated, grey-colored apartment, facing the street. A large backward sign reads: THE DREAM SELLER. Below the sign, it reads: WE NEVER CLOSE. The furniture is old, and the grey paint is noticeably peeling. A bed is located near a balcony, with a few pots of plastic flowers arranged around it. A woman, the WIFE, is lying on the bed. When the lights brighten, we see the DREAM SELLER, aged about sixty or older, roughly and impatiently arranging and disarranging file cabinets around himself.)

WIFE (About the same age as her husband. She is lying on the bed, and one cannot tell if she is asleep or awake. She restlessly sits up and looks around. The silence is broken by the wind, which begins to blow with a horrible, loud sound, rattling the doorknobs and dropping objects from the walls. The DREAM SELLER tries to collect the fallen objects.) Wind, wind, wild wind—destroying all our dreams, comfort, and joy. It does not bring us sunshine, and it does not bring us rain. It does not cast rocks upon us; it blows only warm dust.

(The WIFE rises on the bed, pretending she was in a deep sleep.)

DREAM SELLER (From the opposite side of the room, he notices his wife.) You go back to sleep, Woman, and try to have a dream—a good, pleasant dream or a fictitious one. Before we all die for nothing.

WIFE I am not able to dream. Please do not force me to, dear. We killed the dream within us. Can’t you understand that? We killed the dream within us!

DREAM SELLER What you are saying is a mockery of all feelings and sensations. We never kill a dream. As long as we are alive, we are able to dream—real or fake. No, we do not kill the dream. On the contrary, we dream it. You must demand a dream. It is the only chance for us to continue living. We have sold all our dreams. We have no more fresh dreams to sell. Every day people come here, begging to buy a dream. No one has any dream to sell. We used to dream—fine dreams, too. Now we have lost our capability to dream. Try to close your eyes and think of all the good memories you used to have.

(He kneels on the floor, looking up.) Shall she, by any chance, fall asleep and brighten our days with a fine dream? She used to have fine dreams. What happened to her fine dreams? I beg you, dear Lord—help us as you have always helped your son to become part of the trinity of mankind. (He rises and looks up to the ceiling). Oh, dear God. I beg of you. Make her a dream, as we were born with it and will one day die with it. Let us fall into a deep dream. And not awaken without one. May she fall into sleep.

(There is a knock on the door. A WOMAN with a tired voice, hair blown, and wearing a dusty green dress, appears at the door.)

DREAM SELLER (Tries to quiet her.) Not too loud, lady. My wife is beginning to fall asleep. Please be as quiet as possible.

WOMAN Oh, I am so sorry. But I saw your sign for selling dreams. I thought I could buy one here. (She wears a long green dress with a hood almost covering her face.)

DREAM SELLER Even up to a few days ago, I had a chance to buy a fine dream. Come back some other time.

WOMAN But your sign says you always sell dreams. Listen, good man. I have money. Plenty, too. Sell me a dream. Tell me your price.

DREAM SELLER (Points with his hand at the wall.) Do you see those file cabinets? They are filled with dreams. I bought them all, and sold them all. Now they are all dead. I interpreted them. Now they are retold and dead. A dream needs to be fresh and pure, not fictitious. A dream seller only interprets. But once a dream is bought or sold, it cannot be retold. I would pay my life for a fresh dream. Ah, how a young person’s dream would be worth a life.

WOMAN I dreamed once when I was a child…

DREAM SELLER (Interrupts.) Did you sell it to anyone?

WOMAN Not yet, but…

DREAM SELLER Please sell it to me. I will pay you whatever you ask. You will remember it as long as you are alive. You will share it with no one. Keep the dream as long as you live—cherish it.

WOMAN It is the only dream I possess. I promised myself not to sell or tell it to anyone. It is a treasure which I will keep and eventually leave to my son.

DREAM SELLER Lady—who knows—you may die the next day and be buried with your dream. Your child may never be able to hear it. I will make a deal with you. I will keep the dream in a safe. Your son will have access to it once you have passed away. He will cherish it for as long as he lives and does not have to share it with anyone.

