Looking for Edison or What’s the Name of the Guy Who Invented Something

By Lemuel M. Torrevillas

ACT I
SCENE I
(KOOKY’S HOME)

A cramped living room. Pictures of some military ancestors hang on the wall. Television and video sets are at down right. A table is at center. Door with high window above it, up left. Another window, up right. Sofa between window and door, up center. Bathroom door, right. Bedroom door, down left. On table top is a globe.

MOTHER (Enters in a squeaking wheelchair and proceeds to light a cigarette with a match. She takes matches out of a table globe, which opens in two along the equatorial line. A letter falls out. She puts it back inside the globe. She puts a videotape — the one and only — on the playback set and watches. Sounds of big boxing crown coming alive slowly fill the room. Mother is 70+ years old)

Kooky. Hoi Kooky. (She listens again, crown sounds increase in dynamism). Kooky, here it comes!

KOOKY: (Through the bathroom door) Coming. I’ll be through here in a second.

MOTHER: Well, you’d better hurry. You’re late for work. And it’s 645 and three seconds.

KOOKY: Why don’t you turn it off?

MOTHER: Turn what off? The time?

KOOKY: Ah yes, turn if off. Why not?

MOTHER: Listen Archimedes, even if some bank loans are the money to buy you a fulcrum and a lever here and now, there’s one thing you can’t stop. And that’s time. It’s 645 and 23 seconds. To the dot.

KOOKY: Hold on, mother. What are you going on about? What I meant was to turn off the video. Why we have to turn on the video same time every day is something beyond me.

MOTHER: It’s your alarm clock, sleepy head. It knocks you out of bed.

KOOKY: I tell you what. This is one day I don’t need alarming. Just a feeling, anyway, because I’ve got a news scoop to work on. We think we’ve got a news scoop. We’ve been working on it a whole week now.

MOTHER: There’s the bell.

KOOKY: What bell?

MOTHER: The bell for Round 6.

KOOKY: Can’t a man be late for once, mother?

MOTHER: That’s what you get for coming late last night. What time did you come in, Kooky? Now you’re going to miss round 7 too. Then it won’t be fun.

KOOKY: Oh, nice, nice, mother, why don’t you go on ahead and watch round seven by yourself, huh? I promise you I’ll be right there for round 8.

MOTHER: Well, hurry.

KOOKY: I am, I am. I’m even doing — you know what I’m doing right now? Something absolutely sacrosanct. Fantastic.

MOTHER: Really? Tell me all about it.

KOOKY: I’m shaving while I’m in the can. Being in the can and shaving. The processes of creation and destruction are simultaneously taking place within the narrow confines of this our square universe.

MOTHER: Anybody can do that.

KOOKY: But not this one. I’ve always considered it gross. And that’s precisely what all that screaming in the video is making me do.

MOTHER: Your brother Donne can do something better that that.

KOOKY: Oh, yeah? Like what? Recite the Hail Mary in Bantu on top of it all? But that’s what I’m doing while talking to you. (Enters splashing cologne on his face. Kooky is in his early thirties.) Good morning, mother the greatest! (Busses her on both cheeks. Though he has his work pants and shoes on, he still has bathrobe around him. Mother hands him a kiddie baseball protector pad.) It’s absolutely unbelievable how we manage to start each day with a big, big bang.

MOTHER: Sit down, cowboy. That’s too far back. There.

KOOKY: (As he gulps down his tomato juice) Ugh.

MOTHER: Why don’t you finish that juice.

KOOKY: I will. Later.

MOTHER: I will, I will. There’s enough juice in that fridge to flood the Nile River during the summer solstice. Good for the bones.

KOOKY: Then you complain, mother, that I’m hard headed. “God, where did I go wrong?”

MOTHER: Drink.

KOOKY: (Takes another gulp) Ugh. Now, the volume please…

MOTHER: That’s not high enough.

KOOKY: Let me put it at 5.

