untitled

A long time ago, somewhere in the countryside, there was an ordinary mound of dirt. It was so small, in fact, that it could hardly even be considered a bump in the road.

On their way to town, people would pass over it. Singing their songs and talking, they scarcely noticed the small mound of earth beneath their feet.

Some of the travelers would take rest on a hillside nearby the road. Lying in the tall meadow grasses, their children would play.

Looking on, the humble mound wished that he would someday be a hillside.

One night, the small mound of dirt sent a wish to the stars.
“Make me a hillside that I may be a sight to behold. I would be a resting place for weary travelers. They might lie against my swaying grasses and find rest. Their children could play, and roll down the curve of my back and pick wildflowers. They would laugh and find happiness.”

And the earth shook beneath the humble mound.
The shifting from far below caused the mound to grow. Up and up it was thrust, until soon the mound became a hill.

Over time, tall grasses grew and swayed in the wind. People found rest in the shade of an oak tree that had grown on its side. Young ones whispered their secrets, schemed their plans and pledged their sacred vows at its top. Children played games upon the back of the hillside, and gathered wildflowers.
All these things happened, just as the hill had wished.

But, there were many small hills in the valley. Soon, the hill realized that it was just one of many hills to behold. How common this made him feel, indeed. He grew discontented and longed to be something greater.

He called to the sky, once again, and wished another wish.
“Make me the tallest hillside in the valley. People of great consequence will vow to climb to my crest and boast in the accomplishment. They will view the valley from my peak. Perhaps they will give me a fine name, that I may be distinguished from all of the other hills in the valley."

And the earth shook beneath the hill. The shifting from far below caused the hill to grow. Up and up it was thrust, until soon, the hill became a mountain.
Explorers came from miles around to climb to its peak. Looking down to the valley below, they would exclaim, “What a magnificent view, indeed!”
Scholars would come and survey the landscape, using the mountains ideal vantage points they drew important maps for kings who ruled over great nations.
The mountain was pleased by its size

But far beyond, just against the horizon, there were mighty mountains that looked like great cities, hanging from the heavens. Gazing upon them, the mountain began to feel as though he would only ever be a mound in comparison to such grand mountains.

So again, as if haunted by the memory of his smallness, he called to the sky once again. “Make me a mighty mountain! Give me rivers and waterfalls that flow down my back. Give me a snow capped crown, that I would truly be something to gaze upon. Men will build a city at my feet, just to be near me!”
And the earth shook beneath the mountain. The shifting from far below caused the mountain to grow. Up and up it was thrust, until it soon became the tallest mountain for thousands of miles.

With its crown high in the heavens, it was ever snow capped. Water flowed generously from its crests and ridges into the town that was built at its base. It became home to an abundance of wildlife. Its wild game, fish, nuts, berries and fruit sustained the townspeople below, who wanted for nothing, neither beauty nor sustenance.

For a time, the Mount was satisfied with itself. Until it occurred to him, surely there must be other mountains of similar, if not surpassing greatness to his own. And by this thought, he was tormented. In a wild fury he sent one final wish to the night sky.
“Make me the greatest mountain in all the world! Let my peaks be many and the girth of my mantle ever reaching, seemingly without end. Make me the king of all other mountains that I may lord over them.”

And the earth shook beneath the great mountain. The shifting from far below caused the mountain to grow. But this time, the shifting was so violent that great rocks fell, leaving the town below in devastation. The Townspeople moved away for fear of the mountain they had once loved. The smooth sides were littered with rocks and jagged boulders. The crown of the mountain had been thrust so far in the sky that its crown was now above cloud cover and could no longer be seen from the ground. Snow and ice covered the entire mountain. Its terrain was too unkind to climb. Its winds were cold and inhospitable even at its base.


His greatness had become so much that he was too high to climb and only fit for passerby’s to marvel at…and his summit was silent, save for the cold whipping wind.

The mountain had grown too tall to climb, too cold to sustain life and too tall to have a desirable vantage point. Now, just as it had wished, it was simply the greatest and tallest mountain.