WOMAN It sounds interesting. You are changing my mind. But you must pay me well. And save a copy of the dream for my son.

DREAM SELLER With all my dreams, I promise. (He pulls a chair for the WOMAN, then goes to one of his file cabinets and brings out a large amount of cash. The WOMAN sees the money and becomes quite excited and surprised.) Here is the money.

(He places the cash into her purse.)

WOMAN Let me start telling you my dream, then. I dreamed once when I was quite young and complacent—quite a beautiful princess. I was clad in a bright, yellow skirt. One day I escaped from the castle and ran to the forest.

(The DREAM SELLER stands up, pacing the room as she continues her story. He lifts up a floppy disk, stares at the writing, then inserts the disk into a hard drive.)

WOMAN I started to watch the dark, green forest—enjoying it so much. With my fingernails, I began speedily to break, cut, and rip the trees. So beautiful. I was quite complacent. I would enjoy my time. It was so good to be a princess. I would move about like a shark, watching the fallen trees one after another on the ground. The more I cut, the more new trees began to grow and rise…

DREAM SELLER (Interrupts.) Stop it, Lady. I want you to keep your mouth completely shut.

(He punches a few buttons on the computer. On a movie-theatre screen on the wall, words appear, showing the rest of the story.)

DREAM SELLER That dream was sold to me a few years ago. The main character in the original dream is not a PRINCESS—on the contrary, it is a PRINCE. It originally derived from the Sumerian tale of “Gilgamesh.” I sold that dream for a great deal of money. Do you wish to hear the rest of the story? It is worth nothing—a fake story.

WOMAN Damn him. He must have stolen my dream while I was dreaming it, or have stolen it from my file cabinet. I can prove it to you. I will bring you a copy of it. He was my father. I hope you believe me.

DREAM SELLER I believe you, lady. In the meantime, it would be quite fair if you returned my money.

(The WOMAN goes to her purse, takes out the money, and gives it to the DREAM SELLER while crying.)

WOMAN I will curse that man. He was my father. I apologize for this horrible transaction. May God burn him in Hell. It seems that I will die without a dream. (She begins to walk toward the door.) May no one dream a dream who steals another person’s dream.

DREAM SELLER Lady, whether or not your God will punish the man who stole your dream is your problem. I have my own problem now—not being able to have a dream. (He looks toward the exit door to comfort the WOMAN, then runs toward the balcony, yelling.) Please do not be angry with me, lady. I know I have embarrassed you. But your dream was no dream. Possibly, you never had a dream to begin with. If you return tonight, my wife may have a fresh dream. I will let her share her dream with you. Do return tonight. Make sure you are not late. I am sorry.

(To himself.) The woman feels embarrassed because her dream was no dream. I feel broken-hearted because with all these told dreams, I have no dream to offer anyone. I used to make my own dreams and sell them—fake or real—but now I am unable. If I could have made a dream, I would have saved my son’s life.

(There’s a knock on the door.)

DREAM SELLER Now who can that be at this time of night?

(The door opens. The MINISTER and the YOUNG MAN push themselves into the apartment. They both seem distressed and tired.)

MINISTER I’ll do the talking, son. You just wait until the Dream Seller allows you to speak.

DREAM SELLER Please speak quietly. My wife is about to have a dream. You must be the Minister I spoke with on the telephone yesterday. Please grab a chair and sit down.

MINISTER Yes, I am the one who spoke with you. (He points at the YOUNG MAN.) I want you to listen to exactly what this young man is about to say. We are not here to buy or sell any dream. The young man, during his confession, told me a story which sounds so strange and unique. I heard part of the dream he experienced. I suggested for him to complete the dream for you to hear. Perhaps you would be able to interpret it—or if he likes—for you to buy it.

DREAM SELLER You are correct, Father: I am the Dream Seller, as well as a dream interpreter—using the latest methods of science and technology to open and decipher innocent people’s dreams. (He points to the sets of computers attached to the wall.)

