MURDER

I N
AMST ERDA M

A PL A Y

On the second of November 2004 Dutch film-maker Theo van Gogh was murdered by a
Muslim extremist, on the way to work on his bicycle in the middle of Amsterdam. The
murderer shot him several times, but Theo managed to crawl across the street where the
murderer shot him again.. He then attempted to behead Van Gogh with a machete, and when
that failed, stabbed him in the chest with a small knife on which he pinned a threatening letter
addressed to Dutch-Somali politician AyaanHirsi Ali. The murderer, a Dutch-Moroccan
named Mohammed Bouyeri, alleged that the murder came as a response to a film created by
Van Gogh and Hirsi Ali entitled Submission. The film criticized the abuse of women in
muslim communities and shocked many by showing a projection of Quranic verses on the
bodies of naked women.

Theo van Gogh was a radical champion of freedom of speech, and an anti-
establishment provocateur who had made many enemies. He was sued by the center of
documentation and Information on Israel for various remarks, like telling Dutch-Jewish writer
Leon De Winter that the only way De Winter could satisfy his wife would be to wrap barbed
wire around his penis and cry 'Auschwitz! Auschwitz! (Buruma, 2006, 90
1
). He was sued by
irate Christians Ior calling Jesus 'that rotten Iish Irom Nazareth (Buruma, 2006, 91). Van
Gogh accused politician Job Cohen (at the time mayor of Amsterdam) of being a Nazi
collaborator, and various celebrities were encouraged by him to die slowly oI terrible
diseases` (Buruma, 2006, 91). But it was against the Muslim community Van Gogh had a
particular vendetta.
He was joined in this vendetta by Ayaan Hirsi who came to the Netherlands in 1992 to
escape an arranged marriage. She has since become a strong advocate of enlightenment ideas
through which she maintains a radical critique of Islam as a religion that is inherently
suppressive. Similar to Van Gogh she believed that 'anything short of physical and verbal
violence should be permissible (Ayaan Hirsi Ali as read in Buruma, 2006, 177). Hirsi Ali
became an activist and politician, joining the first the Dutch social democrats and later the
Free Enterprise Party (VVD). Hirsi Ali saw Islam as a threat to Western values and lifestyles.
To escape the oppression inherent in Islam Hirsi Ali believed society should enlighten
Muslim migrant communities, 'We must.give migrants what they lack in their own culture:
individual dignity (Ayaan Hirsi Ali as read in Buruma, 2006, 184).
The Iollowing play is loosely inspired by Ian Buruma`s journalistic study Murder in
Amsterdam: The Death of Theo van Gogh and the Limits of Tolerance (2006). It tells the story
oI the last day in Theo van Gogh`s liIe Irom the perspective oI Van Gogh, Mohammed
Bouyeri and Hirsi Ali.

This drama is entirely fictional and does not follow the real events of that day. It is meant as a
commentary on the nature of extremism in all its different forms.

1
Buruma, I. (2006). Murder in Amsterdam: The Death of Theo van Gogh and the Limits of Tolerance.USA: The
Penguin press.

C H ARA C T E R L I ST

MAI N C H ARA C T E RS...

MO H A MME D BOUY E RI . ................. .. E X T RE MI ST AND SON.

MR. BOUY E RI ......... ...... ................. .. MO H A MME DS F A T H E R.

RASHI D........... ............ .. ................. . MO H A MME DS F RI E ND.



AY A AN HI RSI A L I ... ...... ................. .... A NT I -ISL A MI ST F E MI NI ST A C T I V IST.

RI T A BRE NNAN... .......... ................. .....ST A G E-H AND ON T H E /E V I SC H WART Z
SH O W.



T H E O V AN GO G H.......... ................. .... DUT C H F I L MMA K E R AND PRO V O C A T E UR.

MAI K E N............ ............ ................. ... T H E OS SI X T E E N Y E A R O L D N E I G HB OUR I N A
WH E E L C H AI R.

