Rachael Bae
Before the End
SCENE: The curtains open to reveal the throne room of the royal palace at Thebes. There is a window on the cyclorama wall, with the moon shining just outside. The room is shrouded in darkness, with only the throne itself illuminated by moonlight where it sits upstage, a golden laurel crown resting upon the seat.
(Enter Eteocles from the left wing entrance.)
ETEOCLES:
How long the day, how long the night!
Can the living ever escape from the torment of breath?
For the dead sleep dreamless, safe in their well-groomed graves,
While we who have been left behind cannot rest,
Plagued by the memories that haunt our waking moments
And the twisted apparitions that bring terror in the night.
For my mother is dead, and my father will surely soon follow,
But there still endures a curse upon this house, upon me,
Upon the two men charged with the rule of mighty Thebes.
(he reaches toward the crown but does not touch it)
Look, a crown of blood is left for my brother and me.
The tragedies of Oedipus and his father came to pass under these laurels.
The stench of both lingers here, stifling, wretched with betrayal.
Is such a fate what lies before us, immutable?
Am I not twice the man Oedipus was and thrice the man he is?
He was helpless, but shall fate control me? No.
(a pause, reluctantly contemplative)
Even so, a curse has been laid on us, that I cannot deny.
Doomed Oedipus, swift to conceit and swift to rage;
May he stumble upon every stone in his sightless wandering!
Look what he has done to me! A hunger burns within me now,
A hunger that was once only a murmur to be put aside, forgotten—
Now causing my heart to sway and crave that golden wreath,
To belong as mine and mine alone. But surely, surely,
It is not only greed that drives this ravenous desire.
Polyneices, brash and bold—I fear for Thebes under his rule.
With all the bloodlust of Ares and none of Athena’s discernment,
He will bring us all to devastation and, in the end…
(a mirthless laugh)
It shall be war between us anyway.
How cruel it is, the divine hand that draws us closer to the end
Promised to us by our father—And what an end!
Shall my sword plunge into my brother’s side, and his in mine?
Does Polyneices feel the weight of the seemingly inevitable?
If he does, what then!
But if he does not, all the more… what then?
Can a mere mortal man outrun the will of the Fates?
If I flee, will I live, or will destiny fall upon me, violent, sudden,
Like a brigand on the road? Did not Oedipus try and fail?
But if I should stay, will our swords naturally come to clash,
By free will or by the gods’ bidding?
And if I should turn upon one who is of my flesh and blood…
Oh, how ruthless are those who watch from Olympus!
Are our sufferings and agonies so entertaining? Do they watch,
Amused at our frantic skitterings as we fight, futile against fate?
They cannot do me the honor of a contented life,
Nor the mercy of a peaceful demise.
And what of my brother? My own kin?
Have I the will to destroy him?
(Enter Polyneices from the right wing entrance. He places a hand on Eteocles’ shoulder.)
POLYNEICES:
Brother? The night grows dark and deep, the moon pale and full.
Bright-tressed Selene and her shining chariot have stopped high in the sky,
And yet, you tarry still.
ETEOCLES:
(caught off guard)
Polyneices—and what of you?
POLYNEICES:
Sleep evades me too.
We alone are left, and our sisters too, abandoned.
Their eyes are too old for their youth.
Antigone, stalwart of heart, and Ismene, gentle of soul—
How shall they live with both Father and Mother no more?
ETEOCLES:
(almost deceptively)
I beg you, cast away these burdens of care, Polyneices.
Do their brothers not remain, two men noble and true?
They shall not fall into want as long as we both remain,
And it must be that we will remain for many a year yet.
For have we not shed the curse of Oedipus, that man of shame,
Now that his shadow no longer clings to these marble halls?
POLYNEICES:
Your words ring true as is their wont, but still, my heart falters.
ETEOCLES:
The valiant prince of Thebes, struck with the malady of cowards!
POLYNEICES:
(with genuine anger)
Coward! No coward could have borne this dreadful fate of ours.
No coward would bear the weight of his father’s bloody crown.
Do not speak to me of cowardice and frailty of the mind, Eteocles,
For you and your ilk are untested and untried by the field of battle.
See now, a fox scorns a lion! What do you know of valor?
ETEOCLES:
(bitterly biting back a retort)
What you say is true.
And yet, this too is true: your golden skin is pale,
Your gleaming eyes, eyes like those of shining Apollo, have gone dim.
What has changed you so, good Polyneices?
POLYNEICES:
(deflates, his anger burning out)
The world has changed me, beloved brother, the world—
It has given me sight. I am no longer the boy I was, I cannot be.
For I was blind as a child, with nothing to concern me,
When our father was only a father and not our brother also,
And when our mother was only a mother and still among the living.
As Oedipus gouged out his eyes, I was given vision for the first time,
Like an infant fresh from the womb. Nevertheless, a strange unease persists,
And I feel as if I am yet the fool.
ETEOCLES:
That much is right.
POLYNEICES:
Spare me the webs you spin with a silver tongue; tell it to me outright.
ETEOCLES:
(a bit archly)
Well, I mean no offense.