MINISTER Trust me, Sir. His dream is real. I have never heard anything like it—if only it were complete.

DREAM SELLER Well, you two have come to the right place. In a moment or two, we will find out what we have here.

YOUNG MAN (Turning his head toward the MINISTER.) I would like to receive some assurance before repeating the dream to Mr. Dream Seller.

DREAM SELLER He is quite right, Father. There has to be trust among us before I begin to hear the dream.

YOUNG MAN Shall I, then, continue my dream, Father?

MINISTER (Looks at the DREAM SELLER.) You listen to his dream. Trust me, it sounds quite real—if only it were complete. (Looks at the YOUNG MAN). You were going to tell me the rest of the dream.

YOUNG MAN (He thinks a while.) In my dream, I looked quite older, I should say. I was on my way to work. My old classmate saw me on the street. He was surprised to hear that my mother had died the day before. He asked, “Did she die yesterday, you say? My father should have told me during dinner last night. I will finish my work early today and try to get to the church.”

I finished my lunch early. I lit a cigarette on the street and reached the church as soon as possible. As I passed my father’s insurance agency, I noticed my father was still in the agency behind his desk, working. “I will be going to Mother’s funeral. Aren’t you coming?” I asked. “Your mother is dead, you say? Well, that is so sad. I have a business meeting this afternoon to attend. Very urgent. You know, son, I always told her to try not to die on a business day. If she did, she could not expect me to attend her funeral.”

A block before I reached the Bishop’s Chancery, I could hear the funeral music. The ushers of the church were singing, inviting people to walk into the church to hear the eulogy and the chants for the price of one dollar-fifty. But people were complaining about the price. The church was filled with odds and ends—people were bringing their own valuables: vacuum cleaners, water heaters, washers and dryers—taking advantage of the guests to sell their merchandise: artificial flowers, free sausages on buns with French mustard and sauerkraut. I saw a plastic coffin—apparently belonging to my mother—covered with all sorts of artificial flowers. I found a seat. I noticed a red arrow sign, indicating that soon there would be a railroad track dividing the altar from the congregation. Shortly after, the funeral service would begin.

Suddenly, the sound of a train was heard, bringing with it a mile or two of train, carrying oil containers and empty tankers. The speaker apologized for the disturbance. And since it was running late, he would shorten the eulogy, giving the rest of his allotted time to the Chancery’s alternate sponsor, who was about to advertise bottled water. I kept hoping the commercial would end soon so I would be able to get back to my job.

(The DREAM SELLER, suspiciously, paces the floor, pondering.)

MINISTER That is all he remembers.

DREAM SELLER (Repeatedly shakes his head, wondering.) Are you certain you have dreamed it all by yourself?

YOUNG MAN Who else do you think would have dreamed it?

DREAM SELLER (Mockingly.) I know I either heard this incomplete dream before—or I myself dreamed it. If I could only remember all the dreams I dreamed.

MINISTER (Angry, raises his voice.) What difference does it make who dreamed it? Maybe I dreamed it!

DREAM SELLER (With anger.) Maybe my boy dreamed it! He, too, used to forget his dreams. I am so sorry, gentlemen. I do not seem to be able to continue with my work tonight. I would appreciate it if you gentlemen left us alone. I just hope my wife will have her dream shortly.

MINISTER You said your wife may have a dream tonight? Could that be a hoax, Mr. Dream Seller?

DREAM SELLER I’m just hoping. Bless her, Father. (Walks toward the YOUNG MAN and asks him if he remembers more of that incomplete dream.)

YOUNG MAN Father told me not to say anything without his permission. Look! Your wife seems to be waking up.

DREAM SELLER (Rushes toward his wife, then looks at the MINISTER.) Stay away, Father. I think she has something to say.

WIFE (Frightened.) I think, at last, I am remembering my dream.

DREAM SELLER Did you hear that, Father? Bring that big chair here. Help her down from the bed.

(She sits on the big chair whimsically. The rest of the characters sit on the floor attentively.)