K A K- Z A KJ E............ ...... ................. ...... T H E OS C ANARY-BI RD.


SE X Y C ABARE T L ADY.. .. ................. ........SE X Y L ADY. I N C AB ARE T OUT F I T .


V OI C ES O F FST A G E ...

T H E BOSS...... ............ ... ................. ..... RI T A BRE NNANS ABUSI V E B OSS.

L E V I SC H WART Z....... ... ................. ....... H OST O F MA G A Z I NE-SH O W.


WI T H OUT L I NES, F OR T H E PRO L O GUE ...

ONE G O A T, C A T H O L I C PRI EST , T WO/ T HRE E MURDE ROUS T E E NA G E RS I N WHI T E
T ROUSE RS, MAN I N A SUI T , OL D I MA M, Y OUNG T H E O V AN GO G H WI T H A C A ME RA,
F L A MB O Y ANT MA N, GE E RT WI L DE RS DRESSE D AS T H E E AST E R BUNNY.










MURDER I N A MST E RDA M

PROL OGUE

A limp, cloudy day in Amsterdam. The light is low but brightens gradually. Mohammed B.
stands in the right upstage corner of an empty stage. He wears traditional Moroccan kufi
(hat) and dishdasha (long shirt) over which he has thrown a cheap, second-hand looking
colorful 80s stvle sports jacket. He stands very still with his hands in his pockets, staring
sinisterly at the downstage left corner as if waiting for something.
After a time a low ominous humming is heard, barely audible at first but growing steadily
louder throughout the scene. Mohammed B. draws himself up to his full height. Still with his
hands in his pockets he begins to walk, calmly, almost serenely diagonally across the stage
towards downstage left. He glides along slowly like some wild angel his eyes fixed on his
target, noticing nothing else.
Suddenly a bleating goat runs across the stage.
Then a fleeing catholic priest flies across in the opposite direction with a fit of the giggles and
a cross above his head closely chased by a gang of murderous youth in white shiny trousers,
immediately thereafter a fat curly haired child with a camera around his neck flings himself
onto stage-left, while an old, wise bespectacled Imam comes on stage right, the two stare at
each other and then, as if in panic, the child begins bellowing 'PIS' KAK' STRONT'` to
which the imam scratches his head and disappears back where he came from, the child
raising his camera and running after him,
an old, flamboyant-looking man with a toothy smile walks across with a l arge
gold picture frame around his face, then the goat again, followed by a man in suit sighing and
hiding his face in his hands, two sexy ladies dressed in cabaret costumes walk across timidly
and submissively, Geert Wilders dressed as the Easter bunny playing cymbals to carnival
music pursued by the man in a suit again, still with his face buried in his hands.
All the above happens in very rapid succession, often overlapping like a bomb-shell of color
and movement. Meanwhile Mohammed has discretely and with dignity made his way through
the action. He has just reached the downstage left side corner of the stage as the last man, the
man in a suit, disappears. He has two or three more steps to take before he reaches his target.
The humming is loud. Mohammeds eves are burning.
He takes his last steps, disappearing off-stage.
We hear the ring-ring of a bike-bell.
Blackout.

