jparish at siue.edu
Wed, 05 Nov 2003 06:56:14 -0600
<The stage is almost bare. A banner hangs on the back wall; it reads,
"DEBRA FRAN BAKER, Nov. 5, 1963". At center stage is a table. The
stout fellow enters from the left side; he is followed by Ben, who is
carrying a small Tupperware dish in his mouth, and by Murphy, who
plods along, burdened by a bulky pannier. When they reach center
stage, Ben sits and Murphy lies down.>
Debra, though you have been quiet for some time, you are
remembered. Thank you for your wisdom; thank you for your patience;
and thank you for reminding us that fiction is fiction, though it flow from
the pen of an Aleichem or a Potok. Accept from us these tokens of our
esteem. <He takes the dish from Ben, not without difficulty, opens it,
and places it on the table.> A handful of peppercorns. <He lifts the
pannier from Murphy's back, hoists it onto the table, and unzips it.
Murphy is visibly relieved.> And a basket of melons.
May the coming year be blessed. May you find time, again, to immerse
yourself in the wisdom of the fathers; and may you find time, again, for
Happy birthday, Debra.
<Murphy is up on his hind legs, sniffing at the melons. The stout fellow
takes him by the collar and leads him reluctantly away. Ben frisks in