Happy Birthday, Wanda June Page #15

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WOODLY enjoys the joke and the blooming friendship.

HAROLD:

You can also describe its cure.

I'm eating its cure.

WOODLY:

I was going to ask.

HAROLD:

Pacqualinincheewa root.

WOODLY:

Would you say that again?

HAROLD:

Pacqualinincheewa root. Means

"cougar fang." Cures anything but a

yellow streak down the back.

WOODLY:

I've never heard of it.

HAROLD:

Congratulations. By crossing

twenty-eight feet of cockroach-

infested carpet, you've become the

third white man ever to hear of it.

WOODLY:

(fascinated)

Are you've seen it work cures?

HAROLD:

Hundreds.

PENELOPE:

I'm so glad you like each other. I

was so scared, so scared.

HAROLD:

(breaking off a

piece, offering it)

Have some.

WOODLY:

Thank you. Thank you very much.

PENELOPE:

I believe in miracles now.

HAROLD:

Wasn't that sweet of me?

WOODLY:

More and more we find ourselves

laying aside false pride and

looking into the pharmacopoeias of

primitive people. Curare,

ephedrine--we've found some amazing

things.

HAROLD:

We have, have we?

WOODLY:

That's an editorial we, of course.

I haven't turned up anything

personally.

HAROLD:

Everything about you is the

editorial we. Take that away from

you, and you'd disappear.

PENELOPE:

Harold!

HAROLD:

I could carve a better man out of a

banana!

PENELOPE:

Please--

HAROLD:

You and your damned bedside manner

and your damned little black bag

full of miracles. You know who

filled that bag for you? Not

Alice-sit-by-the-fires like

yourself. Men with guts filled it,

by God--men with guts enough to pay

the price for miracles--suffering,

ingratitude, loneliness, death--

WOODLY:

(off balance)

Good Lord.

HAROLD:

I can just hear the editorial wee-

wee-weeing when Looseleaf and I

start flying in pacqualinincheewa

root. I can hear the Alice-sit-by-

the-fires now:
"We discovered it in

the Amazon Rain Forest. Now we

cure you with it. Now we lower our

eyes with becoming modesty as we

receive heartfelt thanks."

HAROLD suddenly goes to WOODLY, takes his hand and pretends

abject gratitude.

HAROLD:

Oh, bless you, Doctor, bless you--

oh healer, oh protector, oh giver

of life.

WOODLY withdraws his hand, examines it as though it were

diseased.

PENELOPE:

He doesn't deserve this! You don't

know him. It isn't fair!

HAROLD:

He thought he could take my place.

It is now my privilege to give an

unambiguous account of why I don't

think he's man enough to do that.

WOODLY:

I thought she was a widow.

HAROLD:

You were wrong, you quack!

PENELOPE:

Awful.

(approaching WOODLY,

but not getting too close)

I can't tell you how sorry I am.

HAROLD:

Say hello to your mother.

PENELOPE:

(fervently)

Do say hello to your mother.

WOODLY:

I'm taking her to the airport a few

minutes from now. She's going to

East St. Louis--to visit an aunt.

PENELOPE:

Tell her to have a nice trip.

WOODLY:

(moving towards the

front door)

Thanks.

HAROLD laughs. This stings WOODLY to a cold, peace-loving

anger.

WOODLY:

I'm going to have to report you to

the Department of Health.

HAROLD:

What for?

WOODLY:

Quarantine, possibly. You may be

suffering from a loathsome disease

which the American people could do

without. Goodbye.

He exits instantly.

HAROLD:

Now that's what I call fun.

PENELOPE:

Ghastly, cruel, unnecessary.

HAROLD:

You'll get so you enjoy twitting

weaklings again. You used to eat

it up.

PENELOPE:

I did?

HAROLD:

We were one hell of a pair--and

we'll be one again. What we need

is a honeymoon. Let's start right

now.

PENELOPE:

A trip, you mean?

HAROLD:

I had a trip. We'll honeymoon here.

(to PAUL)

Go out and play.

PAUL:

Play?

HAROLD:

Your mother and I do not wish to be

disturbed for three full hours.

PENELOPE:

He hasn't had breakfast yet.

HAROLD:

Buy yourself breakfast.

(takes his billfold

from his hip pocket,

hands PAUL a $100 bill)

There we go.

PAUL:

A hundred dollars!

HAROLD:

The smallest thing I've got.

PAUL:

Can I get dressed first?

HAROLD:

Make it fast.

PAUL exits to his bedroom. HAROLD turns to PENELOPE.

HAROLD:

Honeymoon! Honeymoon! Say it:

Honeymoon!

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