Paper Lover

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Paper Lover

A mini opera

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1.

Dusk descends on the desert. As the skies dim, the Leather Lizard strokes his finely made coat, vivid and new from the shedding. Its scaly beauty is strange and rough; full of tiny polished pebbles and an alien gleam.

LIZARD:

If she knew my limbs were sheathed in leather,

My kisses like sandpaper

If she knew how I tilt my head

at the sun and let it burn me,

Lie in the scorching grit and feel it turn me

Into scales and tail and terror, would she

Still love me?

If she could hear my breath at night

Rattling and whispering like bone-dust

Full of cold reptilian lust

Would she lie next to me?

I would rather hide my skin in paper

Wrap my words in ink

Whisper loving things and let them sink

Into her dreams of me.

Lizard love is what I give;

A love on which you cannot live.

MOLE:

Lizard love is a mystery

Your words lead to my destiny.

Across the land, the Restless Mole responds to the Leather Lizard’s letters. She was born in darkness and, like most moles, is half-blind. But her vision – and her desire – goes beyond what she can physically see.

MOLE:

My eyes may be full of clouds

And my nights and days the same

Yet I would be touched by claws beyond the damp,

Beyond the earth. A tongue untamed

Speaks to me through paper and promises

Sand-speckled words formed into kisses.

You feed me constantly

But not enough.

I must see you, eventually;

I love you. Believe me.

So let me cross the land, and water too

Let your paper trail lead me to you.

_____________________________

2.

Morning. The Leather Lizard watches the dust motes rise early and begin their languid dance against the purple skies. They mock him with traces of her scent.

LIZARD:

The blind are brave

And the brave are blind

And one way or another,

We all shall find

Those we deserve;

Not those we love.

I am not worthy of your bravery

Not worthy of your grace

Not deserving of the veil

That clouds your childish gaze

So why do you crawl

And swim and grow tall

While my courage grows small?

Why do you seek me

And love me and need me?

Meanwhile the Restless Mole inches her way determinedly toward her final destination. She sniffs the air occasionally and smiles when she hears a whisper, a rattle, that might be him.

LIZARD:

My sandy lips will wound you

MOLE:

Your strange, sweet tongue will woo me

LIZARD:

My sharp tail will repulse you

MOLE:

Your every twitch will charm me

LIZARD:

My cool hard skin will make you

Wish you’d stayed away

MOLE:

Why should I not say

(TOGETHER):
And you won’t be / That I’m in love

So in love / Yes, in love

With me / With you.

_____________________________

3.

High noon in the mountains. It seems ludicrous for a soft-bodied, half-blind mole to be here; but here she is. She clambers onto a ridge where a smattering of tough greens and wildflowers grow, and looks to the unforgiving landscape before her.

MOLE:

Not far now. I hear you on the wind

A susurrus of painted kisses soaking time and again

Into precious paper laced with sand and lined with love.

Your attitude, reptilian;

Your poetry, full of passion.

Soon I’ll be right behind you;

I cannot see, but I will find you.

Somewhere else, on a dead gnarled tree, the Leather Lizard perches and sighs, knowing he cannot stop her.

LIZARD:

Our feelings were never meant to flee

The borders of each letter.

Here beneath the arid wind, I

Cannot be your protector.

MOLE:

They say my courage is misplaced

And my dreams full of poison;

Spineless, crawling in the dark,

They knew I wouldn’t listen.

LIZARD:

You wish to die bravely

And leave me to cry?

MOLE:

You wish to live easy

And blinder than I?

LIZARD:

I wish that both of us live long.

MOLE:

I wish to live while love is strong.

LIZARD:

You’re a child who thinks she can have it all.

MOLE:

You are weak, and scared, and small.

LIZARD:

Ignorant fool of the underground!

MOLE:

Shrinking, scaly, two-tongued clown!

LIZARD:

I wish to the gods we’d never met.

MOLE:

You’re an idiot I should just forget.

As they fling their passionate insults, they don’t realise they’re getting closer – until his head emerges from a scraggly bush, and hers from behind a sandy dune.

Both stare at each other, then away, then back again. The Leather Lizard blinks as if seeing with new eyes; the Restless Mole breathes the air deeply.

MOLE:

We meet at last.