WIFE I had a dream. There was a hot, dusty day with dust all on us. No trees, no flowers—only weeds and more weeds. There was drought everywhere. Even mothers’ breasts were dry of milk. There was no cool place to lie down and sleep. Sleep never came. Everyone was hungry—everyone was thirsty. But then, no one would die—at least, not be able to. To die was a luxury—a gift from Heaven. There was a rumor that the next train would bring cool water. We knew it was a lie. But we waited. At last, it arrived with nothing but boiling water.

There was no God in our town, and yet we did not die. People would kill their children so the sheriff would come and hang them. The sheriff would not come because it was too hot to walk on the hot gallows. There was no God in our city. People would pray to Heaven for God to send us a god. Where in the world could Heaven find a god to be sent to our city? But we still waited.

YOUNG MAN And then what happened?

DREAM SELLER Be still and quiet, young man.

MINISTER Never speak harshly to God’s child, my friend.

DREAM SELLER Continue, my dear wife, and do not pay attention to anyone.

WIFE Let me think more. (She begins to think harder.) The damned thing doesn’t come, my dear husband.

DREAM SELLER Try a little harder.

WIFE Then one day we heard on the news that God would send a few saints and angels to receive our souls. As usual, they lost our town in the midst of dust and ended up in a town far away. Souls we had not. Food we could not find. Water was boiling hot. We never slept. The angels never bothered to descend. And God did nothing about it. Hallelujah, Hallelujah—Praise Jah.

MINISTER Oh, dear God, help this child of yours. Offer her a dream so that she may be able to share it with us. Hallelujah, Hallelujah… (crescendo).

(The WOMAN from before walks into the apartment in a hurry.)

WOMAN Did your wife already have her dream? You promised me to wait until I could join you all. I rushed here as fast as I could to share your wife’s dream. Yes, you did promise when you conversed with me on the telephone. You need to share your wife’s dream with me now!

DREAM SELLER (Looks at the WOMAN, angrily.) I did not promise you anything, lady. I did not even know, for certain, that my wife would have a complete dream.

WOMAN The way you spoke to me on the telephone, I thought, for sure, something wonderful would be happening here soon.

DREAM SELLER You never know, my lady—she may still come up with a dream. I am hopeful. Sit down and be quiet. The night is young—her dream may be a miraculous one.

(She collects herself enthusiastically and sits near the bed.)

WOMAN Thank you. Thank you again, Mr. Dream Seller.

YOUNG MAN Amazing, Father—amazing. I like the way Mr. Dream Seller operates his business. I am impressed.

MINISTER (Speaks quietly.) He knows his business well, my son.

DREAM SELLER (Walks away from his wife and faces the rest of the characters. He sings loudly in a tenor voice, then suddenly changes his rhythm and tone in an operatic manner, gracefully singing the following nursery rhyme as if it were a litany.) Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. Hallelujah, Hallelujah. Hallelujah… follow the angels, Father. Call on the saints. Ask them for their Heavenly help.

YOUNG MAN Dear Father—tell me: are the angels, in general, masculine or feminine?

MINISTER Within dreams, all the angels are of the same gender, my boy. You just have to wish to meet with the best of them—seek for the ones who suit you well. (Turns toward the DREAM SELLER.) That is all he knows, and that is all he remembers.

DREAM SELLER (Looks at the MINISTER.) I am somehow suspicious of the young man you have brought with you into my household. It seems as if he does not trust me. (He turns toward the YOUNG MAN.) My suggestion to you, young man, would be to redeem your dream.

YOUNG MAN (Faces the DREAM SELLER.) What you are saying, frankly, means nothing to me, Mr. Dream Seller. Respectfully, I am quite dubious about the way you operate your business: trying to mix words of religion with myth and ethics—especially from early Christian words of Heaven and Hell—as if in a stew of good, evil, and joy, all mixed with “…toil and trouble—signifying nothing.’’ Let me ask you a question: have you ever tried, with all the dreams you have heard, interpreted, and stored in your cabinets, to save your clients’ lives—sending them to their homes joyfully, with pleasure and happiness?