POLYNEICES:
I know. You have always been clever—cleverer than me by far,
Even I can lay down my pride and admit this. But your mind,
With its many twists and turns, so often swallows its own tail—
Like a snake desperate with vicious hunger,
You unwillingly design your own destruction. But you forget!
Your soul was split at birth, one half placed in the body of another,
And that half stands before you now. You soothe my troubles,
But it was you I found here, weary with wakefulness and thundering thoughts.
With whom can you share the workings of your perception and wit
If not your own soul?
ETEOCLES:
Who indeed! I would certainly be bereft. Cleverer this snake may be,
But who else could praise me, insult me, and comfort me, all in one turn?
None but my own soul, I’m sure.
POLYNEICES:
Even now, I cannot differentiate between your sincerity and sarcasm.
ETEOCLES:
Worry not, my dignity has yet to be injured. Truly, I do thank you.
What you may call foolishness, I deem honesty. Foolishness still, perhaps,
But it is the language of righteous men, and you have always spoken it well.
(Polyneices clasps his shoulder once more, and the two stand in almost companionable silence for a while before Eteocles breaks it)
Brother, I—
POLYNEICES:
(unintentionally cutting him off)
The night falls ever darker over the world, brother.
Will you not retire?
ETEOCLES:
…I do not think I am able, tonight.
POLYNEICES:
Does your rule worry you?
ETEOCLES:
Do you mean to tell me you hold no apprehension for your impending reign?
POLYNEICES:
Yes! Distressing thoughts may plague me, but my rule is not among them.
Have I not been brought up to be king?
ETEOCLES:
(sharply)
Do not forget, I, too, was reared for the throne.
POLYNEICES:
Ah, but there lies a distinction between you and me.
You may have the knowledge, but it is the temperament you do not possess.
A king should not be afraid of his own power, and power I shall have!
My love is for the Thebes that will flower to fruition under my banner.
It is not right to see this great city waste away with inaction.
No, it is not the throne I fear, but the strength of my yearning,
My need to see our family put to rights once more. For you,
My brother, and for dear Antigone and Ismene.
ETEOCLES:
I shall care for them, Polyneices, do not fear.
POLYNEICES:
It shall be a treasured task for us both. You will not be alone in it.
ETEOCLES:
Ah—of course.
POLYNEICES:
(pulling Eteocles into an embrace)
The weight of power lies heavy on your brow—it suits you ill.
It shall be a gladness to us both, I know, when your year of rule is complete.
For is it not the elder son who ought to inherit the throne?
Bear it a little while longer. Settle the people and let them know peace.
Then I shall bring glory back to our family, back to Thebes,
And both will rise strong and victorious above the rest.
(he pauses, but Eteocles does not respond; Polyneices pulls back to look at him)
My keen, sharp-eyed brother! You have always been reticent, but not like this.
I see it, the sorrow within you which reflects mine,
For have we not always been of one heart? It has been thus since birth,
When the world was quiet, and we knew nothing of pain or grief.
How much more must I understand you now?
How could I ever abandon you?
Where you are, I shall be, in life and in death also.
ETEOCLES:
[Aside]
Still blind! Yet, in this, he has unknowingly spoken true:
The end shall come for us both, and not one of us two will be left.
(to Polyneices)
Let us speak no more of grief and death this night. I implore you,
Return to your bed.
POLYNEICES:
I shall heed your word, for already my eyes grow heavy.
(he smiles at Eteocles warmly)
Do not fret for much longer, brother, do not be driven to madness.
I tell you, all will be well.
(Exit Polyneices through the right wing entrance. Eteocles waits in silence until he is out of sight.)
ETEOCLES:
(softly, tremulously)
Tell it to me again and again, until words become truth!
If only he could swear to me thus, craft an oath from his sentiments.
Would that Zeus Oath-keeper would bind us to such a vow
And overturn the curse spit from our father’s snarling lip.
(a laughing sob)
Such dreams! This is madness, nothing else.
Are you yet a boy, Eteocles, trailing after your brother,
Trusting his childish courage and promises of protection?
Trusting in him, your only brother in all the world…
(he cannot speak for a moment, trying to fight shuddering cries, but he manages to pull on a steely mask)
But the vestiges of hope fade to nothing in the abyss of night,
That great darkness which swallows me, consumes me,
Until nothing remains but cold certainty.
This city will fall into ruin with Polyneices at its head,
Enemies sneering at Thebes and its boy-king who loves to court war,
Surrounding us, cornering us in our instability like jackals—
That, I cannot allow.
And if in my heart there resides something less than honorable,
Who will know it but I? Who will know my hunger?
If it bolsters my beloved Thebes, am I not justified?
For now, I see, clearer than before, that the end approaches,
A swift warrior on horseback, blade flashing with murderous intent.
I say, come on then! Gnarled hand of fate, strike us!
If I am to die for my scheming and Polyneices for his arrogance,
Let it be. Let it be!
(he snatches the crown from the seat with both hands and faces the audience, jamming the laurels on his head.)
You have stripped me of everything but my conviction! I shall not flee.
(he spreads out his arms)
Death shall take my brother and me together—
May we take leave of this wicked world as we entered it.
Let it be!