LIZARD:

Well, that was…fast.

MOLE:

How does it feel now, letter writer?

LIZARD:

Better than expected, paper lover.

They stay that way for a long moment, each one out of words and searching for new ones. The sun starts to fall. Silence descends.

_____________________________

4.

Evening. The desert is bare save for two small figures half-buried by the shifting sands, content in the curve of each other’s bodies.

MOLE:

If I died tonight counting every scale on your belly

If I spent my last few seconds recounting every word in every letter

If I breathed my last breath so it would mingle with yours

And felt my last drop of warmth melt into your pores

I would die happy.

LIZARD:

If I lived my last hour with my face in your fur

If the last thing I felt was the curve of your limbs

If I made my last vision the moon in your eyes

And died with my tail in your deep dark crevices,

I would leave blissful.

The edges of the desert dune begin to crinkle. It seems two giant hands are folding and tweaking the scene – which we realize is made of painted paper, like a most intricate origami piece.

~

Transition into the following scene. We see an old man, an artist, at his table making creatures and stories out of paper. Leftover cuttings, stray shreds, paints and various paraphernalia litter the cozy space. In the middle of all this is two familiar origami figures: a handsomely made lizard and a velvety-grey mole.

OLD MAN:

Ah, what a fine thing it is

to tell stories through paper.

To close gaps, cross continents and travel through paper.

To bring paradise closer, to make dreams realer,

To make happy endings for lovers through paper.

Ah, life is a foolish bet;

I’ve chased love only to exchange it for regret

I’ve been through too many bad endings to count.

But as a lover of paper, I can turn them around.

He smiles wistfully and gets up to turn off the lights. The room darkens until we see the remaining lamp shining on the paper lizard and mole. Then the switch is flicked. The scene goes dark.

-

Trickster

~

TRICKSTER

A mini opera

SUMMARY:

A fading widow has been exchanging love letters with a stranger – letters laced with poison. Slowly the paper romance takes over her body, causing strange dreams and hallucinations. Yet with each exchange she feels herself becoming younger and more alive, even as she marches toward death.

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Prologue

The scene is completely dark. We hear only voices – a youngish man, and a woman of about sixty.

WOMAN:

“So it's you.

MAN:

“Yes.”

WOMAN:

The one she claims wrote those letters to her.”

MAN:
(perplexed) “I’ve met her only once. Never even knew her name.”

WOMAN:

“Never?”

MAN:

“She said I wrote her letters.

She said that I’ve been writing to her for three years.”

__________________________________________________________________

1: Dancing

The darkness parts from the scene to reveal a dusty street, and a fifty-year-old lady walking down it. Her lush wavy hair is slightly askew from neglect, her pale lips smiling dreamily. Her fingernails are painted blue.

WIDOW:

Who knows which one of our thoughts are true?

Who knows who writes which words to whom?

Love and life is a tangled loom

When I catch myself dancing with you.

Her hands are fiddling and caressing an envelope. It is made of good paper – thick, textured, and sensual to the touch. She holds it to her nose and sniffs the last of its scent with half-mast eyes.

WIDOW:

Why walk to your fate when you can leap

Why talk to those who cannot understand?

Why reach for reality with eager hands

When the price is much too steep?

I’d rather swim in the endless blue;

I’d rather dance to your words and your wit.

Each word between us is candle-lit

As I catch myself dancing with you.

As she continues into the next stanza, a melodious male voice joins in.

TOGETHER:

I’d rather exist through me and you

And play with words like they’re raindrops and paste

And post each exchange with delicious haste

Till I catch myself dancing with you…

Till I catch myself dancing with you.

Despite the gloom, the scene seems to end on a light and cheerful note. She disappears into the mist with a spring in her step.

__________________________________________________________________

2: Counting Days

The lady reappears, this time in a rather cluttered bedroom. Her back is turned to the viewer. At the wall corners are streaks of colours like dried spilt paint.

WIDOW:

My misfortune must seem strangely intriguing.

The rather-too-polite will say “How very interesting;

What a tragic malady is this so terribly unlucky

Careless yet so plucky poor twice-widowed lady!”

She turns around. The edges of her eyes are streaked with smeared bluish makeup, and it appears she has been scrawling sentences on her arms.

