(The big bass drum that has been passed over the wall has tubes coming out of it, with funnels on the ends of the tubes, wide end outward. As the music rises, Nietzsche sniffs at a funnel, then holds it to his chest. The Dangerous Man hits the drum, and Nietzsche staggers back as the thud pounds against his heart.)
NIETZSCHE: Maybe that hurts people, but that’s OK. Because I do not favor people. No—not people—but what’s inside people. (Again he allows the Child to place a tube on his chest. The Dangerous Man hits the drum and Nietzsche staggers) Again and again. Shaking things to their very foundations. My iron fist. My feet like fire. My knife like a terrible kiss. (Pretends to stab himself, and a Scholar brings a bloody rag with which Nietzsche tries to clean his hands) Stabbing oneself—hands covered with blood—
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (A white shawl over her shoulders): Beautiful white wings. (Spreads her arms to extend the shawl like wings) Red blood falling from the eyes.
NIETZSCHE (Wrapping himself in her shawl): That which is oppressive to me, all that I hurl into the depths. Once and for all.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Wings.
NIETZSCHE: Yes! Wings! The divine art is flying—to great heights from which one throws what is oppressive into the depths of the ocean! (Skulls appear in the ocean, and Falsetto Voices cry: “Peek a boo.” Nietzsche sings out in falsetto) Shipwreck! (A little boat appears at the top of the ocean) I throw myself into that ocean—Shipwreck! I do throw myself into that terrible ocean! (Dances, stumbling)
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Not much of a dancer, are you Mr. Nietzsche?
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: A better dancer than a singer, maybe.
THE CHILD (With a cymbal and drumstick): OK, everybody start dancing! (Hits the cymbal) And again! And again!
(A large cutout puppet slides in from the side, so big it has to bend at the waist to fit beneath the ceiling. It slowly kicks its leg as it advances. It is, perhaps, the God of Shipwrecks. All start screaming and clawing the walls as the music becomes deafening and the boat heaves violently.
They fall to the floor as the lights fade to black, and a Deep Voice is heard proclaiming: “Shipwreck, shipwreck.”
The lights return and the Child is seen alone, staring at the little boat on the top of the ocean.)
He thought he saw a giant boat
Beneath a silver moon.
He looked again and saw it was
His lonely living room.
He thought he saw the sailors
Throwing bread crumbs toward the sea.
He looked again and saw
A giant fish is eating me!
ALL (As they claw the walls): Help! Help! Help!
NIETZSCHE (Slowly collapsing to the floor): Ow! A splinter, my finger . . .
THE DANGEROUS MAN (Pulling Nietzsche’s briefcase out from beneath a bench): Hey— Look what I found. This is for you, Mr. Nietzsche. (Nietzsche reaches for it, but the Dangerous Man pulls it away and runs to the wall) OK. Let me correct myself—Mr. “Bad Boy” Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: What’s in the briefcase?
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Jesus Christ—I don’t know.
NIETZSCHE: Open it.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Oh, come on now—are you afraid to open it?
NIETZSCHE (Dances slowly toward the briefcase, then grabs it away from the Dangerous Man): Fools have known all along—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: What fools?
(Nietzsche takes papers out of the briefcase and throws them up to the sky. As they flutter down, the Scholars run in with sticks that have grabber claws on the end. They each seize a piece of paper with a grabber and extend it toward Nietzsche.)
NIETZSCHE: The one thing necessary—
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Yes?
NIETZSCHE: Is to keep—pen in motion—over the paper. The pen scribbles—?
(The grabbers move pieces of paper against the walls, and Nietzsche snatches at the papers and stuffs them in the mouth of the cannon protruding from the side cabinet as he continues.)
I say to hell with that. “Well, to hell with that.” And I say “no” to belief systems of all kinds.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Don’t do that, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE (Stuffs the papers in the cannon with a big cannon stuffer, which he then uses to try to write in bold strokes on the walls of the room): With thick strokes my writing flows so full and broad. So what if it’s illegible? Ow! (Loses his balance and falls to the floor) Who reads the stuff I write? Ow! I hurt my shoulder.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN (Standing over Nietzsche, who rubs his sore shoulder): I think Mr. Nietzsche had an accident.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: There’s not much we can do about accidents. They happen.
THE CHILD: We could get medical help.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Is your shoulder really that bad? Are you a Bad Bad Boy?
NIETZSCHE (Crawling up onto a bench): It still hurts, but not so much. I don’t think it’s broken.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Oh—it’s not broken.
NIETZSCHE (Thinks, then holds out his hand): But I hurt my hand.
THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN: Oh? Your HAND?
NIETZSCHE: My writing hand.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Then your scribbling days are over, right?
THE CHILD: What’s wrong, Mr. Nietzsche?
(She giggles, then all run offstage.
Nietzsche turns around, then slowly comes down and shows his hand to the audience.)
NIETZSCHE (Quietly): Once upon a time I tried writing a letter to a beloved friend, using my left hand, but the letter was unreadable, of course—not because of its content, which came from my heart—but using my left hand I could only partially control the formation of letter after letter after letter! (Tries to write on the walls, but again—falls) Ow! I hurt my left hand!
(The Child enters with a big loaf of bread, with a large knife stuck in the center. The others follow.)
I better use my right hand to cut some slices from this holy bread which enters my life like an unexpected guest.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: Your right hand? You mean your writing hand, Mr. Nietzsche?
NIETZSCHE (Holding the bread): Have some slices of this holy bread which trembles in expectation.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: That looks like normal bread to me, Mr. Nietzsche.
NIETZSCHE: There are valuable jewels in this bread.
THE DANGEROUS MAN: