ONE
A tasteful house decorated with rich Tibetan colors.
Half Western furniture, half Eastern furniture and rugs.
A few large statues of the Buddha.
A woman, the mother, sits on the stage.
She places a candle on the floor, faces the audience, and tries to meditate.
She closes her eyes.
She opens her eyes.
She sees the audience.
She stops meditating.
She takes her cushion and candle and turns around and faces the back wall.
She meditates.
On a baby monitor, a baby cries.
The mother stops meditating.
She goes to the monitor. She listens. The baby stops crying.
She goes and gets a bag of potato chips and starts eating from it.
She pages through a book about child-rearing:
something like Dr. Sears’s Attachment Parenting Book.
The doorbell rings.
She jumps. It is unexpected.
She puts down the potato chips.
She goes to the door.
Two Tibetan monks are at the door.
One is a Rinpoche (a high lama or teacher),
the other is a simple monk.
MOTHER
Hello?
LAMA
Hello.
MONK
Hello.
An awkward pause.
MOTHER
Hi.
MONK
Excuse me—sorry to disturb you—you are the babysitter?
MOTHER
The babysitter? No.
LAMA
You are a friend of the house?
MOTHER
Um—this is my house.
MONK
But—you are the mother of the house?
MOTHER
Yes—I am the mother of the house.
MONK
Oh, I see.
LAMA
Perhaps we have the wrong house?
MOTHER
I don’t know—sorry—I wasn’t expecting you.
LAMA
Nor we you!
They laugh.
MOTHER
Perhaps you are looking for my husband?
LAMA
Your husband owns a restaurant in town?
MOTHER
Oh, yes.
LAMA
Then it is he we have come to visit.
MOTHER
Oh!
MONK
Rinpoche is visiting from India.
MOTHER
Oh, I see! Welcome! Rinpoche.
He bows his head.
She bows awkwardly.
MOTHER
Would you like to come in?
MONK And LAMA
Yes, yes, thank you.
LAMA
I have been to your husband’s restaurant once, long time ago. Very delicious.
MOTHER
Of course I think so, but I’m biased. Would you like some tea?
MONKLAMA
Oh yes yes, we would love some tea, thank you.Thank you, yes.
MOTHER
I’m so sorry—if I’d known you were coming, I would have—cleaned and—cooked—and—
MONK And LAMA
No, no.
MOTHER
I can at least make you tea.
She exits to put the teakettle on to boil.
The boy cries a little on the baby monitor.
The monks listen attentively, with joy.
LAMA
A baby!
The mother pokes her head back in.
MOTHER
I’m just going to get my son. Are you all right for a moment?
MONK And LAMA
Oh, yes yes.
MOTHER
You must excuse me—my husband won’t be back from work for another hour. Would you like to come back then?
LAMA
Oh, that is fine, we can wait. You can bring the baby here, if you like. How old is the baby?
MOTHER
Almost three!
MONK
That’s good!
MOTHER
Good? Yes—
LAMA
A nice age, yes?
MOTHER
Yes.
A pause in which the baby is quiet.
MOTHER
It sounds as if he’s gone back to sleep.
MONK
Yes, he’s sleeping now. We can wait.
MOTHER
For my husband?
LAMA
Yes, thank you for your hospitality.
MOTHER
Please—make yourself at home.
MONK And LAMA
Thank you, thank you.
MOTHER
You are from India?
LAMA
Yes Dharamsala.
MOTHER
Oh! How wonderful.
MONK
Yes, it is good to be so close to His Holiness the Dalai Lama.
MOTHER
Yes, of course.
Were you born in Tibet?
LAMA
Yes.
MOTHER
Oh! And you too?
MONK
Not me. I have never seen my country.
MOTHER
Oh, I’m sorry—I mean—
MONK (making a gesture of “don’t be sorry”)
I was born in Nepal.
MOTHER
My husband lived in Nepal. After leaving Tibet.
MONK
Oh, yes yes.
MOTHER
You know my husband?
LAMA
We know of your husband.
