Hairy God
HAIRY GOD
A Play in One Act
“West End Blues,” performed by Louis Armstrong, fills the dark theater.
Fade-up on a black stage bereft of scenery except for a brilliant white sheet, which hangs from ceiling-to-floor in the middle of the playing space. Standing before the sheet, dressed in a full-length tunic befitting authority and comfort, GREETER, looks into the distance, his or her face composed of equal parts serenity and boredom.
The music fades.
GREETER
Next.
A middle-aged man, dressed in business suit and tie, enters haltingly from stage left, unsure and slightly frightened.
GREETER
Mr. Cohen? David Cohen?
COHEN
Yes. That’s me. How did you know my name?
GREETER
I’m reading off that screen.
(He indicates to the center of the house)
David Cohen, 42. Myocardial infarction. . .during coitus. . .with a Dominican prostitute. Oh, and you were married. Unhappily, apparently.
COHEN
(Looking out at the screen)
Does it mention that I gave generously to numerous charities? I was on the local board for the Make-a-Wish Foundation. Wonderful organization.
GREETER
None of that matters. Not now. Well, actually, never. Doesn’t really count in the final reckoning. It’s funny — well, maybe that’s not the right word. It’s. . .ironic. Church attendance, calling your elderly mother every night, coaching youth soccer — doesn’t make any difference. You get to your ultimate destination based on other criteria, none of which I’m at liberty to discuss at the moment.
COHEN
Where am I?
(He indicates downward)
GREETER
Why does everyone point at the ground? No, you’re not in hell.
COHEN
Heaven?
GREETER
What, you didn’t hear the music?
COHEN
I was a little disoriented.
GREETER
(impatiently)
All right.
(He snaps his fingers. Instantly, the Louis fanfare begins)
(smiling ecstatically)
I mean, can there be any doubt?
(He snaps again and the music stops)
COHEN
(barely allowing himself to be relieved)
So the prostitute, the. . .the, um, the cheating on my wife. . .
GREETER
The lord works in mysterious ways, supposedly. I don’t know how these things operate. Believe me, we’ve got residents you wouldn’t think in a million years. . . Dick Cheney.
COHEN
So the final accounting has already been done. I passed?
GREETER
What do I know? You’re here.
COHEN
Yes. Yes, I am.
(He surveys the stark surroundings)
Not what I imagined, if I’m being honest.
GREETER
(commiserating)
No kidding. I mean, a lot of things aren’t the way you think they’re going to be. Angels, vestal virgins — please!
COHEN
No virgins?
GREETER
No, Mr. Cohen. Nor will you find any seventeen-year-old Dominican whores who cry out “Oh, daddy, you’re so thick” while you sodomize them.
COHEN
Well, you can’t have everything.
GREETER
No.
COHEN
So?. . .So there’s, what, jazz, and what? I mean, what’s the big revelation.
GREETER
I was getting to that part.
COHEN
You spend your whole life worrying and wondering about death, about what comes after — if anything. And even though, what?, 8 billion trillion people have solved the eternal mystery, it still seems — well, when it happens to you, it’s like . . .
GREETER
You sold real estate, didn’t you?
COHEN
Luxury homes. Yes. And a few apartment buildings.
GREETER
This is easier.
COHEN
“Life is hard, and then you die.” That’s what they say.
GREETER
Yes, they do.
COHEN
Oh. Oh! My father. My father. He passed in 2002. Myron Cohen. Went by “Mike.” Mike Cohen. No saint by any means, but he never hurt anyone, either. Well, except his former business partner, Sheldon, who, by the way, had a thing for boys. Little blonde ones. Is he — my father, Mike Cohen — is he. . .did he make it?
GREETER
I don’t know. I just started here this year.
COHEN
I see. . .It’s — well it’s strange, isn’t it, to have to work in heaven?
GREETER
It would be. But, see, I’m not in heaven. You are.
COHEN
I don’t — what?
GREETER
I was assigned to hell. This is my personalized hell.
COHEN
I’m sorry.
GREETER
(shrugging)
What are you gonna do? It was either this or another lifetime at the DMV.
COHEN
Once was probably enough.
GREETER
This was my thinking. . .Mr. Cohen. I’ve enjoyed the chat, but a lot of others are waiting.