He missed the falling waters, how they trickled and ran, falling and falling, ever downward, finding stream and river and finally sea.

He remembered the prowess of the explorers whom had scaled and climbed his sides.
Each, having arrived at his summit,they had been formidable contenders all.

He longed for the meadows, and the rolling hills of his smaller days. He missed the laughter of the children that used to roll down his back. He missed spying the schemes of lovers and feeling the strong beating of their hearts, which unbeknown'st to them could be felt deep within the earth.

The wind whipped at its lonly peak and there was a piercing stillness.

He dare not raise this final wish to the night sky, which had long been so obliging to his wishes. Instead he left a lament on the wind, which came to me and so I leave the same to you:

“Such foolish wishes I have made! These wasted years spent wanting, leaving me without sight. And now, though grand, I am all the poorer.
Oh, to be a simple mound of clay! For having tasted greatness, I would surely now revel in the richness of humility. Oh, hallowed smallness, most sacred oneness, this kingdom would I trade for thee.”

Scene 16a, lilies The Reckoning

Sylvia arrives home after working with Anne in her garden. She is exhausted, and worn. She has little to work with to make dinner. As she walks in the door her husband, Neil, is sitting in the same place he was when she left this morning. It is obvious he has been drinking, which means he either didn’t find any work or didn’t make any attempt at all. Sylvia: Don’t suppose anyone came by the house to offer you work today eh? (She walks into the kitchen with a young one on her hip) Neil: (Up for a game of it) Oh yeah, three lawyers came, and a Doctor too. Except I didn’t care much for what they were offering so I had to turn em down flat, the lot of em. Sylvia: (From the Kitchen, and about to loose her patience) I’m serious Neil! (She is mixing what is left of the milk along water and flour. She pours it into a bottle to feed the baby) Neil: You don’t think I’m serious? You don’t think any Doctors or Lawyers would offer me a job? (He is obviously drunk and halfway mumbling to himself) Could’ve been a doctor myself if I’d have been born to the right folks. (We see Sylvia's face as she realizes he is drunk. Tense and angry. Sensing a fight coming on. She calls to her eldest daughter) Sylvia: Colleen! (She comes in and takes the young one from Sylvia knowingly) Where is your head Neil? Neil: Better days Sylv. I’m thinking on better days. Sylvia: Well your kids and I are right here on this day, and we have three potatoes between the nine of us. What do you suppose I cook us for dinner? Neil: (Laughing Belligerently) Potatoes! Sylvia: (infuriated) Goddamn lazy louse, good for nothing, cocky, drunk! We have nothing Neil, NOTHING! Were behind three months rent a pound of flour and three potatoes to our name, a meal away from starving. (He hardly flinches) Starving Neil. (Beat) Well I can only assume by the look of you that you were down at the Lavry’s drinking Whiskey, charging up a tab you have no intention of paying and tarnishinhg our families good name , eh? (In a mumble she she hisses.) There’s no man left inside you. Neil: (in hi anger he almost seems sober) You think I don’t know? You think I haven’t noticed Sylv? This time, this place… There’s no work to be had, and each day I walk the streets, with the other boys in being reminded of that. You know what that does to a man? To watch his children go hungry? To feel his wife’s hate for him grow more and more each day for things out of his control (Sneering, up in her face, she turns her own but does not shudder.) You think I don’t feel that eh? You think I don’t feel it? You think I don’t see you cringe when I walk through that door, like you can’t stand to look at me? Well if you’re so high and mighty, why don’t you get a job? Get paid in scraps, hardly enough to feed your family, fall asleep to their hungry cries at night, and wake up and go do the same goddamn thing, knowing it won’t make any difference. Sylvia is left standing alone. She is neither surprised or scared of Neil aggression toward her. Instead, a silence falls on the room. Neil: You used to love to dream with me Sylv. What happened? Remember how we used to sit together for hour just dreamin’ of all the possibilities of what could be? Where is that girl I used to know? I liked her! Sylvia: (Quite sober) She woke up Neil! They weren’t plans, they were dreams and dreams don’t put food on the table and a roof over our head now do they? Neil: Well a drink and a dream sure soften the knocks we take, livin’ like we do. I have that right still don’t I? (Silence) Don’t I Sylv? Sylvia: I gotta tell you your rights now? What? Have I gotta lend an ear for confession as well? What am I, your keeper Neil? Neil: You sure have acted like it all these years! Sylvia: You look to me for all your answers only to curse me for all the things you don’t have and never became! So what is it then Neil? (He hangs his head, afraid to say what he is thinking.) What’s it going to be Neil? Neil: (Quietly as if admitting defeat) We can’t go on like this forever. Sylvia: Why not? Nobody said life was easy. Neil: That’s just something people say… Sylvia: Well don’t you think they say it for a reason? Neil: (Abruptly) This isn’t working! Sylvia: You keep repeating yourself and looking to me to say what you mean to, Neil but it really just comes down to one thing. Are you in? Or are you out? (Silence. His shoulders hang in shame. His eyes lowered from her gaze.) Neil: I tried… (And with those two words she realizes that he means to leave them.) …I’m sorry Sylvia. Sylvia: Don’t Neil! Don’t you dare! You don’t get to apologize to me, or your children! You walk with that. Do you understand me? You get up and you leave if that’s what you mean to do. But you can take your apology with you because it’s no good here. Your children can’t use an apology in place of a father, and the same goes for me. (She turns from him and he walks out the door. It is that simple.)