AC T ONE
x GO OD I DE AS

Sexy-cabaret lady, with a toothy smile and dressed in a cabaret costume, crosses in front of
the stage holding up a sign to the audience saving Act One. Good Ideas.
SC E NE 1
Mohammed stands far upstage again in the same traditional kufi (hat) and Moroccan
dishdasha (long shirt). There is a cold spot-light on him and he has a threatening murderous
look on his face. As he walks forward the light fades up to reveal a toilet standing in the
middle of the stage. Mohammed stops in front of it and pulls up his dishdasha to reveal blue
jeans and a pair of nike-traning shoes. Without revealing anything Moh pulls his pants down
and sits on the toilet, staring unseeingly into the audience with the same mean expression. Mr.
Bouyeri calls from offstage in a nasal cutting voice,
Mr. Bouyeri: Moo-hamad!
Mohammed continues to stare.
Mr. Bouyeri: Mooo-HAMAD!
Silence. Suddenlv Mr. Bouveri, Mohammeds father, pokes his head onstage,
Mr.Bouyeri: Moo-hamad I just say-
Mohammed: Bah!
Moh is surprised bv his fathers sudden appearance. He topples off the toilet and begins
ungracefully frolicking, yelling at his father and trying to put on his trousers at the same time,
Mohammed: Get out! Get out!
Mr.Bouyeri: I just say to you your friend is here. Rashidi. Your friend-
Mohammed: Out!
Mr. Bouyeri: I`ll send him in.
Mohammed: No!
But before Moh can stop him his father is gone. Moh scrambles around discomposedly, but in
his haste he trips over his trousers again and lands on his knees by the toilet with his hands
clasped as if in prayer. At that moment Rashid enters the bathroom. Rashid is a tall and
handsome Moroccan youth wearing simple western clothes and an open countenance. He
contrasts with Mohammed who is short, squat, neck-less, blotchy-faced and impatient-
looking. Rashid is clearly shocked to find Moh kneeling by the toilet. Pause. Mohammed,
thinking fast, raises his eyes to the ceiling,
Mohammed: Thank you! Thank you great lord Ior.your blessings. The green grass. The blue
sky. The earth and the uh.sea. Amen.
Rashids face fills with laughter.
Rashid: BeautiIul prayer brother. I see you`ve converted to Catholicism. Or lavatory
Catholicism. Is it a special sect?
Moh: Get out of my bathroom.
Rashid laughs as Mohammed stands up and sorts himself out. The two shake hands.
Mohammed: Let`s get out.or wait no. Let`s stay here. I don`t want my Iather to see it. You
brought it right?
Rashid: Of course! I went to three different stores. Odd thing to ask for a machete. Why did
you want one?
Mohammed: The machete is the symbol of our faith. The shape of the sickle moon that guides
us. Used by our forefathers in holy jihad to defend our people. Let me see it.
Rashid reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny item and holds it up. It is a thumb-sized
machete connected to a bottle opener.
Mohammed: What is that.
Rashid: Pocket machete! Good Ior. nail.cleaning.
Mohammeds face has fro:en in a grimace of rage.
Rashid: It is also a bottle-opener!
Mohammed remains stoney-faced.
Rashid: Wah-tssssshh.
Rashid mimes opening a bottle with the pocket machete. Suddenly Mohammed grabs it out of
his hand and throws it on the floor,
Mohammed: Are you out of your mind!! Why would I want a pocket machete that is also a
bottle opener! This one is not even going to scratch the skin!
Rashid: You want to scratch someone`s skin??
Mohammed: I asked you to use your contacts to get me a machete!
Rashid: My contact was Pim at the tourist store!
Mohammed: AAAH! You don`t understand! I`m really trying to do something here!
Rashid: What on earth are you trying to do??
Mohammed: Not clean my nails that`s Ior sure!
Moh sits down on the toilet with his face buried in his hands.
Mohammed: Why is it that we who are trying to do great things are ALWAYS hindered by
uninformed imbeciles.
Rashid looks offended but says nothing. Mohammed heaves a deep sigh.
Mohammed: Okay. This is the plan. You will call someone and get me a real machete by this
afternoon. I must have it by this afternoon. Then when you come back we can go through the
next post on our blog. Understood?
Rashid: Calm down, I`ll get you your machete.
Rashid makes to go but then turns.
Rashid: But why would you need a real mache-
Mohammed: GO!
Mohammed sits alone for a while still with his face in his hands, then reaches behind him and
flushes the toilet.
Lights fade out.

