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The Devil Gets the Best

(An Extract complete from the forth coming book: “The Galleries at Babel”)

A Short Play in One Act, and Three Scenes


By Dennis L. Siluk, Ed.D.
Three Times Poet Laureate



The Council of the Continental University, Los Andes University, the UNCP University, the Journalist Professional Association and Cultural Center of Peru congratulates and recognizes

The Roman Empire under Trajan, 117 AD

A Short History of the times: it was a time, Arabs could travel from Tripoli to Tangier without ever moving from the shade of olive trees to comfort them; a time when towns and cities sprung up everywhere; a time of great architecture, and when literature found new voices. An era when the beauty of Rome sparkled from England, throughout Italy, and pert near all of Europe for the most part, along with parts of Africa, and Asia—; where forums, temples, aqueducts, and theaters reached the Roman world side to side, and revealed its wealth. A time of economic security, order, discipline—where in a short period thereafter, it would allow decay, chaos and negligence to ruin the roads, reservoirs, and canals. Ephesus was a first rate city, in Asia Minor, and was the city where a number of the apostles went, especially, John, who took care of Mary, mother of Christ, and had a brick house built on the hill top within the city’s walls; where the Ephesians built long and winding marble corridors, which all seemed to lead to the marble façade of its towering library……and this is where our story takes place



ACT ONE • SCENE ONE


It is eleven-thirty in the evening, it is dark out except for a few lit torches scattered sporadically along the corridor which leads to the library at Ephesus, which is made out of marble. There is a large marble engraved sign on the archway next to the library, dedicated to the Emperor of Rome, Augustus (spelled improperly on the arch), that reads his name, but they are not there, they are all walking down the corridor; two girls with two Roman Soldiers, walking down the passageway to the library; the four are a little cock-eyed. The two soldiers are in uniform, they pass statues and accommodations for priests and soldiers, and temporary housing, small temples like sanctuaries along the corridor, many pillars. One of the girls stop and look at a marble refuge, she hears a mumbling voice, almost seductive…


1st Roman Soldier. Let’s keep going. The night’s getting late, and I got to inspect the guards in the morning.

Girl. I heard a voice in there, it sounded familiar.

(The other soldier and girl have gone on down the corridor towards the library)

1st Roman Soldier. Why should you care whose in there?

Girl. Well, I do care, let’s take a look.

1st Roman Soldier. So it appears I got a noisy one. The hell with it, I got better things to do with you than fool around someone else’s private affairs—inside whatever this structure is: a room or house or haven.

Girl. You are an ass!

1st Roman Soldier. That’s not so bad, I’ve been called worse.

(He stands still, puts his hand over his mouth, as if thinking what next to say, shakily not wanting to sober up, yet not wanting to fall over)

Have I ever been nice? I mean you know who I am, what I do?

Girl. I don’t care what you do when you’re not with me, all you Roman soldiers are appalling when you’re drunk, and rude when you’re aren’t. All I wanted was to see who was in there. If that’s too much to ask the heck with it, let’s just keep on moving to the dumb library so you can do whatever your heart desires, there inside, if we can get inside, you say you are a commander, I suppose we can then.

1st Roman Soldier. Okay, okay you win; I’ll look inside and see. But I’ll tell you plain, a woman brings two moments of happiness to a man: one when she makes love to him, the other, when she gets up out of bed, and leaves him to have peace and quiet.

(The girl smiles, a very big and bright looking smile, with a light chuckle, as if to say—well, I got my way)

Girl. I wish I had a marble sanctuary like this one; I’ll buy me one someday.



CURTAIN


ACT ONE • SCENE TWO



Curtain rises at once on Scene II. Inside the room that is really a shelter for a statue of Dionysus, something of a sanctuary you might say, there is a cot, behind the statue inside the shrine, and there is a small table by the cot; a priest by the name of Demetrius is sitting on it, with a female named Lydia next to him, and he is talking about trade with Cayster and Maeander, along with religion and art, whatever the conversation is, you hear just gobbledygook for the most part, perhaps not making out anything that makes sense, if one was observant, it almost looks like a show put on for an audience. The woman is expensively gowned. Beside the bed is a lit candle which is glowing brightly. Lydia is a lovely tall brunette girl sitting on the edge of the cot. Behind her, and him, is a little square window, you can see the stars through it. There is a map on the wall made of leather, it has a drawing of the whole area on it, and all the corridors of marble in particular, leading to the library—and a devilish looking symbol. The Roman Soldier (Theodorus) is standing looking at them both, in particular Lydia, who only looks up from an ancient scroll she has on her lap—whom one might think she was reading it, but whose to say, she looks up slightly that is, as if she is disturbed from being bothered, says in a very refined voice:

Lydia (she notices the Roman Soldier is of a high rank). Sir, if there is something you wish, or want, please state what it is, other than that, please let us to our business, and do not disturb us any longer.