MOTHER
But you haven’t met?
LAMA
No.
A pause.
MOTHER
My husband isn’t famous. He’s a good cook, but he’s not famous. Is he?
MONK
We have heard of his restaurant! I have dreamed of it, in fact.
MOTHER
You have?
They nod.
LAMA
I will tell you a little story.
There was once a man who had four wives.
MOTHER
Are you trying to tell me something?
LAMA
Yes. So. This man has four wives. His first wife loved him very much, but he paid no attention to her. The second wife was younger and prettier, and he was always chasing after her, fearful that she would find another man. He tried to keep her. The third wife was a very practical woman, always gave the husband good advice, he relied on her. The fourth wife was the youngest, and oh how he loved to pamper her (laughs) oh like this with the youngest wife (gestures of pampering), and he gives her everything she wants, but she is a silly woman. When the man is on his deathbed, he says, “Okay wives, which of you will come with me to death?”
MOTHER
Oh!
LAMA
He asks his fourth wife, “Will you follow me to death?” She says, “No, I will not, I will go find another man after you die.”
The monk laughs.
Then the mother laughs.
LAMA
So he asks the third wife, the practical one, “Will you go with me?” She says, “No. No one can go with you to death.”
MOTHER
She has a point.
LAMA
Mmm. So he asks his second wife, the pretty one, “Will you go to death with me?” And she laughs at him and says she is too busy, find someone else. So finally he asks his first wife, who was always loyal to him, and she says, “I will go with you.”
MOTHER
Wow, so she killed herself?
LAMA
Not really it is just a story.
MOTHER
Oh.
LAMA
You see, the man is just a man.
MOTHER
Uh-huh.
LAMA
His wives are—fourth wife, his body—third wife, his family—second wife, his possessions—but his first wife—his first wife is what you might call his soul. Only his soul can come with him after death.
MOTHER
Oh I like that! I was worried you were going to tell me my husband has another wife in India!
They laugh.
LAMA
Oh no nothing like that!
It is a story about how your consciousness comes with you when you die, it is the only thing of value, the rest is left behind.
MOTHER
I like that. Thank you.
Oh, your tea, excuse me!
MONK And LAMA
Thank you.
They incline their heads politely.
She exits.
LAMA (to the monk, in Tibetan)
Khong bhot pa-shig dang changsa gyab yo-rey sam jung?
(But I thought he married a Tibetan woman?)
MONK (in Tibetan)
Derang sam jung.
(Yes, I thought so.)
LAMA
I did not expect an American woman.
MONK (in Tibetan)
Khang pa norpa ma re pey?
(Could this be the wrong house?)
LAMA (shrugging, in Tibetan)
Yin gi ma rey. Yin na-yang ha gogi ma rey.
(I don’t think so. Then again, one never knows.)
She returns with the tea, overhearing a little bit of their Tibetan.
She responds in Tibetan.
MOTHER (in Tibetan)
Ga re sung pa?
(What did you say?)
LAMA
You speak Tibetan?
MOTHER
A little. I’m trying.
Here’s your tea.
(Then in Tibetan: the tea)
Sol-ja.
She fumbles with the tea a little.
She tries to be formal with them.
She kneels at their feet and serves them.
LAMA and MONK (in Tibetan)
Lags-so.
(Thank you.)
The lama takes a sip.
LAMA
Very good!
MOTHER
I hope it’s all right. I’m honored to have you here. Did my husband ask you to come? A blessing? For the house? Or the baby?
LAMA
Very good tea! Just like in Tibet. How did you learn to make real butter tea?
MOTHER
My mother-in-law taught me. She went back to Nepal because she said she wanted to die in a place where the tea tasted familiar. With salt. And butter.
LAMA
Yes, yes.
MONK
Of course.
LAMA
You are Buddhist?
MOTHER
Kind of.
They laugh.
LAMA
Kind of?
MOTHER
I was raised Catholic.
LAMA
So you are Catholic?