SC E NE 2
We are in the greenroom of a Television-studio. Ayaan is sitting neatly in a camp-chair
fiddling with a wireless microphone. Several televisions are facing Ayaan turned on but mute.
There is a make-up table and mirror and a jug of water stands on a table a little away from
her. Purple-blue tulip-like flowers stand in a vase on a table. Rita bursts through a door and
slams it behind her as a mocking male laugh is heard.
Ayaan (rising alarmed): Is everything alright??
Rita gasps and spins so she almost collapses into Avaans arms.
Rita(breathless): Rita!
Ayaan: Excuse me?
Rita: Is my name!
Ayaan: Perhaps you should sit down.
Rita: No, no you sit down. You sit down!
Hoping it will calm her Ayaan sits in her chair, facing away. Behind her Rita wipes her brow
and gradually calms herself. She takes a mighty breath, produces a clipboard and begins,
mechanically and vigorously,
Rita: My name is Rita Brennan and I`ve worked as a stage hand on the Levi Schwartz show
Ior over six years, livin` it lovin` it, who wouldn`t, right-fourteen million viewers, so glad you
could come on today, Levi Schwartz is about telling stories just like yours, can I get you a
glass of icy lemon water?
Ayaan (amused): You seem like a very strong-minded woman, working in the place of a
man.
Rita: uh.okay. What do you.?
Ayaan: Muslim women.Opression. I`ve come here to discuss the topic.
Rita (earnestly curious): Oh. Don`t they work over there?
Ayaan: Depends on where. But Muslim women are expected to submit to men and to Allah,
both in Somalia and in the Netherlands. It is the rope that weaves the noose of Islam.
Rita: Riiiight, you`re the Dutch AIrican Muslim Ieminist-
Ayaan: -Atheist-
Rita: novelist? .Ayaan Hirsi!
Ayaan: Correct.
Rita: I`m Rita. Brennan.
Ayaan: Yes I-
Rita: Gotta say, I love what you do. Wish I could have all high and mighty principles like that.
Ayaan: Why do you say so? You seem already to be practicing what I preach.
A shadow crosses Ritas face and she puts one burgundv hair-bang in her mouth. She changes
the subject.
Rita: You`ve travelled Iar, am I wrong?
Ayaan: I landed only a few hours ago.
The Boss (from off-stage): Rita? Rita get your ass out here!
Rita (yelling back with unnecessary ferocity): I`m with the Ieminist!
Pause.
Rita: That`s the boss. Can I get you some icy lemon water?
Ayaan (smiling): Yes please, thank you.
Rita moves over to a water jug and begins to pour water into a glass. Her hand is shaking.
The Boss: Rita! God damn it, Rita!
Rita is shaking so much she almost drops the glass. Ayaan looks on with growing alarm.
The Boss: Ritaaaa! I`m going to give you till the count oI three!
Rita throws wild looks around her.
The Boss: One...two..th-
Rita shrieks and drops her glass as the door begins to creak open, but, all of a sudden with
surprising agility Ayaan Hirsi Ali walks swiftly over to the door and blocks it with her weight.
At the same time;
Rita: What are you doing?!
Ayaan: Get the chair.
The Boss keeps trying to get in, grunting like a wild boar, but Ayaan pushes against him, back
to the door, looking almost bored. Rita hesitates for a second then grabs the chair Ayaan was
sitting on and puts it under the doorknob as a barricade. The Boss utters a mad laugh.
The Boss: Aaaahahaha! Rita! You dumb. Dumb. Bitch.
The Boss keeps pushing as the two women stare at the door. The, everything is still.
The Boss: I`m going Ior a cigarette, Brennan. When I get back, there better be less crazy
around here or someone is not going to have a fun. Time.
Stunned silence. Rita turns slowly to Ayaan.
Rita: Wh-.why did you.Wh-
Ayaan: He frightened you. I did not want him in my room.
Rita slowly turns back to the door. Then, quite suddenly, she bursts into an ecstatic dance,
Rita: HaHA! You did it! You did it!
Ayaan: Calm yourselI, Ms. Brennan. Have some icy lemon water.
Ayaan hands her a glass of water which seems to calm her somewhat.
Ayaan: There now. Please tell me what is going on here.
Rita: Oh God, what have we done! Haha!
Ayaan: Who is that man?
Rita: I`m gonna be Iired. Maybe I could live with Abby?
Ayaan: Who is Abby?
Rita: Abby`s my sister. She lives uptown, sick house, they`re both doctors, you see.
Ayaan(touching her brow): Magical.
Pause.
Ayaan: What did that man want with you Rita?
Rita: The boss? Well.oh he`s just playing around. Sure, he`s just playing around.
Ayaan: Playing around how exactly?
Rita: Well you know. us low-liIe.stage-crew, interns.we don`t really count Ior much, iI
you know what I mean.
Ayaan: You don`t count Ior much`?
Rita: Well not compared to the big wigs, their all Whoo-ah! Hah! Wah-ka!
As she says this Rita parades around, showing off imaginary muscles. Ayaan sinks graciously
onto the floor and rubs her temples. Seeing this, Rita looses momentum and sits down with
her so she is back to back with Ayaan, not touching. She tucks her knees to her chin and
stares into some darker place.
Rita: His wife just left him. Nasty business I think. Poor old man.
Ayaan dares not speak.
Rita: He`s so angry at everyone. And his breath always smells oI whisky.
She exhales and lowers her voice, staring at her feet.
Rita: At Iirst I was in it too, just Ilirting you know. You`ve got to make your way in this
business. And I liked him. But then.. Maybe I remind him oI Cathy, I don`t know. And the
sick thing is..it`s almost like he.like he.enjoys it.
She stares Ayaan for a second, then bursts into tears. Ayaan puts an arm around Rita and the
two women rock to and fro.
Rita: I`m so sorry Ms. Hirsali-
Ayaan: We`re going to Iix this, okay?
Rita begins to smile feebly through her tears.

