Wilde Reborn (A one act play) By Kashif Nasir

Wilde Reborn
(A one-act play)
Scene 1
Act 1

Scene: At Wilde's mansion. He is sitting in an expensively decorated room. The sofas are red and the walls are white, the floor is made of white marble, in the background, two giant stairs cases lead to the upper portion. There is a bar at the left of the sofa, spirits of all sorts are placed on the shelves. Through the French windows, the evening in the garden can be seen.

He has this strange idea, what if we chose our spouses like we chose our books?

"What do you mean like go to a cheap roadside sale, where there are a bunch of women laying down in alluring captivating covers?"

"Or men for that matters?" said his friend.

"You are insane."

"I have been called worse, anyway I am a firm believer that there is not a single idea that's insane enough, there is just unwillingness to carry the idea out."

"You cannot really mean that."

"Of course not, but I am saying for the sake of the argument, we are safe here, as a writer I feel safest on paper, I can do things which I won't do in reality, I can say things which I dare not, I can be what I cannot be, I can tear things in half, I can create or remake a world, I can get you your woman or I can steal her away, I can be God."

The eyes of his friend were filled with contempt. He could have been anything, such talent, such good looks, all wasted because he got into literature. He realized that it was ruining his friend's life. He was like a masterpiece facing erosion, decaying, disappearing. Sometimes he stared at his friend and didn't even recognize him, sometimes he was not his friend, sometimes he was someone else. Sometimes he was God. And all gods are arrogant.

"How will you choose a woman?"

"Well, it depends, it will differ from man to man, I think some men will visit expensive book shops."

"Rich men, you mean, like men visit expensive households, families with wealth, families with maiden daughters, well, maiden or not." He laughed.

"Yes," his friend waited "and they will choose."

"What they can afford." The arrogant prick cut in again.

"Your hypothesis has a hole, you are comparing non-living things with living things, in reality, men and women chose each other, but a book cannot choose a person, so." He left the sentence unfinished.

" A book cannot choose a person" he contemplated the thought, chewed on the idea, savored its contents, let juices run down deep into his intellect, he was quiet for a while, when he spoke again his voice was changed, he sat straighter, the arrogance was gone, he spoke with more vigor, he spoke dreamily, he spoke with conviction. "Ever been to book sales? The cheap ones, I have, there are so many books and there is always so little money, I walk hours between the stalls, unable to choose, unable to reach a decision, but then for absolutely no reason, I am drawn to a book, it might have an eye-catching cover, or it might be the dullest of the lot, but I am drawn to it, for some time I just stare at her, unable to move hypnotized, I stare at her she stares back, we steal glances at each other, here we have a beginning of a love affair, my feet are cold and I cannot move, but then she twists her head, shows a little bit of neck, all choosing signals, telling me, it's safe to approach, then I reach her, I caress her cover, my hand moves along her spine, we have reached an understanding, we know that it's okay. We know that it's meant to be. She allows me to take her home.

We mess around a little while. Me trying to act like I don't care. Her trying to act like it doesn't affect her, a little foreplay, all part of the primordial ritual. We delay gratification until finally my passion reaches Climax and she finally surrenders to my advances, then I open her up and lose myself inside her." He suddenly became very quiet like he was exhausted.

"Are we still talking about books?" his friend said dumbly.

"Are we?" he said to no one in particular. "My friend, I just gave you a highly graphic representation of how a book can indeed choose a person."

"Well I can't say I believe you, but it's all an argument right, an idea, a theory, so that's your opinion, you think that's how marriages work?

"Relationships, my dear fellow, not marriages. Listen, a man falls in love with a book, okay but for how long? eventually, he will get bored, eventually, he will crave a new thrill, all men are animals it's our nature, okay, so he visits another sale, you can call it the dating pool, or trying one's options, whatever floats your boat. At first, he is hesitant, he feels guilty, but the anticipation of pleasures will always overcome guilt. So he finally gives in and falls in love with a new mistress, he falls in love with a new book."

"I don't understand."

"That's because I am a nobody writer, if another asshole with a bit of followers on social media had written the same gibberish, you would have understood it, my dear fellow you would have been crying his praises, people would be downloading his photos and making those their profile pictures, a worldwide identity crisis within minutes, new York times would be writing articles, he would be called a sage, a genius, his books would be a literary marvel, set become a modern-day classic. I would tell you something remember this, the world doesn't understand, it's a brain-dead organism, an amoeba, a jellyfish, the world doesn't understand, it follows."

"Follows what?"

"Whatever it can follow?"

