BINTOU scene 3
It’s so painful this scene.
But not just painful: there’s another dimension to it, somehow, where pain is transcended and everything makes sense.
In the world of the play, Bintou is a saint, and these are the last days, and P’tit jean will be forgiven.
And it blows my mind to think these things: but i want a play to do that.
I want a play to blow my mind…
BINTOU by Koffi Kwahulé . translated by Jo Clifford.
translation © John Clifford 2000
All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before rehearsals to Alan Brodie Representation Ltd, Barbon Buildings, 14 Red Lion Square, London, WC1R 4QH. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained.
Son
A poor room. It’s where P’tit Jean lives with his mother.
The table is laid; the mother is sitting there, as if waiting.
P’tit Jean enters. He sits at the table.
P’tit Jean: Hello mum
Mother: Eternal Father, bless this food
and the hands that have prepared it.
Give us each day our daily bread.
In the name of Jesus Christ your only son
Who you gave up to death to redeem our sins.
Amen.
You’ve been beaten up again.
P’tit Jean: No, it’s not what you think. It’s not what you think, mum.
Mother: Eat while it’s still hot.
P’tit Jean (visibly drugged) I saw Bintou mum. When I kissed her feet, it wasn’t what people thought it was. It wasn’t anything like what people thought it was. The stories they tell about her, mum, all the stories. Bintou is a saint. Mum, she loves the world so much! She loved us so much she ended up loathing us. But even in her loathing, there’s enough love to save the world... When I kissed her feet, it was like I had been touched by grace, like I had just said a good prayer...
Mother :Eat up.
Bintou: Bintou spoke to me, mum. She speaks like a grown up. She spoke and from now on things...
Mum what does it mean to be ashamed of being a man?
Mother: Eat up, or it’ll get cold.
P’tit Jean: It’s all really clear: I’ll kill the other three. She spoke of you most of all. Spoke good of you. The way no-one has ever spoken of you before. In plain words. Good words. So I’ve come to say I’m sorry, mum. She’s a saint and nobody sees it. I’m sorry about the love you pour onto my heart but which I’ve never known how to respect, sorry about all your feelings I’ve trod on, sorry for all the sleepless nights when you wondered where I was, sorry. Sorry about the drugs. ...Yes sorry about the drugs. Sorry for everything, mum. Bintou has spoken to me and the night has gone. I’m stopping drugs. I’m definitely giving them up.
Mother: At least eat a little bread.
P’tit Jean: I swear mum
Mother: Don’t swear
P’tit Jean: Christ forgive me. Bintou! That girl is a saint and nobody knows it. People tell all kinds of stories. The stories people tell! She spoke to me. Spoke to me about you. She spoke good of you. How you’ve always bled yourself dry for me. How you... Even in her hatred, there is still love. She’s opened my eyes. I’m going to join the Foreign Legion, mum. To atone. I must atone. I seen them on the telly. That’s what I need, the foreign legion. I seen them on the telly. The three others are pigs. In Guyana. I’ve seen them slake their thirst with the sap of creepers; I’ve seen them swimming in water infested with piranhas; I’ve seen them fighting crocodiles; I’ve seen them climbing creepers right up to the top of trees to jump on anacondas and eat them raw; and I’ve seen them coming back at night, splattered with mud and emptied of themselves. And there mum you can’t think about drugs because living like that, that’s a drug. Once they’re washed and clean, with their crew cuts, they look like monks. Legionaries are monks, mum, and there, right down in the very bottom of their eyes, all concentrated, is the prison where they lock up the terrible secret that they’ve come to atone for in the jungles of Guyana. Me too, once I’ve kissed her feet, I need to atone for all the bad things I’ve done to you.
Mother: Stop fidgeting and eat your bread. P’tit Jean, it is unleavened....
P’tit Jean: I should have made things easier for you after dad was put in prison...
Mother: We said we’d never speak of that. Eat.
P’tit Jean: I won’t speak of it again. You know, mum, I’ll go to the recruiting office today, and I will join the foreign legion, but I need a bit of money first to get there. And I’d like to buy a white t shirt to look neat and clean.
Mother: There’s no money, P’tit Jean.
P’tit Jean: I also need to get a hair cut. I want to be right, understand? I want to be right.
Mother: There’s no money left.
P’tit Jean: You don’t trust me because of the drugs? I’m telling you that’s all over.
Mother: We haven’t got a penny, P’tit Jean.
P’tit Jean: Dad would have given me this money. When Dad was around...
Mother: I know. When dad was around he carried you on his shoulders, when dad was around, he took you down to the park to play in the sand, when dad was around he taught you to play ping pong out in the yard, and he’d take you for walks in the woods and he’d show you where there were mushrooms... I know! I know all about everything your dad Jean is supposed to have done for you. And I didn’t want you to reproach me so I always gave you money, even though I knew perfectly well what you were spending it on. But this time, you can reproach me as much as you like, I will give you nothing simply because there is not a penny left in this house.
P’tit Jean: You found the money for this meal. Mum, I need this money.
Mother: If there was money, I wouldn’t hesitate to give-
P’tit Jean: Don’t piss me off mum I feel really bad and I need this money.
(he’s suddenly possessed by rage and sweeps everything off the table) I need it now! (He’s about to turn everything upside down and look for the money) Where have you put your fucking money?
Mother: P’tit Jean!
P’tit Jean: Where’s the money? Mum, don’t betray me. I feel bad, don’t you betray me too.
Mother: I really want to help you, but we haven’t-
P’tit Jean: Stop talking that shit. (He slaps her) Where’s the money?
Mother: Lord Jesus! It is written: Let no-one shed a tear for me. For they have come, the days that were foretold “Woe unto them that are with child, and woe unto them that give suck!” Don’t weep for me for I am unworthy, for the Word of God must come to pass.
P’tit Jean: Shut it! Where’s the money? (He takes his mother by the hair and drags her though the house screaming) Look for it! Look for it! What have you done with your fucking money? (He throws her down to the floor) Give me the money or I’ll burn this house down! You know I mean it. (Suddenly, his attention is captured by the gold crucifix his mother wears. Calmly, he goes up to her and gently strokes her neck) We don’t have any money but we’ve got a crucifix of gold...?
Mother: No, not that. Don’t blaspheme, my son, do not blaspheme!
P’tit Jean: Who’s talking of blasphemy? Just stop it, mum. Stop it. It’s better like that. ... It’s nice. I’d forgotten it was in gold. It’s really nice. (With a sudden cold movement, he tears off the crucifix)
Mother: No in Christ’s name no...
P’tit Jean: Shut it! Next time you try that crap out on me I’ll burn the house. (He leaves)
Mother: I thank you Jesus, for I know you have already forgiven my son. Because he is of the sinners that you have come to call to your kingdom, because he is of the flock of lost sheep, because it is not those who are well who have need of the physician, but the sick, and I know you have already forgiven my son.