DRAMATIS PERSONAE
X: the husband, a farmer
Y: the wife, a farmer
SCENE
Let the bright and blinding lights come suddenly in a dazzling
display, only to vanish and then assault the senses again by
coming and going. Let this happen until the audience begins to
murmur and until the audience is convinced that someone will lose
his job tonight and remain ever unemployable. Then, let a dull
light rise, brighten, and steady. Lovely Couple X and Y are already
seated at their farmhouse table. They gaze at the beer bottles before
them and glance down at the bottles in their hands, as though they
have suddenly realized how much they have consumed in one sitting.
X
My darling,
my sweet-potato-darling,
my sweet-potato-marinated-in-chocolate-darling,
I think I should never drink beer again after this one last bottle.
This will be my last, so I will drink it to its dregs.
But tell me, why do we even do this?
Why do we subject ourselves to these bitter drinks
and then pretend they’re the best things since sex-toy-decreet-delivery?
Y
A-ha-a-ha!
Yes, you shouldn’t drink again, my darling,
my sweet-dry-cranberries-seasoned-with-black-pepper-darling;
you should never drink again today.
X
Oh, well, I should drink again, darling.
I must drink again,
my chicken-nuggets-dipped-in-a-milkshake-darling!
A-ha-a-ha!
Y
Are you grabbing another bottle of that beer?
X
Yes, you saw me grab another beer.
Well, darling, this year I’ve decided to do the opposite of whatever you suggest.
If you don’t want something, I’ll make sure to get it.
And if you do want something, I’ll avoid it at all costs.
Y
Is that so?
That is not quite right!
X (chuckles)
Oh yes, darling.
Jerome told me just last night,
that a man who always does what his wife wants is,
well…emascu, emascula, emasculated.
I think I got the word now.
That was my first time hearing that ignoble word, could you imagine that?
Terrible, isn’t it?
Oh, and now that I have said it,
look, it leaves such a sour wine taste on my tongue.
Although I have never tasted a sour wine,
if Christ says a sour wine is bad then it is.
Speaking of which, I need some mouthwash!
Y
Jerome? Did you say it was Jerome who taught you that?
Why would anyone listen to some foolish Jerome?
A foolish Jerome who never had a mustache!
X
Jerome may lack a mustache and be unlucky with his corn farm,
but he possesses the great wisdom of practical men.
Last night, he helped me assemble a puzzle.
You and I, my darling,
have been happily married for over twenty years,
and we have had no quarrels,
no fights,
not even raised voices.
That’s unfair.
So, you see, darling,
Jerome pointed out that this enduring peace is because you, my wife,
have usually gotten whatever you wanted,
even when I disagreed.
And so,
our marriage has been extremely civil
and that’s so dreadful, you understand?
Though I had never realized this before,
I fear Jerome is right.
There is something morbid about our daily peace.
What kind of couple would be so deeply in love
that they would go to the district court to change their names to X and Y?
Who lives like this? What a life!
Moving forward,
to ensure I never meet your expectations,
I must do the opposite of whatever you say!
I hope my decision appeals to your conscience
to allow me to be the man of the house.
Y
Oh, how appalling! Ah!
X
I must wash my mouth.
Y
Yes, I think you should wash your mouth, darling,
my sweet-avocado-in-chocolate-darling.
X
Oh, you think I should wash my mouth?
Well, now I won’t. Just because you said I should.
I won’t, my fine air-conditioner-of-the-winter-darling.
Y
Do you mean to say you will only do the opposite of what I suggest?
X
You heard that right.
X
Oh, how awful!
Well now,
I think you should never work on our farm again today,
my flu-shot-of-October-darling.
X
You think I should take the day off from farm work?
No way, I’m heading back to the fields with my machete.
If you must know, I will not only work today
but continue working to prove to you that I am the man who must not obey your words.
See how sweet it is to work on a farm!
Pains have never been so sugary, darling,
my cold-and-dry-pizza-leftover-darling.
Y
I think you should not plant the corn.
X
So, you think I shouldn’t plant corn?
Oh, I must!
I refuse to do as you say.
My early-winter-morning-math-class-darling,
I must never be the bad Jerome word.
Y
I think you should never say the bad word.
X
I must…emascu, emascu, emasculated.
Oh, my throat, my sour throat, and sour tongue,
coming from a bad word,
a bad word full of vinegar and gall.
See, I have grabbed the machete,
I am working again.
Y
I think you should take some rest.
X
No. I will cut the field.
I’m on a roll!
Cutting the grass has never felt so exhilarating.
I may be sweating, but I’m too energized to notice.
And yeah, my arms swing like they’re in a salsa dance as I clear this field,
but it’s a labor of love.
The only thing that’ll bring me to a screeching halt is if you ask me to keep going…
then I’ll suddenly develop a mysterious case of exhaustion!
Y
Oh, please stop working, darling.
X
O-ho-ho. I’m such a workaholic wonder!