Rita: You`re like some.Ieminist angel.
Rita smiles some more.
Ayaan: But you did this by yourself Rita.
Rita: I won`t let him hurt me again!
Ayaan: Just look at the barricade we built!
Rita looks, and begins to giggle girlishly through tears.
Rita (surreptitiously): We-.we really showed him huh?
Ayaan(grinning): You bet!
They look at each other and both giggle vivaciously at the absurdity of it all.
Ayaan: Yeah!
Rita: Yeah!
Ayaan: Yeah.
Lights fade out on the still giggling and rocking women.




SC E NE 3

We are in Theo van Goghs stvlish but messv loft-apartment. Empty bottles, broken cameras,
ashtrays and papers are strewn all over the table, two chairs and floor. A little bit away from
the table is a large bed where Theo lies sprawled, snoring.
As he wakes up Theo speaks in a rasping, muffled voice like he has just finished crying. He
has blond untidy hair and grey eyes. He banters and laugh. Yet underneath he has a constant
look of suppressed terror. It is as if he exists on a thin surface of mirth, underneath which
there is a darkness so absolute it makes all his good-humour forced, almost aggressive. Only
when he enthusiastically talks about his work or other momentary projects does he forget
himself and rants with real, lovable and unchecked excitement. Through-out the play he
fidgets a great deal with anything he can get his hands on; his cigarette case, bottles, chairs,
his phone.
A phone rings.
Theo starts up. We now see he is wearing only white briefs, regrettably tight due to his large
beer-belly. He is also wearing a burgundy lace bra over his eyes. He reaches around him in
every direction. Finally he shoves his lace bra up on his head, locates his phone under some
blanket, puts it to his ear and sniffs into it once.
He sits fro:en for a long time. Muffled sounds of a womans voice on the other end which
returns in the gaps between Theos speeches. Suddenly Theo lets out a hoarse howl of
laughter, falls back on the bed and kicks his podgy legs in the air.
Theo: AAAAAH! HAHAHAHA! Serves him right! SERVES HIM RIGHT!
Theo rolls back up and sits on the edge of his bed.
Theo: Th-.what? Yea.The Levi Schwartz show was a TERRIBLE idea anyway. Keep the
girl barricaded in! Maybe there won`t be a show! I hope ever again I-.yup! It`s like that in
the states princess, being a Jew automatically gives you a talk show-ha! Auschwitz was
nothing but a publicity stunt!
Theo begins pacing absent-mindedly up and down the room, alternating between large
gestures and fiddling with his belly-button.
.When are you back Irom New York? .No not good. How about Tuesday? And I have
something to show you princess.my new project. It`s my baby. It makes everything I`ve
done beIore look like Sunday morning in church. Or Mosque Ior you doll. No it`s going to be
great. Really great. I`m really trying to do something here. This time.
Well! Good luck liberating white women. (playfully;) Sure you won`t let me do you when you
come back? Don`t you have daddy-issues or something I can exploit? Aaaaahaaa. Alright
then. But you can`t stop me thinking oI you.
Theo rubs his crotch,
Theo: .Aaaaahaaaa! See you soon princess Ayaan.
Still chuckling Theo makes his way over to the table. He picks up a sausage lying there. He
takes two great bites of the sausage, chewing them in cow-like fashion, gazing unseeingly out
over the audience. He finishes and looks lazily around for a tissue to wipe his hands. Finally
