FORLORN is lying on the table. He has been bound by ropes. WESSON has a whip in her hand; APOTHECARY holds a peacock feather. They take turns lashing and caressing their victim’s torso. The victim is not in agony or ecstasy—in fact, he seems quite bored.
(FORLORN shakes his head.)
(WESSON and APOTHECARY trade their tools. The whipping and caressing resumes. FORLORN starts singing to the melody of “Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometime” by the Korgis.)
Everybody’s got to earn sometime
Everybody’s got to burn sometime
Everybody has an opinion
Everybody is an opinion
Each, an asshole
(WESSON and APOTHECARY give up.)
When they said “occupational therapy,” swear to God, I never pictured this.
Me neither. And it’s haram, to boot.
I’ve been thinking.
Don’t. It doesn’t suit you.
What you said before. Why the need to be someone? Where’s that urge come from? Why can’t we just let go?
Comes from above. We have to do what’s right.
To get into Paradise.
You don’t need to bother yourself. Way past that, you are.
Otherwise, we would have lived in vain.
So what? Live in vain, love in vain: it’s only pain! Bring it on, is what I say.
(The Marseillaise starts, loud. Sound of marching.)
Now look what you did.