Scene 15, lilies More Elton Jennings

Fewer men seemed to be coming into the Ford factory every day for work. The layoffs were becoming more and more of a threat, even to an exemplary employee like Elton Jennings. He took notice of who was missing off of the line each day, and did his best to compensate for their absence. He knew that the harder he worked, the lesser his chances were of loosing his own job.
He felt no great sense of loss for the employees who had been fired. He was indifferent to most of the men on staff. Elton had never really made friends with anyone at work, in particular. He was not unfriendly, not by any means, but he always kept to himself. It was safer for a man to keep to himself; he had decided that long ago. He seldom asked for help or sought direction from fellow employees and he certainly never accepted charity. The kindness of strangers made him feel uncomfortable. He assumed kindness was often time prompted by pity and his pride seldom allowed him to respond graciously as the recipient of such acts.
He was, by nature, an observer an attribute which, paired with his impeccable timing and a flawless work ethic, had spared from the plant lay offs thus far.
He had been reading the papers and studying the stocks quite diligently for the past few months, following the market crash. He understood the massive loss for what it was. He had no investments or stocks and was therefore not blinded by the false hope that many a powerful men were. He knew there was no quick fix or remedy with which to rely upon. The very nature of the beast that was capitalism relied upon the ever waxing and waning of the cultural economy for its success. Calling to mind the words of a hated professor from his earlier years, Elton had sadly come to understand the truth in what he had previously considered flippant cruelty, “Many must fail if a strong few wish to succeed.”
His professor lectured with conviction and yet seemed void of emotion on the principal. Elton often wondered, at the time, if the man had been secretly longing for someone to raise an argument against him. Elton had longed to argue in favor of compassion and the masses, but as a junior, he knew better. There was no point in passionate debates in economics and business. Passion was futile, and often the plaything or court jester of logic and reason. He had gone to school to study logic and reason, not compassion and hope. So he had put them away, compassion and hope, traded them in for tangible and more sensible virtues, ones that heated the house and provided food and shelter for his family.
The scholarly principles, which he had been urged to pursue in order to ensure security, had run a ground. Now, even logic and reason seemed to be on the verge of betraying him. He could feel his bitterness increasing day by day.

Scene 14, lilies, More Jack Legrand.

