Art in the Trenches
TWO VERY YOUNG SOLDIERS SIT IN A TRENCH ON A BATTLEFIELD. THEY ARE CLUTCHING CANTEENS. THEY ARE VERY SCARED.
CLAY: Fuck.
DAVE: Fuck.
PAUSE
CLAY: Dave, is there anyone else here?
DAVE: No one we want to see, Clay.
CLAY: Are we so fucked?
DAVE: We are so fucked.
PAUSE
CLAY: Shouldn’t we be, like, fighting?
DAVE: We aren’t fighting right now Clay. We are hiding. And hoping to fuck no one finds us.
CLAY: But they will find us, Dave.
DAVE: That seems likely.
CLAY: Because we are in their territory.
DAVE: Yes.
CLAY: And everyone else has left.
DAVE: And everyone else has left us fucking here.
CLAY: Oh shit.
DAVE: Please don’t.
THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER AND BURST OUT LAUGHING. VOICES AND AUTOMATIC RIFLE FIRE NEARBY. THE BOYS SHUT UP IMMEDIATELY. PAUSE. ALL IS QUIET.
CLAY: I really wish I had gotten that tattoo.
DAVE LOOKS AT CLAY BUT DOESN’T RESPOND.
CLAY: I wanted to get this tattoo up my right arm and shoulder, with Maori war bands on the bottom, and then crossed rifles with maybe a confederate flag, and then right on the top, on my shoulder, an American Eagle, the one where he is stomping on the snake— I drew it all out.
DAVE: But you didn’t get it.
CLAY: No, my mom wouldn’t let me.
DAVE: Fuckin’ baby.
THEY START SLUGGING EACH OTHER
CLAY: I mean, I was much younger then.
DAVE: Oh right, and this was when, six months ago?
CLAY: Yeah.
THEY START SLUGGING EACH OTHER AGAIN. EXPLOSION VERY CLOSE. SOUND OF ENEMY TALKING. THEY SHUT UP.
PAUSE
CLAY: I just mean I wish I had gotten that tattoo. Don’t you wish you would have done something, Dave?
DAVE: What do you mean?
CLAY: Isn’t there something you wish you had done before — uh — this? Like maybe, had sex?
DAVE: Fuck you.
CLAY: Please don’t.
THEY BOTH BURST OUT LAUGHING AND SLUGGING EACH OTHER. THEN THEY ARE SILENT.
DAVE: I wish I had gone to the Louvre.
CLAY: What?
DAVE: The Louvre is—
CLAY: I know what the fuckin’ Louvre is, Dave. I mean, I have been to the Louvre.
DAVE: Well, aren’t you the lucky one?
CLAY: No, listen. Dave, I can be the fuckin’ Louvre for you. HE FOLDS HIS HANDS IN HIS LAP AND SMILES. Look at me, at my enigmatic smile. Who the fuck am I? You know. I’m the Mona Lisa. OK, OK. Now give my your canteen. DAVE HOLDS BACK. Give me your fuckin’ canteen, man. DAVE DETACHES HIS CANTEEN AND HANDS IT TO CLAY. CLAY STUFFS BOTH CANTEENS IN THE FRONT OF HIS SHIRT AND HIDES HIS ARMS IN HIS SHIRTSLEEVES. Now who am I? Big tits, no arms. Venus de Milo, Dave. I’m the Venus De Milo. So, what else ya’ want to see?
DAVE: The Egyptian Wing.
CLAY: Oh yes, oh Mother of God, yes.
HUGE EXPLOSION. THEY ARE ROCKED. THEY LIE DOWN. THEY ARE STILL.
CLAY: Roll over on your back, Dave.
DAVE DOES SO.
CLAY: And let’s cross our hands over our chest. Yeah, now we are like the Pharaohs, and we are looking up not at the night sky, which is what it looks like we are looking up at, right?
DAVE: That’s right.
CLAY: But it is really Nuit, the goddess of the sky and she bends over us on the lids of our …of our….
DAVE: Sarcophagi.
CLAY: Sarcophagi, yeah. On the lids of our sarcophagi. And she bends over us like a rainbow of the night from horizon to horizon and from her breasts flows the Milky Way.
EXPLOSIONS AND BRIGHT LIGHTS INCREASE, ALONG WITH MORTAR FIRE, AND VICTORIOUS VOICES IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE. SOMETIMES THERE ARE SHOUTS OF VICTORY, THEN SCREAMS,THEN MACHINE GUN FIRE. EVER CLOSER. THE BOYS STAY ON THEIR BACKS WITH THEIR ARMS CROSSED. CLAY IS CRYING. DAVE IS QUIET.
DAVE: Clay, when Nuit gets all excited like this, when she lights up, when she glows, when she gets all illuminated, with all those shooting stars…that only happens because we are great men, right?
CLAY: Shooting stars? — Oh, yeah, cause we’re Pharaohs.
DAVE: Fuckin’ right.
THEY LIE VERY STILL AS THE WAR EXPLODES AROUND THEM.