(The YOUNG MAN faces the MINISTER.)

YOYNG MAN Father, with all due respect to you and to Mr. Dream Seller, we do not seem to be getting anywhere with dreams. We are just wasting our time with dreams of Good and Evil.

MINISTER (Faces the YOUNG MAN.) Do you know that you are quite insulting to Mr. Dream Seller? He has spent most of his life trying to listen to and interpret people’s dreams, and here you come out of nowhere, suddenly, trying to negate his attempt to save us and the world. The irony is that we are all trying to dream in order to declaim the dream of science, sanity, and consciousness. I am quite optimistic that sooner or later, we will be forced to find a river of marriage, or reconciliation—with no meandering.

DREAM SELLER I have heard enough nonsense for one night. Shall we continue our discussion the next day?

YOUNG MAN Yes, by all means. But being a spiritual student of Mr. Freud and Mr. Jung, I would like to say a few words about DREAM, in general.

MINISTER I quite agree with both of you, gentlemen. As I said a few minutes ago, I am amenable to anything you two would say or suggest. Let us, then, meet tomorrow with new, fresh ideas about what we know and how we are able to solve our problems. One thing I would like to remind you, Mr. Dream Seller: everything you bring tomorrow to be discussed needs to be substantiated with facts and scientific proofs.

YOUNG MAN Let us wish each other farewell, then, until tomorrow before mid-day.

(The lights begin to fade away.)

ACT THREE

CHARACTERS:

• DREAM SELLER
• MINISTER
• YOUNG MAN
• MOTHER
• WIFE

(It is a sunny day. The outside air is warm and pleasant. The MINISTER and the YOUNG MAN are at the entrance, anxious to be allowed in. The MOTHER appears at the door and is about to climb the stairs. The door opens, bringing light into the apartment.)

DREAM SELLER (Very indifferently walks toward the guests to receive them.) Good day, happy people. Please, come in and be seated. I hope you are loaded with good news and great ideas of hopes and desires, and, of course, a happy, sweet dream. Would anyone among us like to start the meeting?

MINISTER I think we all are. Before anyone starts saying anything, perhaps it would be fair and proper to have some coffee, accompanied by a few pieces of sweet cake.

YOUNG MAN My mother will help the lady of the house by bringing fruits and cheeses. I would like to begin by sharing with you a few words of wisdom by one of the great philosophers and men of letters, Voltaire. You may accept his words as humor, if you must. He states, “I want my lawyer, my wife, my tailor, my servants, all to believe in God, because it means that I shall be cheated, robbed, and cuckolded less often… If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.”

DREAM SELLER Young man, God does not need to be invented—he is, himself, in fact, a divine invention.

MINISTER Do you know, my friend, Mr. Dream Seller, it seems to me that both you and the Young Man are saying the same thing. The Bible questions, “What is man that thou art so mindful of him?” Does it not also mean that man, too, is part of the Divinity? The history of man has shown that without God, there would be no protection for survival. In Old English, the word God derived from the word GOOD. Without GOOD, we had no God.

DREAM SELLER (He sighs, trying to make some sense of it.) In the early years of Christianity, many people believed that dreams could be used to communicate with God. St. Augustine wrote extensively about the role of dreams in early Christian life. It was believed that man’s knowledge could go beyond his experience. For that reason, Christian scholars emphasized social education and words of divinity—what they would learn through the life force. But they were still quite submissive toward early Egyptian theology.

YOUNG MAN Mr. Dream Seller, although I tend to agree with you, I should remind you that dream—even the divine power—has no spiritual meaning, at least, not to my understanding. Generations after generations have proven no conclusive evidence. During the last 10,000 years or so, all the work on dreams has brought no tangible evidence. This lack of evidence has required more need for conclusive proof, forcing scientists to be more diligent in their findings. We need to rely on science. Neurological attempts, even with scientific inventions and discoveries, have not given us any assurances for conclusiveness.