Nights for Jack Legrand were spent hiding at work, in the projection booth. He anticipated that the bank would claim ownership of his theatre any day now.
Waiting to come home until he knew his wife was gone, busy or asleep; the theatre became his haven.
This was the first time in Legrand’s life that he felt grateful for his wife’s indifference toward him. Through the years he had realized that his wife had accepted his proposal of marriage for the comforts he provided for her, not because she loved him.
He was well off when they met. She was a lovely, slender, graceful blonde who could have been an actress. Stillness came over a room when she entered it. Her good looks were ample enough to not need a sense of humor. She was a fine conversationalist and was only moderately flirtatious. Being from a small town in eastern Washington, city life was new to her. Having been new in town, she had begun socializing in the same circle as he. There was an innocence about her that some mistook for coldness. Though in retrospect, he often wondered if perhaps he had mistook her coldness for innocence. Since their marriage, she had been known to go days without initiating conversation with him. She was not unkind to him, just indifferent.
Though a bit small and wanting of a full head of hair, he was not bad looking or disagreeable in any way. He had many friends who regarded him as a fine man. When they had first met, he seemed to be at the center of all the social events; making jokes and introducing people to one another. In her small world, Legrand seemed a surprisingly powerful and important man.
He had wooed her as best he could. He was a graceful dancer and a gentleman. He lit her cigarettes, pulled out her chair and anticipated her moods. He behaved, as a gentleman should.
So he, being kind, decent, and financially stable, convinced her that there was no reason that she ought not marry him.
But alas, love and marriage are not one in the same. She never gazed at him the way he did at her. The gifts he lavished on her seemed to be received somewhat expectantly and seldom followed by the tenderness he had always longed for.
Still, she bore his three children, cooked his food and planned social events in his honor, when appropriate. But somewhere in his mind…in his heart, he knew that what they shared was just an arrangement.
Take away the comforts and formalities and what was left were two people masquerading as husband and wife. Both were guilty of deadly sins. She was the glutton, and he the vain. She had wanted his money and prestige and he, to possess her beauty. He was proud to have her. He had won, and now possessed her. She was a prize to him. .
Theirs was an arrangement that would not withstand the enormous loss that was on the horizon. Going bankrupt was something of a breach of contract in his wife’s eyes. As long as he provided her with all the comforts she desired, she would tend to him and be his wife. So long as he appeased her lust for material things, she would look the other way and deny the fact that she didn’t really love him. But to loose everything would nullify their contract in her eyes, he knew it, and so he avoided her in the hopes that somehow, he could save his business and marriage.

Scene 13 lilies, more of Tim Dixon

There were several different kinds of loss. There was the kind that came all at once leaving a man with nothing and the kind that was a clear and distant inevitability that kept him awake at night, worrying over things that were out of his control. One was no less cruel than the other, though if you asked Tim Dixon, he would have wanted the whole thing to be over with. This business of taking out loans in the hopes of saving a sinking ship seemed like utter nonsense to him but all the other farmers in the valley seemed to be doing it, and quite frankly, he had to try to make it, at least to this years harvest.

Being a pious man, he preferred to pray for peace and contentment, where other men would have prayed for happiness and riches. It was not for lack of faith that he desired these things, on the contrary, he believed the presence of peace during difficult times was something of a devine miracle in and of itself.
Perhaps it was his desire for peace which drew him to farming in the first place. A man who worked hard all day felt at peace come evening. He liked that kind of satisfaction; knowing he had done his portion for the day, paid his dues, so to speak.
As he predicted, the spring rains were light, if at all. Despite his prayers, there was no peace for Timothy Dixon.
He rung the restlessness from his body with day after day of field work. His anxiety ran so high it was all he could do to get to sleep at night. Running his body hard throughout the day, he could hardly stand, come sundown. Yet still, at night he would awaken, heart pounding and mind racing; recalling debts he owed, thirsty fields, and broken machines needing parts he could not afford to go without. He was fighting a losing battle and he knew it, yet every morning, just as he had done all his life, he rose before dawn and faithfully tended his parcel of land.