MOTHER: Seven is the right for me. We always had it at 7, thank you very much.

KOOKY: Six.

MOTHER: Seven.

KOOKY: Okay, okay. You win. Got the eggs ready, too?

MOTHER: Look in the ammo magazine. (Point to) Everything’s accounted for.

KOOKY: Marvelous. Tomatoes for the Evening Times…

MOTHER: …and eggs for the rest.

KOOKY: Perfect. I’m bound for a bull’s eye today, maybe tomorrow. Why not? (While he eats his breakfast he manages to fit the protector pad on the side of his body nearest his mother.) H’yere it comes, Jesus Krriest!

MOTHER: I’m so excited.

KOOKY: So am I! (Turns the volume louder)

STADIUM ANNOUNCER [OVER VIDEO-AUDIO]: Ladies and Gentlemen, round 8 of the World Heavyweight Championship in Zaire! Muhammad Ali and George Foreman! (Crowd shrieks and chants “Ali! Ali!”)

MOTHER: (Joining the chanting and waving her two fists in the air) Ali! Ali! Ali! Ooaah! Ali! Bumayi! Ali! (Crowd sound gets louder.)

ANNOUNCER: Ali against the ropes… Ali’s shouting, calling Foreman names. Ali’s raising his hands in the air. Taunts Foreman, and Foreman’s hitting. Foreman, Foreman. Right to the body by Foreman. A headsnapping left by Foreman. Left to the body by Foreman. Ali clinches. He looks hurt… Ali pushes. Good combination by Ali. Ali against the ropes. Foreman’s scoring on body punches. Another left to the jaw of Ali. Ali’s hurt. Ali’s hurt. Oh, the crowd’s shouting “Ali! Ali! Ali!” He’s all right. (Crowd chants) A fast combination by Ali. Oooh, wow! Foreman’s knees are wobbly. Ali against the ropes. A wild right by Foreman. He’s tired. It’s looking very bad for Foreman… Referee breaking them up. Good job by Ali (Mother jabs at protector pad) Another good jab by Ali. (Kooky ducks, anticipating the other jab from mother.)

MOTHER: Here goes! (Acting out what she sees on the screen, hitting kooky’s pad) Bang, babang, bang, bang babang! bang!

ANNOUNCER: What a deafening roar! (CROWD ROARS) On their feet!

KOOKY AND MOTHER AND ANNOUNCER: (All together) He’s got it! Foreman’s on the canvas. Foreman’s… The referee’s counted him out! Ladies and Gentlemen, the new Heavyweight Champion of the World — Muhammad Ali! (Crowd roars wildly) Here’s the action again… (As announcer’s voice tapers off; kooky and mother, with mother hitting kooky’s pad hard) Bang, bang, bang, bang, Babang! Bang! Bang! Bang bang! (Video ends. Complete silence.)

KOOKY: I don’t believe it. (Forlornly)

MOTHER: (After a long pause, acts out video action again) Agh.

KOOKY: Don’t overdo it now, mother. You still have phase 2.

MOTHER: Right. I’m breathless. But I’m ready. I’ll get to the outpost for phase 2! (She rolls wheels to the window and looks out through it. Kooky splits the globe in two and puts the first half of it on his mother’s hand. He puts on the other half on his own hand. Letter falls out. He reads address quickly and puts it inside his pocket.) Enemy sighting, negative so far. (As they wait for “enemies,” Kooky puts on street clothes which were laid out on the sofa.)

KOOKY: Just in time, I’m all dressed up and ready to go… Maybe they’re not coming today after all.

MOTHER: But they will. Get your ammo. The eggs are for the rest.

KOOKY: It’s past seven o’clock. Maybe we get a ceasefire today, a truce, what d’you think?

MOTHER: They’re late. But they’ll come. There’ll always be news about something or other. Why don’t you read the letter?

KOOKY: Letter? Later.

MOTHER: I think, I think I see one coming. Nah, it’s only a cyclist.