WIDOW:

Will another one come

Before eight thirty-one?

Will his ink touch my lips

Or my dreams be undone?

From a moth-eaten discarded mattress in the corner, a figure emerges. It is vaguely feminine and its skin that appears to be of the same pattern as the mattress.

MATTRESS FIGURE:

Has he written today?

Has he been as persistent?

WIDOW:

No, not then nor today.

Why can’t he be more consistent?

MATTRESS FIGURE:

Be patient my love.

She goes to the walls and absently brushes the streaks of crusted colour with her fingers. The paint begins to peel in strips of its own volition. The effect is that of the walls crumbling down.

WIDOW:

He colours the edges,

The lifeless grey edges.

He spins life into me

Paints light into me

But now it’s been two days

Yesterday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Greyday…

TOGETHER:

…Neither Thursday nor Friday will be

Appropriate for this completely

Clandestine affair that we must

Live through paper laced with lust

And scented with our hopeless breath

And carried forward until death!

She throws herself back on her sagging bed and sighs, closing her eyes. The mattress figure disappears into dust.

________________________________________________________________

3: Paper Lover

When she wakes, she is in an empty field. Tendrils of fog surround her. As she rubs her eyes, an eight-legged horse runs past her and mysteriously disappears into the fog.

The blue of her fingernail polish seem to have crept up her fingers, so it looks as if half her hands have been dipped in blue ink. She holds a letter and a crumpled envelope in her hand. A male voice (the same as heard in the first scene) is heard:

MAN:

Your fingers are well-shaped, but bitten

They’re painted blue with my ink

Your nose makes me think of a kitten

I once had when I was sixteen

Finally, we get to see him. Her lover emerges from the fog. He looks about thirty, thirty-five; there is something indefinably ageless about him. He has finely made bones and strong, graceful hands.

MAN:

You’re lonely, but not anymore.

Touch me with paper and pen.

That perfume you wear is distracting

And you wear it for no other men.

Breathe me in,

Breathe me in

Let me into your skin

Let me touch you where you touch me

Where no one can see

The glow of what looks like aurora borealis casts them in a lovely multi-hued glow as they embrace.

TOGETHER:

Let me in,

Let me in

Let me breathe into you

Lick you shut, tear you open

I love you; it’s true.

MAN:

Till the end of our time together

I’ll be your faithful paper lover.

He holds her, then seems to melt away into the fog, out of sight and out of reach of her grasping hands.

Sighing, she drops as if to sit on the ground – but instead hits a bed; the same worn bed in her own cluttered room. The surreal misty landscape has disappeared.

WIDOW:

Your words could be lies,

and I would never know

Piercing me with satin envelopes.

I await your reply;

Goodbye.

She sprawls on the bed, holding the letter close to her.

 

__________________________________________________________________

4: I Will If I Want To

The lady is walking through the same street in the first scene – but it is not the same. The road appears to pulsate. The walls throb and grow lips, all of them singing a haunting song in perfect harmony.

LIPS:

Don’t go where you can’t see

Don’t swim where you can’t wade

The water’s getting deeper

And you’re a little bit afraid

WIDOW:

Stop!

You’re holding me back now

Stop!

Don’t you dare tell me how

I should live and breathe.

My life has been lived beneath

Those who ruled me.

Now I start to see

You were only ever here

To feed off me and my fear.

I will kneel to whom I want

Don’t tell me if I can, or can’t.

The lips on the wall sink back into the brick surface. The bricks turn into slips of paper that flake off, flying all over, some landing at her feet. She catches a few intermittently as she strides on.

WIDOW:

I will talk to strangers, so don’t tell me not to

I will dance with danger if I bloody want to.

Living means dying with every breath

So let me live. I do not fear death.

From afar the echoes of her mystery man’s voice beckon to her. As this happens, the eight-legged horse from the misty landscape gallops past.

MAN:

I’m cold.

I feel you burn

Lend me your fire.

As the world and its roots

grow deeper,

You and I will remain

Together.

________________________________________________________________

5: Liberation

The street and its walls are drowned in murky dimness. The man’s voice cuts through the dark, full of longing and conviction.

We see the lady sitting in the pool of blackness; around her are ever-moving tendrils of pink and electric-blue. More blue runs down her eyes, her lips are stained green, and her arms bear bruise-like shades.