(The man, whose name is Theodorus, goes on looking at the two)

And please stop staring, it is most bothersome.

(Theodorus continues to look at her alone now)(The priest is short and thin; almost lame looking, if not nearly deformed, and somewhat disagreeable—uglier than a dead rat)

Lydia. Are you part of the sentry? (No answer is given by Theodorus)

((Theodorus, over six feet tall, two-hundred pounds, with a rough looking beard, now produces a ruthless, yet joker like look on his face, as if he was insulted, but neither the girl nor the man show any fear, or for that matter, reprisal.

Girl. Let’s go look for Bupalus, I’m ambidextrous and I never miss my aim with either hand, and we have things to do at the library.

1st Roman Soldier. (Speaking to Lydia) What names do you go by?

Lydia. Many, but Lydia will do!


(With no retort he remains in a near trance, as if almost overtaken by her beauty and aching to have her. His mind full of folly and thought, you can see it in his self-possession and continence)


Lydia (her eyes, ever-changing as if into fire and water). It is distaining to expound my conclusions in intelligible words to a regular soldier.

Demetrius. (Speaking passionately) I assure you sir, we were not doing anything awful in this sanctuary, I am a philosopher and poet, as well as priest, and I am Lydia’s teacher, and I teach many of the arts.

1st Roman Soldier. (Still staring at Lydia) So you do!

Demetrius. Perhaps we should move to the Temple of Artemis, it is more private there, Lydia?

Lydia. We should and we should not. Here our universe is vaster, becoming, more of a variety, change is from a condition of inferno, this soldier is of the many, and he lives in the very heart of the inferno, fire flickers restlessly inside of him. You Demetrius are the filling of life and good spirits.

1st Roman Soldier. What kind of dull jokes are these? I’m bored Lydia bitch.

Lydia. Don’t call me names, to entertain your whore; you do not know the dangers in doing so.

1st Roman Soldier. Do you understand anything that’s going to happen here, or what is happening here?

Lydia. No, I only understand a little bit about the universe, but not half as much as Demetrius; you as fire, are dreadful and a puzzle to me why you remain here—can you not sense the danger?

Demetrius. He is like volcanic soil making his island, wanting it to become a garden of orchards and vines; in essence, he wants to make love to you. He is conspiring with his dead-self, to recapture power you seemingly have taken away from him, as a man. But if he touches you, the rain of one who is stronger than Zeus will descend upon him, and from the high heaven.

1st Roman Soldier. My God is not Zeus, perhaps Neptune will swallow Zeus up, or his slave the Tiamat, and your god whom is you say, more powerful than Zeus.

Demetrius. Perhaps I will swallow them both, and Lydia you.

Girl. (In a trembling voice) I want to make love to you; I don’t think all this is very sensible, really, let’s get out of here.

(But Lydia’s beauty was near paralyzing, and he didn’t want to move—and he doesn’t move, lest he lose his opportunity…)

1st Roman Soldier. No! I wish to stay here. It’s amusing, and so much livelier than simply having sex. And you are acting like a child.

Demetrius. Is this the best medicine among Greek and Roman, to take what does not belong to you by force because no one can stop you, nor punish you?

1st Roman Soldier. Is that not what Plato, your philosophical god told you man is made of?

Demetrius. I see you are learned somewhat, but you must not yield your heart to anguish—save yourself and be gone.

Girl. But he seldom does. I wish you’d come (She starts to move towards the door to leave, her face is showing fear)

(There is a knock at the door)

I think our friends are here, looking for us, darling.


(The other Roman Soldier, subordinate to, hears voices inside the small refuge, and walks in; he is of a lesser rank, and a little plump, short, he speaks extraordinary well though.)


1st Roman Soldier. Oh, I see it’s you.

2nd Roman Soldier. How’re you doing, all right I hope? I was just down at the library, came back to see if you have any little thing of any kind or sort you don’t want in your way. So is everything all right, your friends here are looking most comfortable?

1st Roman Soldier. Difficult to say in front of this lady of the arts, Lydia.

Demetrius. For grief will profit you no whit, my Roman friend, this is the last warning.

2nd Roman Soldier. (Speaking to Theadorus) I see you are up against a bright philosopher. They have the words, and wit, but not the sword, at such trying moments like this, my friend: his wit and words are like ice; they melt quickly, and leave a mess. Put him to the sword, and take his Sappho bitch, ring her up on a wooden cross.

Lydia. He will not!

2nd Roman Soldier. Then I will.

