Writers by Barry Gifford

Author:Barry Gifford
Language: ara
Format: epub
Tags: plays, theater, theatre, writers, beats, poets, authors, vignettes, barry gifford, novelists
Publisher: Seven Stories Press
Published: 2015-10-12T16:00:00+00:00

IXION IN EXILE

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Albert Camus, French writer, forty-six years old, author of The Stranger, well-known for his essay opposing capital punishment

Pixie, a young prostitute

SETTING

A hotel room in New York City, Summer 1959.

PIXIE is sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on her stockings. Other than that, she is naked. CAMUS is lying on the bed, also nude, smoking a cigarette.

PIXIE

I could, I’d pull the fuckin’ switch myself. Way that man treated me deserves be electrified twice.

CAMUS

Yes, Pixie, I understand how you feel. But it is the state that is the machinery carrying out the sentence.

PIXIE

You mean it’s okay I do it, then? Leave the state out?

CAMUS

No, Pixie. If in the heat of passion such a crime is committed, if in the course, say, of being beaten and in fear of losing one’s life, in self-defense a murder is committed, or if it occurs after a long history of such abuse, even psychological abuse, a legitimate case can be made to justify the act. But the state has no right to act as executioner.

PIXIE

(continues getting dressed)

I be happy scorch that motherfucker. I be happy whoever do it, long as Dorsey be dead.

CAMUS

It’s tonight he’s being executed?

PIXIE

Tonight at midnight.

(She looks at a clock on a bedside table.)

Thirty-two minutes from now. You ready again? Give you a blowjob twenty extra.

CAMUS

No, merci, Pixie. I am quite satisfied.

(He lights another cigarette from the old one.)

PIXIE is finished dressing. She stops at the door and looks over at CAMUS.

PIXIE

You a nice man, Mister Cam-yoo. All Frenchmen ain’t so nice, you know.

CAMUS

Thank you, Pixie. I will remember you with affection.

PIXIE

Bye now. Be careful while you in New York. Be rough you not pay attention.

CAMUS

I will. Good night.

PIXIE leaves. CAMUS smokes, then gets up, looks in the mirror over dresser.

CAMUS

(to his reflection in the mirror)

Who are you to tell anyone how to think or feel about anything? You lie to yourself all the time, not only to others. This is why you write your novels and essays, hiding behind Proust’s dictum that literature is the finest kind of lying. You cannot stop lying. For you, it is what makes living tolerable. You are foolish to presume to understand Pixie. To attempt to reason with someone you do not understand is not merely arrogant but absurd. This is the disease of Sartre. To go on lying is your only choice, so better to be good at it.

The telephone rings. CAMUS answers it.

CAMUS

Hello.

(pause)

No, he is not here. He never was, he does not exist. My name is Dorsey, will I do?

END

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.