MOTHER
I think when you are born Catholic, you are always sort of Catholic—but when I grew up, I didn’t believe in some of the—things—and then there were those—sort of—problems?—in the church—you know—and somehow I never believed that only the pope could talk to God—it seemed sort of silly—and the Catholic children I knew weren’t very nice and I wasn’t sure how Catholicism was contributing to their ethical natures—and then I became an atheist and waved Bertrand Russell’s “Why I’m Not a Christian” around for a while—and then my father died and I had a dream, and in the dream these huge letters in silver spelled out “There is no God,” written across the heavens, and I turned to my father in the dream, and I said, “But who could have written that in the heavens?” and he said, “Exactly.” And since then I have been looking for God—
LAMA
Very interesting. Please go on.
MOTHER
And then I met my husband, and I thought he was a very good person, and he was Buddhist, and I liked that Buddhism was scientific—and rational—
LAMA
You are a scientist?
MOTHER
Oh. No—
LAMA
But you are rational—
MOTHER
Am I rational?—I am, I was—a literature professor—
LAMA (impressed)
Oh!
MOTHER
Well, I was ABD—
All but dissertation … funny term, long story—I was an adjunct—
MONK
Adjunct?
MOTHER
A very badly paid teacher.
What was I saying?
LAMA
You liked rationality—
MOTHER
Yes, I liked rationality, but I wanted something spiritual—sorry is that a stupid word?
MONK
No no—
MOTHER
—that was also rational, and Buddhism seemed rational—and it made me happy—well happier.
LAMA
You have taken refuge?
MOTHER
Not yet. I’m studying now. I don’t know enough.
LAMA
It is good you are studying. Buddhists do not like to convert people—never—and His Holiness the Dalai Lama feels it is better for people to worship the way they were taught as children because it is better if you talk to God in your first language, but if you find peace with Buddhism then that is good.
MOTHER
I hope so.
I try to meditate.
I was—trying to meditate when you arrived.
LAMA
Ah?
MOTHER
But I’m not very good. I get distracted.
LAMA
Yes yes, we all get distracted. Even monks.
The effort is the important thing.
Do you have a meditation teacher?
MOTHER
No—just books.
LAMA
You need a teacher. Books are—books.
MOTHER
Yes.
A baby cry starts then stops on the baby monitor.
MOTHER
Oh, I thought I heard Tenzin.
He usually wakes around now from his nap. I might have to feed him.
MONK (surprised)
You are still breast-feeding?
MOTHER (embarrassed)
Just a little bit.
MONK
That’s good! That’s how we Tibetans do. We breast-feed until at least two years, often longer.
MOTHER
In this country we call it attachment parenting.
MONK
What is that—?
MOTHER
Oh it’s—you wear your child around, you breast-feed for a long time, you sleep in the same bed as the child …
LAMA
Ah the same in Tibet!
MOTHER
Oh really? Then I must ask you: How do you get the child out of the bed after three years?
LAMA
You send them to boarding school!
He laughs. She laughs.
MOTHER
But really.
LAMA
Really! But why, if you’ll excuse me, is all this—the wearing the child, the sleeping with the child—called attachment parenting?
MOTHER
It’s just this theory—or fashion—that your baby will be more happy, more secure, if they are more—attached.
LAMA
Ha ha! And yet you practice nonattachment!
MOTHER
Well, yes—but I guess not as a mother.
She laughs.
He looks at her keenly.
LAMA
Do you think attachment is the same as love?
MOTHER
No Yes No. Do you?
LAMA
I can tell you it is not the same. Maybe there is a problem in the translation. Affection between a mother and a child, that is natural, that is good, you don’t have to do “attachment parenting” to have love. Attachment is grasping, clinging, it is not comfortable. It seems that American mothers are worried their children will not attach to them?
MOTHER
I guess so.
LAMA
But of course a child will attach to a mother, no? This is natural, am I right?
The baby cries “Mama” on the baby monitor.
MOTHER
Oh! It was him. Excuse me.
MONK
Of course.
LAMA
Of course.