Great civilizations such as Sumer, Mesopotamia, Akkad, even Egypt, from the very beginning tried to base their understanding of life on arts and literature—what was commonly called myth. It is to our advantage, then, to define and deal with the history of man—with all its gods and spirits—as myth. To this day, I have gained nothing from my two spiritual mentors—I learned nothing from them except disappointment. Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud wonder why scientists cannot understand why we dream.

(He pauses.) I do not mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Dream Seller, and you, Mr. Minister, for that matter. But I would very much like to remind you that based on my studies about the early days of history, up to the present days of science, especially psychology and neurology—with all the studies I have gained, I learned nothing but confusion and disappointment. Since the early days of Sumer, for over seven thousand or more years, we have been playing with man’s brain and psyche, through conjures, sorcery, or many other ways and devices, objectively or subjectively, arriving at no conclusion. Man, with all his efforts and with good intention, too, has done his best to conquer the wonder of the brain to no avail. The history of Homo sapiens in the last 200,000 or more years has shown itself as a period of gods dominating man’s mind through every possible means.

DREAM SELLER I am totally perplexed, Young Man. On one hand, you are trying to show the importance of science; on the other hand, you would like to bring out spirit and the power of mythology.

YOUNG MAN Sumerians, Babylonians, even Egyptians, for years have come out with certain mythological, as well as spiritual, means to seduce man’s mind. Throughout history, in every locale, one is claiming to be a god.

MINISTER I don’t blame you, my dear friend, Mr. Dream Seller. The Young Man here is trying to express his respect for science and a supranational being, without insulting anyone.

DREAM SELLER Let’s not forget that we are gathered here today to see what the best way is to dream a dream and find joy, pleasure, and happiness.

MINISTER I am surprised, my friend. It seems to me the world is losing her grace and power. There has to be an easier resolution to atone with the holy spirit—as the Bible would declare it: the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. This itself is a Holy triangle.

DREAM SELLER Mr. Minister, in the meantime, I am losing money without an end. And there seems to be no fresh dream on our horizon or in the forecast.

YOUNG MAN Let us forget, Mr. Dream Seller, and my dear friend, Mr. Minister, dream or no dream. It would be useless to find a way to seduce or betray the world. Regardless of how you would look at it, comfort, joy, and happiness—all stand before us—to reconcile with the lonely universe: its dark past, its present perplexity, its scientific hodgepodge, and its demonic, deep-dark black hole.

DREAM SELLER Are we here to talk about gods or dreams?

MINISTER (Laughs.) It all depends on what everyone’s mood is today.

YOUNG MAN Well, there are three ways you can look at it: historically, paradoxically, and scientifically.

DREAM SELLER Historically, dreams and gods are both the same. One calls for power and wealth—where I seem to come from. The other is to have direct relations with gods and spirits—which also has a great deal to do with power and wealth. The third one, scientifically, means nothing to me—because there is no money in it.

MINISTER I take that as an offense, Mr. Dream Seller. God is above wealth and luxury. A dream, according to early Egyptians, is a portal to Heaven—a direct way to reach the Mighty God.

YOUNG MAN Paradoxically, we can call the dream a form of humor, a means of entertainment—giving us joy, comfort, and pleasure. Look at the Chinese 4th-century poet of paradox and the dance of dreams, Zhuangzi.

DREAM SELLER We need to be more respectful of our reason for this congregation.

YOUNG MAN How little, according to Jung, we know of dreams, and how little we are able to interpret them. That is why we often misinterpret our dreams.

DREAM SELLER A dream is a series of thoughts, images, and emotions that occur during sleep. Old English defined DREAM as joy, jubilation, music—the art of a minstrel, also dancing. In ancient Mesopotamia, dreams were interpreted as sacred messages from the Divine. Dreams were also seen as a means of communication with the gods, providing insights and guidance.

