Angels in America by Tony Kushner Page B

joke.
    (The Man leaves.)
    ROY : How long have we known each other?
    JOE : Since 1980.
    ROY : Right. A long time. I feel close to you, Joe. Do I advise you well?
    JOE : You’ve been an incredible friend, Roy, I’m—
    ROY : I want to be family. Famiglia , as my Italian friends call it. La Famiglia . A lovely word. It’s important for me to help you, like I was helped.
    JOE : I owe practically everything to you, Roy.
    ROY : I’m dying, Joe. Cancer.
    JOE : Oh my God.
    ROY : Please. Let me finish.
    Â Â Â Â Â  Few people know this and I’m telling you this only because . . . I’m not afraid of death. What can death bring that I haven’t faced? I’ve lived; life is the worst. (Gently mocking himself) Listen to me, I’m a philosopher.
    Â Â Â Â Â  Joe. You must do this. You must must must. Love; that’s a trap. Responsibility; that’s a trap, too. Like a father to a son I tell you this: Life is full of horror; nobody escapes, nobody; save yourself. Whatever pulls on you, whatever needs from you, threatens you. Don’t be afraid; people are so afraid; don’t be afraid to live in the raw wind, naked, alone . . . Learn at least this: What you are capable of. Let nothing stand in your way.
    Scene 5
    Several days later. Prior and Belize in Prior’s hospital room. Prior is very sick but improving. Belize has just arrived, stopping on his way to work to check up on Prior, with little time to spare .
    PRIOR : Miss Thing.
    BELIZE : Ma cherie bichette.
    PRIOR : Stella.
    BELIZE : Stella for star. Let me see. (Scrutinizing Prior) You look like shit, why yes indeed you do, comme la merde!
    PRIOR : Merci.
    BELIZE : Not to despair, Belle Reeve. Lookie!
    Â Â Â Â Â  (Taking a little plastic bottle from his bag)
    Â Â Â Â Â  Magic goop!
    (Belize hands the bottle to Prior, who opens it and sniffs it suspiciously, as Belize looks over the IV bags feeding meds to Prior.)
    PRIOR (Reacting to the smell from the bottle with alarm) : Pooh! What kinda crap is that?
    BELIZE : Beats me. Let’s rub it on your poor blistered body and see what it does.
    PRIOR : This is not Western medicine, this bottle . . .
    BELIZE : Voodoo cream. From the botanica ’round the block.
    PRIOR : And you a registered nurse.
    (Belize takes the bottle back and sniffs it.)
    BELIZE : Beeswax and cheap perfume. Cut with Jergen’s lotion. Full of good vibes and love from some little black Cubana witch in Miami.
    (He pours some in his hands, ready to give Prior a backrub.)
    PRIOR (Frightened) : Get that trash away from me, I am immune-suppressed.
    BELIZE (Firm, slightly offended) : I am a health professional. I know what I’m doing.
    (Prior hesitates, then reluctantly offers his back to be rubbed. Belize gets on the bed and rubs, gently.)
    PRIOR : It stinks.
    Â Â Â Â Â  Any word from Louis?
    (Little pause; Belize rubs Prior’s back.)
    PRIOR : Gone.
    BELIZE : He’ll be back. I know the type. Likes to keep a girl on edge.
    PRIOR : It’s been . . .
    (Pause.)
    BELIZE (Trying to jog Prior’s memory) : How long?
    PRIOR : I don’t remember.
    BELIZE : How long have you been here?
    PRIOR (Suddenly upset) : I don’t remember, I don’t give a fuck. I want Louis. I want my fucking boyfriend, where the fuck is he? I’m dying, I’m dying, where’s Louis?
    (Prior is crying, hard. Belize cradles him.)
    BELIZE : Ssssh, sssh . . .
    PRIOR : This is a very strange drug, this drug. Emotional lability, for starters.
    BELIZE : Save a tab or two for me.
    PRIOR : Oh no, not this drug, ce n’est pas pour la joyeux noël et la bonne année, this drug she is serious poisonous chemistry, ma pauvre bichette.
    Â Â Â Â Â  And not just disorienting. I hear things.
    Â Â Â Â Â  Voices.
    BELIZE (Covering, but alarmed) : Voices.
    PRIOR : A voice.
    BELIZE : Saying what?
    (Pause.)
    PRIOR : I’m not supposed to tell.
    BELIZE (Earnest) :