"You are being vague again."

"Great, because I hate being plain."

"Okay then, love affairs are book sales?"

"that's one way to look at it, another way is that, book sales are love affairs, the literature is Eros, that poetry is romance, that self helps are breakups, that there are books you lose and you never get over them, that's first love, that without language there is no feeling, without word there is no expression, that without authors there is no history, that without reading there is no life."

"My God, you are a poet, A Wilde reborn."

"Blasphemy," He said disgusted by the thought. "Wilde cannot be reborn; he is not your Buddha or Jesus Christ, he is something else, he doesn't tell you to worship him. He tells you to fuck off; he says I said what I said, he says I am what I am, wait, that doesn't sound right, do you think Christ was Wilde? No, it cannot be, Wilde drowned himself in every pleasure known to man, but Christ is God, he abhors pleasures, in fact, he abhors the greatest thing he created. Us.

"That's not how it works; the Christian theology teaches that Jesus loves you."

"Does he, then why did he leave, why isn't he coming back? He is acting like a spurned lover."

"I don't know maybe you will have to ask the priest, anyway I have to leave." He picked up his coat and waited before the door. Through the door one could see that evening was falling like a magic spell, the sky was a poem, the lightning a symphony." I must say though, your thoughts are terrible and you are a despicable individual."

"Good night." The writer said.

(Exit The Friend)

When his friend left, he lost himself in the music, he listened to the same songs over and over again like a lunatic. It was night when she finally came.

(Enter Girl)

"Ready for a night debauchery." She said.

"Not tonight," he said without turning back. "I am very tired today, I feel drained."

"In that case," she said "want to talk about it" she lay down on a sofa.

Even her bare legs didn't turn him on. "I don't talk to women, I only love them, I talk to men and they bore me, I am alone I feel like a deserted island, a barren wilderness."

"Oh don't be like that love." Said the stupid girl.

"I want you to leave, I want to be alone."

"Leave and go where" she sat up, "you brought me here, you asked me to come."

"And now I am asking you to leave."

"I cannot go back it's too late, I will have to spend the night here. It's okay if you don't want to… tonight."

It's too late. I love this phrase; I want to write a book on it or maybe a poem."

"I never like it when you are like this."

"Nobody does, but this is who I am, I am he, I am Wilde reborn, I have come again to offend the prigs, the self-righteous, the bigots, the open-minded ones."

"Who is this Wilde you speak of all the time?"

"He is me and I am he."

"You are insane."

"I keep hearing that, I feel insane, sick to my stomach all my thoughts are vomit, all my writings filth, they should lock me up and burn my books, wait they already did that."

"Are you drunk?"

"Only slightly, want a drink?"

"Sure," she said eyebrows arched.

"Help yourself he waved at the two empty bottles he had finished."

"My god you are trying to kill yourself."

"And failing." He said.

"You have everything a man could want, wealth, fame, good looks, then why are you so unhappy."

"I don't know, I don't try to be happy, it seems phony to me, imagine fooling yourself into happiness, a tragedy, oh world, where are you going? Happiness should come to me. It should make me happy but it doesn't." he sat down on the sofa.

"It's not going to come in this place, this place is haunted." Said the girl.

"Haunted you mean like by ghosts."

"No, I mean by you."

Haha, he laughed. "I love women you are so fascinating a minute ago you were a dumb bimbo, now you are a philosopher, you women you are actors, you are illusions, you are mirrors you let men see whatever they want to see."

"And you are pathetic."

"I am pathetic, a major achievement, you know they all wanted me to be successful so in spite I became pathetic, I put my heart and soul into becoming pathetic and now that I am pathetic I don't like it."

"What do you like?"

"Anything which I can later dislike."

"That's your problem you are addicted to change, you move from pleasure to pleasure, you are a slave to it."

"To them."

"You are so shameless."

He didn't answer her.

"you really like nothing ?"

"no"

"you are so strange."

He said nothing.

Silence.

"there must be something you like."

"Why can't I just be instead of must be, I am tired of must be, I must be a brother, I must be a lover, I must be a provider, I must be a man, I must exist, I must do, I must."

"You are not a wood log, you are a living breathing human being."

"Then I must become a wood log."

"You are insane, I have to leave."

"You said you couldn't leave."

"I must now after you have insulted me."

"Aha must, you must… I see… feel free to leave."

She leaves.

"Everybody left I am alone now, how peaceful loneliness is, how dreadful it is, it's like loneliness, no simile to explain it. And now I will kill myself.

He stabs himself in the chest.

Curtain.