KOOKY: They’d better get here soon. I got a news scoop to work on. We’ve been working on that beat all week long. That’s why I was late coming home last night, if you really want to know.

MOTHER: Don’t tell me about it. That was just my way of saying it doesn’t do far a nice unmarried man to be out late in the streets. And I’ve always said that.

KOOKY: Mother, you know I’m no profligate son. I don’t go around with — with chicks, if that’s what you’re worried about.

MOTHER: How would I know? I’m like the fellow at the control tower. The only time I know what’s up is when you get in the radar field of this house. Outside of it you could be doing something bad. Anyway, your brother would do what I tell him to do. Only it’s too bad you had him locked up in that horrible place.

KOOKY: Come on, Ma. You know I had to do it.

MOTHER: I know. But sometimes, Kooky, I don’t like you very much. And this is one of those times.

KOOKY: I love you, Mom.

MOTHER: Poor Kooky, sometimes I wonder why they put your brother inside that asylum and not you.

KOOKY: I sometimes wonder about that myself.

MOTHER: Enemy at 3 o’clock!

KOOKY: I really wonder… Well, who is it this time?

MOTHER: It’s the Morning News boy, followed on his tail by the Herald. Here comes the Journal too. Ooah! Watch it! (Rolled newspapers land, newsboys flee by laughing. Kooky lobs egg, tomato, egg after them.)

KOOKY: (Crouches as he unfolds newspapers) One of these days I’ll get the news right between the eyes. That day could be this day.

MOTHER: Well, thank you mama for thinking about the Headpieces we have on.

KOOKY: (Reads) It’s unbelievable how the Globe news chain changed its mind about electronics from Japan. Just because they bought 35 million dollars shares… How gallant of them to admit it. They wouldn’t admit it at first. Now it’s a 180 degree turn around. But it’s good business. World news Iran hates America; Iran hates Iraq; Cuba hates the United States; Russia is still gobbling up bits of what is left of Pakistan. Here’s Vietnam — werzh, werzh, werzh. Aha, sports — the great sublimator of aggressive urges — subliminator. Now… Los Angeles beats 76ers 4 to one, clinches Championship. Werzh, werzh, werzh. Kareem Abdul Jabbar, playing…. 54 points! Great!

MOTHER: Hey, cowboy, watch out. Here come two more. It’s the Courier — get the eggs! — and the — too late. (A rolled newspaper hits kooky on the back of his head. He ducks on the floor but another newspaper hits him blind.)

KOOKY: (Shouts after passing newsboys) Fascists! I’ll get even with you yet… Christ. (To self) And I pay more that half the price just to let them in on this game… Ah, local news — Dynamite Stolen! Asylum Inmates Escape. Hmmm. Funny, that. It’s been reported today, last night, that 5 inmates from the… Oh, no. The guys got out while they were moving all the inmates from the old asylum to their new building. Werz, werz, werz. It’s believed that someone from the outside helped them escape. I wonder why. Nobody recaptured…

MOTHER: Oh, good. Maybe your brother is one of them.

KOOKY: Fortunately, no. These guys are classified as dangerous, the hopelessly dangerous types. They are inmates from Ward 22. He doesn’t belong there.

MOTHER: Your brother Donne is in a class by himself. Do they pay to stay?

KOOKY: The others do. Thank God Donne is helping pay by doing some stage work. Didn’t do too badly as a director before that last and most awful breakdown.

MOTHER: He wasn’t a bad actor either. He could do most anything.

KOOKY: I wonder about the bill this month.

MOTHER: Why don’t you read the letter from the Institute.

KOOKY: It’s only the bill — at the end of some voodoo therapeutic balderash. Not that I don’t believe in what they’re doing. (Kooky puts sloppy make-up on his mother) I strongly believe in the one aspect — and that’s their keeping him in, and not out.

MOTHER: Would you care to read it to me?

KOOKY: I’ll read it on the bus. I’ve got to get going now. Here, let’s put on some more of this. There, Rose P. Marcial, aren’t we the prettiest one on this great and glorious morning.