he wipes them on his already stained white briefs. Staring unseeingly over the audience again
he pries open a cigarette case he finds on the table. As he is raising a cigarette to his mouth
there is a soft knock on the door. Theo freezes and says nothing. Then he locates a shirt and
short trousers with suspenders, rapidly pulling on both.
Maiken: Herr van Gogh sir?
Theo: Oh! Come!
Maiken rolls timidlv onstage in a wheelchair. Maiken is Jan Goghs neighbour, of about
sixteen. She is recovering from a car accident that left her partially paralyzed. She is shy,
plain, kind and good-tempered. She sits in her wheelchair slightly hunched, wearing long
tights and a very decent skirt and top. She keeps pushing her round glasses up to her eyes,
slowly and precisely with her little finger. She speaks only when she has something to say,
sensibly, politely and measuredly, in a soft voice full of and consideration. Theo casts her a
glance then sits down, tapping the filter of his cigarette on the table. Maiken is smiling,
friendly but shy. Canary bird-song is heard in the background.
Maiken: I am so sorry to disturb you so early Mr. Van Gogh. I could hear you were awake
Irom across the hall. I really hope it`s not any trouble. But my mother won`t be home Irom
her shift for half an hour and I was wondering...maybe...if you could help me...help me...get
downstairs-
Theo:-Why?
Theo lights his cigarette as they speak.
Maiken: Well to go to school sir.
Theo: Walk down.
Maiken: I-I can`t yet. Not properly. I am training though, the doctors say a Iew more weeks-
Theo: What happened to you?
Theo puts his chin on his smoking-fist and stares at her like a resting toad.
Maiken: Well I told you last week-but I guess you have forgotten, that is perfectly alright. I
forget things all the time too! Yesterday I left the tap on in the bathroom and it flooded, it was
so silly of me, my mother was so angry. I guess it was my fault... -Well anyway. I was hit by a
drunk driver on my way home from the library.
Theo: Serves you right for going to a library.
Maiken looks down at her hands. She gently brushes the tip of one thumb against the tip of the
other. The canary-bird song grows annoyingly loud.
Maiken: What`s that birdsong?
Theo: Kak-zakje.
Maiken: Excuse me?
Theo: Kak-zakje. My canary bird. He`s horny. Wait I`m going to let him out of his cage.
Theo disappears offstage for a moment. A bright yellow canary flutters up towards the stage
ceiling and disappears. Theo returns.
Theo: Be free Kak-zakje. (suddenly to Maiken) Are you pissed?
Maiken: Excuse me?
Theo: Are you pissed. At the wheel chair. The doctors. The walking-penis who did this to
you.
Maiken: No..no I`m not.
Theo: Course you are.
Maiken: N-...no really. What is there to be mad about I mean...what happens happens right? I-
...I`m sure that young boy in the car is very sorry for what he did.
Theo: Serious?
Maiken: Even if-even if he drove off without stopping...leaving me there...What if I were
dead? Well I`m sure he regrets it very much, wherever he is-
Theo (rising up, striding over aggressively): YOU ARE PISSED! Of COURSE you are
pissed!! II there is one thing I can`t take its people not saying what they really think! THAT
GUY WAS AN ASSHOLE! The police are assholes for not following-up on him!! Your mom
is an asshole for not coming home on time!! Your legs are assholes for not working properly!
God!
Maiken has shrunk down in her chair, petrified but fascinated. Theo paces a bit, collect ing