I will toil and labor with my boundless energy.
The thrill of conquering this field solo is pure bliss!
I’ll work and sing and dance and never tire
because the sheer delight of it all is my fuel,
and you alone, darling, are the water that mixes with my gasoline.
Y
And so, for forty years, my corn-syrup-darling continued to work on our corn farms,
stopping at nothing and never looking back
because to look back is to become a pillar of salt.
Nothing stopped him—
not even when pizza delivery began to solve the problems of global warming,
or when people started marrying those they swiped right on Tinder.
Nothing stopped my darling,
my mammoth sunflower that blooms only under the moonlight darling.
Nothing stopped him,
until one fateful summer afternoon in 2075,
I saw him and said to him,
“Keep working, old man,”
and then his exhausted body crumpled to the ground.
X
Haaaaaa! How long have I been working, old woman?
Y
It’s been forty years now, old man.
For forty years, you’ve been waking up every morning
and refusing help from anyone on that corn farm.
X
And why is that?
I mean, why have I been working that long?
Y
I don’t know, old man. I can hardly think.
This is 2075, and people hardly remember anything.
Men and women have long given up on thinking.
To think about anything in 2075 is awful,
and I don’t even know how I remembered this.
And you, have you any idea why you have labored all these years?
X
I can’t remember.
Y
Well, that’s the spirit of the age, old man.
Don’t trouble yourself.
X
And who are you?
Y
I don’t know, old man, and I can’t think that.
X
Well, that’s the spirit of the age, isn’t it?
But how come you know how long I worked?
Y
Because for the past forty summers, old man,
I’ve watched the nomads pass by this path.
Each time they crossed,
they would plant a new tree to mark how long you’ve been working here.
You must be a lucky man, do you know that?
I will tell you why.
The nomads walked by with their herd of cows just this morning,
and when they saw you,
they said, “He’s been working this land for forty years.”
And they are quite right—
look at the trees behind you, there are forty of them.
How fortunate that they came today, old man,
for if they had passed yesterday,
I may not have recalled this.
X
I see.
And how many were these nomads?
Y
I can’t remember, old man.
X
Well, that’s the spirit of the age, isn’t it?
Y
Take this, old man.
It’s a walking stick, left by one of the nomads.
He said, “Give him this walking aid for his waist when he’s done toiling in that field.”
Here, take it.
Take it, otherwise, I will forget to give it to you.
X
Thank you.
But you need the stick too, don’t you?
Look, you are an old woman too.
Y
Am I? Well, I can’t think that.
X
Right there is the spirit of the age.
And where is everyone?
Y
Old man, I hardly know that.
But I know this is 2075,
and the world is moving to Nigeria because Nigeria is hosting the World Cup.
Let me tell you, the nomads say Congo beat the hell out of France in the quarterfinals.
And do you know what that means, old man?
X
No, I don’t.
Y
Decolonization is happening at the World Cup football pitch.
Each scored goal is a declaration of Congo’s total independence,
and each breaking of the French legs is a fracture of their colonial legacies.
X
I do not know that.
Y
Well, that was why I told you.
X
But now you sound like you know so much.
Y
No, I don’t, old man.
The nomads taught that little history today.
I guess I will forget tomorrow.
X
Tell me, what else did the nomads tell you today?
Y
It is not quite much, old man.
They said the new Pope now lives in Ethiopia,
because the good man got bored of the Vatican City.
X
I don’t blame him,
I would have been tired too.
What is there to see in Rome?
Y
The Africans love him.
And do you know what the Africans call him?
X
No, I don’t.
Y
They call him Afro-Papa.
But the Pope supports the Rwandan team at the World Cup,
even while he eats in Ethiopia.
X
You don’t say.
Y
It’s 2075, old man.
X
What else did they say?
Y
They say the United States now has some Purple States.
X
Purple? How did they get color purple?
Y
I guess they got together at a dinner in Washington,
got bored, got drunk, and then mixed colors red with blue—
that gave them color purple.
X
Incredible.
Y
I am only guessing, old man,
Please do not say that I said it.
X
I hear you.
Y
Jokes are no longer cheap in 2075.
X
And where is Jerome?
Y
Jerome?
Is that the name of a country?
Or the name of the French team?
Or the name of the new Pope?
I can’t think that.
X
Never mind.
Y
So, where will you go now, old man?
X
Go? I guess I will stay here and wait.
Y
Wait? For whom?
X
For the nomads.
I will wait and plant the forty-first tree with them.
And you, where will you go?
Y
I guess…I will wait with you.
X
We wait.
Curtain. End of Play.
Cheta Igbokwe is a Nigerian playwright, teacher, and researcher. He holds an MFA in Playwriting from the University of Iowa and a BA in English and Literary Studies from the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. His works have appeared in The Hopkins Review, The English Academy Review, The Great River Review, and other publications. He won the 2021 Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Prize for Drama for his debut play, Homecoming. He is currently a Ph.D. student at Stanford University.