(Lydia, she unhooks her silk gown, and lets it fall to the marble floor, she blows out the candle, and it is now dark, very dark—even the moon’s shadows cover the moon to darken the refuge, and the light outside the structure seems to be darkened somehow, as if a wind is covering it with a veil)

Lydia. I’m coming.

2nd Roman Soldier. I greatly prefer you come for both of us, before I pull out my sword.

(There is a sound in the darkness of a cat)

CURTAIN


ACT ONE • SCENE THREE



Curtain rises at once on Scene III. Inside the refuge, through the small back window one can see the moon, it is as if lurking, having seemingly leaping shadows about it, watching shadows as if Lydia herself had an audience, the moon even appears to have cold breath. There is a door between them, to the frame of the sanctuary, it is open now, and one can see shadows—by the reflection of a torch outside the door that was meant to light up the corridor. In the bed is Demetrius, he is near static standing on the bed watching everything, through the window comes sounds and voices, haunting voices from afar, there is a struggle going on inside the refuge on the floor…


(There is a purring of a large cat in the dark within the refuge, it seems to have lightening speed)


2nd Roman Soldier. It’s horrifying, she’s on her hands and knees, she has paws, long talons, she’s crawling like a cat trying to gnaw at me, scratch me, maybe eat me—may the gods forbid (he cries)

1st Roman Soldier. I’m worse off than you, she bit me in the leg I’m bleeding, it’s numb, I can’t feel it completely—maybe she took a hunk out of it… She’s unbelievable; she’s turned into a cat like thing, a dreadful, she-devil. (And you can hear bones crack, as if teeth had broken them)

(The cat-woman, Lydia, is seemingly and constantly hungry—you can see a long thick tongue hanging out of her mouth, unable to understand the lack of food; the beautiful has turned into a yellow eyed beast, vexed to her finger tips, and then the candle is lit by Demetrius—as if he is missing something and wants to see all, the Girl is gone, and the two soldiers are eaten alive, nearly to their bones, shredded as if rats had pulled out their insides and eaten them hollow. Of course they are dead now. You see this as light appears in the refuge, as if Demetrius lights up the place himself by turning on the moon’s light—yet he simply looks toward the moon, out the little square window)


Demetrius. (Speaking to Lydia, calmly; she is found naked sitting on the cot) What is on your mind?

Lydia. Always a little something.

Demetrius. Don’t worry, I have it all set.

Lydia. You be careful, Demetrius, if you bury them, do it far-away, there are two whores that know what took place here, and people believe you are a priest.

Demetrius. (In a low near-joking voice) He fell in love just by looking at you. Your body and appearance, it was like sweet wine, and honey to him, and we stung him, for his curiosity—like a bee. We need simply go back to Pergamun, where my earthly throne-seat remains. Foolish are they to think Zeus and Neptune could have power over me, or even quote such feeble minded philosophers and poets like: Socrates, Plato, Sappho, as if they are impressive to me—the mischievous sprite, the evil force. If anything I am saddened they could not see the façade to who I am—for I am the Great Adversary in person, I was a bright star in the heavens once, I was the chosen one among the heavens by the Almighty Himself, out of all the angelic forces. I do realize it was to the misfortune of the Roman Soldier to have walked into our little bee hive, although nearly planned, if not he, then someone else would have, and the Girl likewise, but by some odd and unconscious omen she snuck away, I was able to sway her at first, her mind was open for it, and here she met the most famous ecstatic evil spirit on earth—she has a story to tell—if she only knew how to tell it, I do wish to meet her again though, perhaps more knowingly, than unknowingly.


. ((Thus, he—in modern terms: Lucifer himself, and his courtesan drachma, Lydia, whom can transform and shape-change at will, and loves warm blood of which is simply an extra treat, knew the Roman Soldier needed to provoked, both of them, before they could act with vengeance, and all turned out quit well for them, they were both very pleased.)


CURTAIN


Notes on the Play: “The Corridors at Ephesus” or “The Devil Gets the Best,” written out, throughout the day, August, 29, 2009, in Huancayo, Peru, and revised and edited August 30, 2009. The play is produced here in full. The drawing, by the author, of which he has named: “The She-devil and the Serpent” was inspired by a painting the author saw done by Zu Xin Yang , in the Yang Yang, gallery in Roseville, Minnesota, 1999.



“Take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall fine rest unto your souls.” Matt. XI. Line: 29

Taken from the bible (the author purchased, in 1991), the writing dated 1846, to Amelia Hutchinson,
from her ever affectionate mother…


Copyright © August, 2009 by Dennis L. Siluk
All rights reserved. No part of this play maybe be reproduced in any form except by permission of the original copyright holder, Dennis l. Siluk (First appearing in a chapbook of 500-copies)
The Play may be modified to accommodate the theater,
actors and resources available