They sit silently, praying, holding their prayer beads.
She returns with the boy, who is a puppet.
An old man controls the puppet and speaks for him.
MOTHER
This is Tenzin.
OLDEST BOY
Hello.
MONK
Hello, Tenzin.
OLDEST BOY
Hello.
The monk touches the boy’s finger.
The boy reaches out and touches the lama’s face with great love.
OLDEST BOY
Lama.
MONK
He knows you!
MOTHER (not understanding, with humor)
He appears to, yes.
MONK
He was a good baby, a calm baby?
MOTHER
Preternaturally calm.
LAMA
Ah yes. Good boy.
She gives the boy to the lama, who sits down with him happily.
The monk takes a cell phone out and takes a picture of the lama and the baby.
MONK
Is it okay?
MOTHER
Oh, yes, of course.
LAMA
May I ask you, did you have any special dreams when you were carrying him?
MOTHER
Yes. I dreamed twice that the baby was a dog.
OLDEST BOY
A dog, Mama?
LAMA
A dog? And?
MOTHER
A blue dog. Like Egyptian stone. So in the dream I called him Mister Cobalt Blue.
LAMA
Mister Cobalt Blue.
MOTHER
Yes.
And I dreamed that the baby came out and talked immediately, and had the face of an old man. It was disconcerting.
LAMA
Ah yes, yes! (He laughs.)
MONK
If you will excuse me, what was his birth like? What was the weather like outside?
MOTHER
The weather?
MONK
Yes.
MOTHER
Let’s see … it was April, but there was a snowstorm. I remember we were worried leaving the hospital because of the roads.
LAMA
Are there frequently snowstorms here in April?
MOTHER
Not really.
OLDEST BOY
Bell!
The baby grabs the monk’s bell and plays with it.
MOTHER
No no, honey, don’t play with his bell.
OLDEST BOY
Why?
The baby plays with the bell.
MOTHER
I said no.
She takes the bell.
LAMA
Please, you mustn’t scold him. It is his bell.
MOTHER
What?
The lama bows to the baby.
The baby pats the lama’s head, a kingly gesture.
The mother stares.
The door opens.
It is the father.
MOTHER
Uh—my husband—
She goes to him.
MOTHER
Honey, there are some … monks here …
The father bows formally to the monks.
OLDEST BOY
Papa!
FATHER (in Tibetan to the monks)
Tashi delek. Nye-nang la pheb pa di ngatso sode chenpo rey samgi dug.
(What an honor, hello, welcome. I am lucky to have your blessings.)
LAMA and MONK
Tashi delek.
(Hello.)
FATHER (to Tenzin)
Hello.
(in Tibetan, to the monks)
Sol-ja phulga?
(Can I get you tea?)
LAMA (in Tibetan)
Lag min kherang gi achala ki kyak song.
(No. No, your wife already served.)
Nge norshag. Kherang gi bopa shik dhang trungsa gyabpa ma rey pai?
(Maybe I made a mistake. Haven’t you married a Tibetan woman?)
FATHER
Amala gi bodpa thabshe nang pa rey. Leyla khong rang koe shag.
(My mother tried, but it didn’t happen. Karma decided.)
LAMA
La rey! Le la koepa ma tok nang wey gongshog min dug.
(Yes, yes. Whatever karma decides, will be.)
MOTHER
What were you saying?
FATHER
I said my mother tried an arranged marriage, but it didn’t work. This is my wife, my—uh—my destiny? And he said something like, what you wish doesn’t always come, your destiny comes instead.
MOTHER
Oh.
LAMA (to mother and father)
You have a very special child. I have known him for a long time. How long now? Thirty-five years? But before that too! (The boy laughs.)
(to the puppet): Oh yes, I know your sense of humor.
Excuse my jubilation. Your boy is my teacher. My teacher, who died three years ago.
The mother faints into her husband’s arms.
Interlude.
In front of the domestic space,
a chorus might come on and do a traditional Tibetan dance.
Copyright © 2016 by Sarah Ruhl