MINISTER It is interesting what you are saying. The history of man has also shown that without God, there is no security for survival. In Old English, God derived from the word GOOD—without GOOD, we had no God. What is also so interesting is the fact that Sumerians, 2300 years BCE, established their own need for God and gods. Mesopotamians, shortly after, copied every aspect of society from their neighbor to the north, without giving them any credit.

DREAM SELLER (Interrupting the MINISTER, he looks at the YOUNG MAN.) Why have you suddenly become so quiet, my dear young friend?

YOUNG MAN I would like to remain quiet—out of respect for you and for Mr. Minister. I am familiar with the history of Sumer and Mesopotamia. It is historically proven that both cultures created a god or gods. But let us not forget that everything we claim today as religion—be it Noah, Abraham, or Moses—they all prove the power of literature. I would like to emphasize that Abraham, Noah, and Moses have not been proven to be historical, but rather fictional or legendary.

MINISTER Young man, are you trying to say that gods and all the Biblical characters are the by-products of homegrown myth, legend, or fables?

YOUNG MAN Mr. Minister, with all due respect, the answer is yes. Furthermore, you cannot deny the power of literature. It has given us philosophy, rationale, and critical thinking—among other fields of knowledge.

DREAM SELLER Are you familiar with the essay called the Epic of Gilgamesh?

YOUNG MAN Yes, I am. It is largely associated with Sîn-lēqi-unninni—the great scholar of ancient Mesopotamia. It is believed that it was written as a gift to Hammurabi, the king of Babylon. Do not forget that Gilgamesh is a source for many Biblical and mythological characters and happenings.

DREAM SELLER Gilgamesh as a fictional character is also a giant of a man, two-thirds god and one-third human. By the same token, Zeus, the popular mythological king of kings, created aspiration. Early Christianity took pride in adapting the power of the Muses as sources of philosophy, mathematics, music, poetics, ethics, and epistemology.

YOUNG MAN I am glad you know your mythology and your literature. Now how would you relate the character of Gilgamesh and certain happenings of the ancient world mentioned as Biblical?

DREAM SELLER I am not disputing anything which comes to us from the ancient world or from any legend. I am all for the causes of comfort, joy, and happiness. If a dream comes from any source, I welcome it—especially when it opens a door to Heaven and comfort for me and my family.

MINISTER Just because certain characters in the Bible appear by the same names, or certain happenings of the ancient world are similar, we need not believe that the holy book is the witness or the source of all Divinity.

YOG MAN I respect and value every living being—everything, dead or alive. I believe we are all part of nature—better yet, part of the universe.

MINISTER (Facing the YOUNG MAN.) Then what is the universe, with or without God?

YOUNG MAN Now we are beginning to get somewhere, gentlemen. The universe is, simply, a flock of constellations—as dependent on us as we are on it, uniformly and rhythmically. I cannot help but rely on the bitter, simple fact of the Persian poet and scientist, Omar Khayyam: the universe in which we drift haphazardly is like a lantern-like fancy. We express our recognition and identity within it: the Sun being the flickering flame, and we, like images on the lantern, wander within it heedlessly.

DREAM SELLER By and by, you are pushing us into the scientific arena, Mr. Young Man.

YOUNG MAN I do not see anything wrong with it—so long as we are being elevated to a higher position. Call it Nirvana, in the company of gods and aspiration.

DREAM SELLER It makes sense to me. Perhaps, after passing the period of Homo sapiens, our next mission is to look for a new mighty Zeus—introducing us to a new type of epistemology.

MINISTER Something tells me that our new world order is a universe with Artificial Intelligence, without any kind of help from gods, Muses, or the countless mythological triangles of the Son, the Father, and the Holy Ghost.

DREAM SELLER It may help me to open a new chapel on one of the planets and establish a prosperous business. Do we all agree to this new proposal?

MINISTER Why not—there will always be a god competing with the universe.

DREAM SELLER And if by any chance there should be a cataclysm, we can always look above and ask for a DEUS EX MACHINA to resolve our problems.

MINISTER Amen.

DREAM SELLER Amen. Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

YOUNG MAN Amen. Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

(THE CURTAIN FALLS)