himself. Then he faces her, perching his toad-lips, changing his tone.
Theo: Right. You are not going to school today.
Maiken: Bu-..bu-...
Theo: Some things are more important to learn. You will stay here.
Maiken: But Mr sir I-..I-...
Theo hits a dial on the radio standing on the table. Fast-pace jazz-music starts playing.
Suddenly Van Gogh launches on Maiken, spins her chair once around and then runs, Maiken
shrieking, to the edge of the stage stopping the chair abruptly right before it.
Theo (in a theatrical whisper): Today, my lovely paralysed neighbour! Is you`re lucky day.
Today you are not going to school to learn useless things the establishment teach you to keep
you in your place. No. Today you shall study at Van Gogh`s school oI truth. And liIe.
Maiken shoves her glasses up her nose with her little finger. Theo booms on,
Theo: Do you not wish to know what we will be doing at the Van Gogh school of truth and
life? First!
Theo begins pacing up and down the room pedanticallv. Maiken wheels round to face him.
Theo: You shall be taught in the ancient and honourable skill oI e-mail-writing`. I will dictate
and you will write down what I say.
Maiken giggles.
Theo: Second! You will learn discipline and patience by filling out my tax forms. They are
two months late you may look on this as a good deed(pointing at his own chest)since you are
keeping a poor village idiot out of jail.
Maiken giggles harder,
Maiken: I suspect you are trying to use me as an unpaid intern Mr. Van Gogh-
Theo: Ah young grasshopper, you may think so! But now..
He puts himself on the ground in front of her chair and takes her hand. He lowers his voice
to a whisper again,
Theo: To the good part.
Theo crosses to the table and picks up a thick pile of paper, then carries it on his head over to
Maiken, throwing it dramatically down at her feet.
Theo: I will let you be the first to read my new script. I need feedback. You are the masses. In
return,
He begins spinning her chair here and there in time with the music,
Theo: I shall be your messiah. I am in fact, as you plainly see by my emaciated figure, the re-
incarnation of Jesus Christ. Dah-dah-dara...
Maiken is collapsing in giggles and does not seem to mind Theo grasping her roughly under
her arms and pulling her up into a gentle waltz to the music, her legs trying feebly to stand on
the ground.
Theo: Today you shall walk! MAIKEN WILL WALK AGAIN! Today! I will make sure of it
if it is the last thing I do! Dah-Dara-dah...
Maiken stops laughing but is breathing heavily as if about to explode.
Theo: Dah-dah! Oh yes, on this glorious day, by the power of our lord and saviour Jesus
Christ-
Maiken: I HATE THAT JERK!
Theo stops waltzing her.
Theo: Who? Jesus?
Maiken(hammering her little fists softlv on Theos shirt): NO! THE ASSHOLE WHO PUT
ME IN THIS STUPID CHAIR!
Theo: Yes Maiken Yes!
He begins waltzing her again, even more vigorously
Maiken: And and! The POLICE are a-.a-.assholes Ior not even considering my case!
Theo: Yes Maiken!
Maiken: And my MOM! She`s an asshole I-for drinking all day and working every night and
I! I just..! I-
Theo: YES MAIKEN YES!
Maiken is fuming so much that she does not notice how fast they are spinning, nor that Theo,
with an elegant move has spun her away from him. She looks down, then falls back against
him. With a hearty laugh Theo dances her on. A tearful grin spreads across Maikens face.
Lights down on the still waltzing pair.