COHEN
No, of course.
GREETER
So.
(assuming a tone of rote memorization, as though reading from a cue card)
David Ezra Cohen, husband of Cynthia, father of Joshua and Jennifer, you have passed on to the next chapter in your eternal story. Though imperfect in myriad ways, you remained a pious man during your time on Earth. Your faith in God, and all that he commands, has been rewarded on this the [insert actual day here] of [insert actual month here] in the year [insert actual year]. Because you have steadfastly believed in that which you cannot see, your salvation shall be to witness what you have believed. . .David Ezra Cohen, prepare to meet your maker. . .
(He makes an indeterminate hand gesture)
Go ahead.
COHEN
What.
GREETER
G’head. Prepare.
(Making the same gesture)
Disrobe.
COHEN
Oh. Here?
GREETER
You can leave your undergarments on if you’re shy about being exposed before the lord almighty, king of kings, beginning and end.
COHEN
I’ll. It’s. . .no, it’s fine.
(He undresses, leaving on his underwear and socks, handing the clothing to GREETER)
GREETER
Ready?
COHEN
See, now that’s a tough question.
GREETER
You have five minutes. Please kneel.
(COHEN kneels)
Mr. Cohen, I give you God Almighty.
Louis singing “oh, yeah!” from the end of one of his early recordings rings out. With one deft movement, GREETER tears down the white sheet from the ceiling and takes it with him as he EXITS, stage right.
In a single spotlight, sitting upon a raised, throne-like platform, we see a DOG.
Neither DOG/GOD or COHEN speaks for what seems like an unbearable amount of time. They merely regard each other with awe and curiosity.
COHEN
Oh, blessed lord almighty. . .you’re not what I pictured.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
I’m, I’m. . .I feel like I want to cry, or rejoice, or something. But nothing’s happening. My whole life on Earth I lived in fear of you, of this moment. And you appear to be —
(he shrugs)
— not very —
(struggling)
what I believed you would be.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
Although now I get that whole “spelled backwards” thing.. . .So. Do you — what? Do you pass judgment on my soul?
GOD
. . .
COHEN
Please. . .please.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
Lord, Yahweh. . . Elohenu. Please. Please hear me. Please. . .I wasn’t perfect, I was — no, I was a very flawed human being, although — and I’m sure you’ll correct me if I’m wrong here — but most people aren’t exactly how you would like them to be. We’re, you know, greedy and selfish, and, and, all the sins, you know — well, of course you know, you’re omniscient. I mean, if there’s any chance for everlasting mercy and forgiveness in my case — well, I would be very grateful. I would be. Grateful.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
I understand you’re a jealous God. I read the Bible in my youth. The Old version. And, sure, I know: I understand that despite your divine stature in the universe, you can sometimes act pretty much the way a human being would act — which is not to say — I’m not saying. You know. . .not petty or vindictive. No. I mean, come on. You’re God.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
I’ll remain silent if that’s your wish.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
What is your command, Lord?
GOD
. . .
COHEN
I’m your humble servant. I’ll literally do whatever it is you want. Make me your, your — I’ll be your tool. You know, send me back, give me another chance. I’ll be your man on the ground. I’ll cure cancer, if that should please you — although, of course, you obviously make cancer a part of life for a good reason. Mysterious ways!
GOD
. . .
COHEN
Tell me.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
What does all this mean. What does it mean.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
The praying. The waiting. The wondering. What does it — why was I born? Why must I die? What does the future hold? Is there a future? Please, Lord. I’m nothing in your presence. I’m a frightened, ignorant man. My existence in your universe — I owe everything to you, dear God. I humbly beg of you — of thee — I beg. Please, just — tell me. Talk to me.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
I have nothing to offer you but my eternal devotion. Please. Show me, God. A sign. Some sort of. . .tell me you hear me. Tell me that I’m not inhabiting some perverse dream, or some weird science fiction, you know, matrix. It’s not that I don’t believe — I do. I do believe. I just don’t — I mean, I don’t feel dead, you know? Just mildly anxious.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
Talk to me, Lord.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
Communicate with me, blessed father.
GOD
. . .
COHEN
God Almighty, Elohenu, speak!
GOD
Woof!
COHEN shudders in ecstasy. BLACKOUT