MOTHER: (As she beams) Sometimes, Kooky, I like you very much, (Kooky speaks along with her) and this is one of those times.

KOOKY: Don’t wait for me.

MOTHER: I won’t.

KOOKY: And don’t brood, don’t close the curtains. Here’s your crayons and your drawing notebook. Buy you a new one soon. Well, it’s not too bad in here, but it’s not too good over at the old folks’ home either… I’ll be back before dark and don’t quarrel with Grandpa Moses (Points to picture on the wall) and swear by the Readers Digest at the same time. I’ve got to move now.

MOTHER: The key.

KOOKY: Right. Don’t wait for me.

MOTHER: But you will be out there with some chicks while yours truly suffers in solitude and rejection.

KOOKY: Nonsense.

MOTHER: Promise me, Kooky, that you’ll never marry a girl while I’m still alive. Anyway I’m just a green and leafless vegetable now.

KOOKY: Stop it, Mom.

MOTHER: Promise?

KOOKY: All right. Promise. I also promise to fix this wheelchair over the weekend. It’s starting to fall apart.

MOTHER: Your brother wouldn’t marry. And he’s older than you are. Oh, yes, you will marry behind my back. You’re so handsome — next only to your father. You will too. Listen, listen to your mama…

KOOKY: I’m late now, Mom.

MOTHER: Listen, if you ever get even tempted to marry, tell me, tell me that in your heart of hearts, I have a tiny corner there for me… just a tiny little corner… yes?

KOOKY: (Hugging her head to him) Mom.

MOTHER: As the saying goes, you are the apple of my eyes.

KOOKY: Yes, as the saying goes. Do you believe that a blind man sang that? “You are the sunshine of my life?” Life’s half-filled with ironies. Anybody said that yet?

MOTHER: C’myere. (As he draws near her she slaps his behind) Off you go, cowboy. And don’t forget the groceries. We’re running out of k-rations!

KOOKY: (As he slams the door behind him he remembers) The key!

MOTHER: Whooah! I’ll reach for it.

KOOKY: (From outside the closed door) Don’t bother, no. You know damn well you can’t…

MOTHER: One’s bound to succeed sometime.

KOOKY: If one tries and tries again, is that it? (She tries to reach for the key which hangs on the nail on the wall. She can’t make it. Kooky looks over the nice window above the door.)

MOTHER: Aha! I got an idea!

KOOKY: I can hear the bulb flashing, clink, clink, clink.

MOTHER: You just back off. (Thumbs her chest) Open. Sesame! (She sniggers)

KOOKY: Great. You got a brighter one? I got a 2-watt bulb. (Kooky climbs through the high window and lowers himself by a strong curtain. After getting the key he goes through the door again.) Thanks, anyway, Mrs. Ali Baba. Close, Sesame! (She closes the door.) ‘Bye.

MOTHER: (Complete silence. She wheels around the room in circles. Clears table. Defiantly eyes one or two pictures on the wall. Puts on television set; melancholy music fills the room. She cries into her hands, put out the television and lights a cigarette.) No, not yet, Not goodbye… What will you do, alas, Rose P. Marcial when you’re senile through and through… Oh, I can do something. (Looks through window) No, not goodbye, no.

KOOKY: (Enters in a rush, and with opened letter in his hand) Absolutely fantastic! My dear brother is out of the asylum.

MOTHER: You mean he escaped with the others?

KOOKY: No, they cleared him. He got out of there four days ago. Maybe they think he’s well. Won’t they ever learn that with him it’s hard to tell he’s insane? They let him out.

MOTHER: Now you bring me news. Boy, oh, boy, you can’t imagine the delight yours truly feels over that news.

KOOKY: Oh, Jesus, angels, he’s fooled them all again.

MOTHER: (Taking letter from him) Sometimes, Kooky, I like you very much. And this is one of those times.

KOOKY: No.