MAN:

Let the fire run through your veins

Let the ink run and colour your dreams

You will return. You will wait for me

In the end you will see

All I can be.

Overtones of contempt infuse his voice. She is confused, but no less attracted to him. She seems to acknowledge the truth of his words, her desire for abandon and loss of control.

MAN:

It's a natural state.

You chase degradation

It's not weakness, just want

You crave subjugation.

It's freedom from fear and from trembling joy

It's the liberation of being someone else's toy.

In the background, figures in multi-hued prismatic clothing dance and writhe as if trapped by invisible bonds.

MAN:

The terror and tears you left behind

The hidden box of cats in your mind

They’re in you. They’re in me.

They’re mine now, your secrets,

Mine to see.

This is the price you pay for release.

The vivid escape that would set you free.

In the midst of his harsh words, he bends down to clasp her hands in his tightly.

MAN:

I did not force you to be here

You came on your own;

Now we are wedded

Never alone.

Now he sinks to his knees and cradles her close to him. His previously cold, fierce face softens in a blink as his voice becomes low and tender.

MAN:

My ink, my words

They turn your lips blue

My form of love, I give to you.

How sad that you must fade so fast;

But paper lovers aren’t meant to last.

He lets her go. Her body sinks to the ground as the poison finally overcomes her. The blue-lidded eyes close. Slowly, the pink and electric-blue tendrils of light darken into grey lightning.

He watches her for a long moment. Then he bends to kiss her lips.  As he stands, sheets of paper fall from the folds of his coat to rain over her.


She is alone now.

We hear her fading voice – her final thoughts – as the scene gradually fades to black. She looks at her fingers, her blue-green veins.

WIDOW:

Living means dying with every breath

Living is but one long-drawn-out ending

I chose you to bring my end to me.

It’s too late, but I finally see

I see what you did to me.

I love you.

Her blue-tinted face appears as a ghostly apparition in the air. It smiles, and sinks into the dark.

_______________________________________________________________

Epilogue

A funeral home. The lady lies on the slab with a sprig of mistletoe in her hands at her wake, as a few close friends and family members gather for goodbyes.

A few feet away, we see the nameless lover. But he does not appear to be intimate with the dead lady, keeping his distance in polite mournfulness.

An elderly woman – a doctor – approaches him as he stands pale and still.

DOCTOR:

“So it’s you. The one she claims wrote those letters to her.”

MAN:

“Yes. Yes I am. It’s unfortunate.” (he sticks his hands in his pockets, then digs them out again) “She really believed all of it.”

DOCTOR:

“Whole-heartedly. I have reports that state she is in a loving relationship. With you.”

MAN:
(frowns) “I’ve met her only once. Never even knew her name.

DOCTOR:

“Never?”

MAN:

“She said I wrote her letters. She said that I’ve been writing to her for three years.”

DOCTOR:

“They were laced with several deadly substances. Do you think she did this herself?”

MAN:

“I don’t know; perhaps. Why she’d want to die slowly of poisoning, is beyond me.”

DOCTOR:

“Maybe she liked the hallucinations. Maybe they made the romance – everything – real. Maybe she didn’t care for living anymore.”

MAN:

“Yes. Perhaps. Nothing to lose, eh.”

The doctor gives him a long look.

DOCTOR:

“They found her personal articles at the scene of the death. There were drawings of a man who looks like you.”

MAN:

“Well, her memory must be sharp. Made vivid by the visions, the poison, no doubt. Like I said, we met but once. (lifts shoulders sympathetically) I’m sorry that she chose me as the subject of her fantasies. I never intended to… .”

DOCTOR:

“Well then. (Sighs) Sorry. I’ll leave you in peace.”

MAN:

“No, no. Not a problem.”

DOCTOR:

“What a strange case. Full of…tangles.

Really. Who knows what tricks the mind can play on us?”

She leaves. The friends and family members say their farewells and slink away. The scene goes dark save for a shaft of light on the dead lady’s body.

The man walks up to the body and lays a kiss on her forehead.

MAN:

“Goodnight, Madam Sigyn.

I’ll see you in Hel.”

His delicate mouth curves in a knife-like smile.

The scene goes dark.

~