The Innermost Truth

Of Mankind’s Soul

by Leah Wollenberg

JEROME: A bit odd.

SIMON: Jerome’s brother.

DARCY: The daughter of Jerome’s landlord.

Scene opens with JEROME and SIMON walking through the door into Jerome’s small apartment. The room is messy and dark- sheet music and bottles are everywhere. In the corner, there is a small mattress with a pile of clothes next to it. In the middle of the room there is a piano with a bust of Beethoven on top.

JEROME: Ah Simon, it is good to see you home from your travels! Many were the days that I thought of my dear brother, wandering the cultured streets of Europe, and with not a small amount of envy!

SIMON: Well, it’s good to be back. (Awkward silence.) You, er, made some changes to the place while I was away. I don’t remember the piano being here. Is this the old one from mom and dad’s?

JEROME (sighing): Yes, after a particularly bloody battle, I managed to convince them my uses for it were much greater than theirs, and I liberated it from its prison. They were not keen on the idea, though, I can tell you that.

SIMON: Haven’t they been trying to get rid of it for years?

JEROME: Ah, where on earth is that— here we are! (Holds up a bottle of something, pours two glasses, and offers one to SIMON) A toast to your homecoming!

(SIMON takes the glass, looks at it dubiously, and takes a sip. He winces.)

SIMON: Jesus, Jerome! What is this shit, paint thinner? Speaking of which, where’s all your painting stuff?

JEROME (scoffs): How long you have been away, Simon! Painting has been put safely in my past where it belongs.

SIMON Oh . . . well, I’m kinda relieved!

JEROME: As am I. Painting was not at all the path to enlightenment I had first thought.

SIMON: You can say that again.

JEROME: This discovery took its toll on me, I can tell you. I was left in a state of total uncertainty. My life’s passion had betrayed me, my friends had deserted me, my dear brother was across the world, and I was alone, floating through life with nothing and no one to moor me to reality. It is a fearsome place, Simon.

SIMON: Hey, it’s gonna be ok. I’m back now; we’ll figure this out.

JEROME: A fearsome place that I was swept out of on the wings of heaven’s greatest angel.

SIMON: Heaven’s greatest angel? Oh my God, Jerome, you’ve met someone! That’s fantastic! When can I meet her? Or, er, him?

JEROME (smiles knowingly and shakes his head): Simon, Simon, this has always been one of you’re biggest weakness. You assume everything good must come in the form of something material. When I say that I was saved by heaven’s greatest angel, I mean that I have found the true path to the divine, something that transcends physical manifestation . . .

SIMON (dropping his head into his hands): Oh no . . .

JEROME: The greatest medium of all: Composing!

(SIMON stares at JEROME incredulously. There is a moment of silence.)

SIMON: Composing?

JEROME: Composing.

SIMON: Jerome, you haven’t played an instrument since 5^th grade. And that was a marimba.

JEROME: Now, Simon, I said composer, not musician. Look at the master Berlioz! Besides, that was five months ago. Many hours at the piano have done wonders for my musicianship.

SIMON: Berli-who? What does that— never mind. I just, wow. Why composing?

JEROME: Because composing is the closest you-

SIMON: Can get to the innermost truth of mankind’s soul? (JEROME glances at him, offended.) That’s funny, because I thought that painting was the closest you could get to the innermost truth of mankind’s soul. And, wait a minute, wasn’t poetry also the closest you could get to the innermost truth of mankind’s soul as well? And then playwriting and acting and figure skating and—

JEROME: Simon, I see no reason for you to point out my past dalliances. They were nothing but minor episodes in my formerly confused life.

SIMON: Past dalliances? Jerome, do I have to remind you—

JEROME: As a matter of fact, you don’t. (There is a knock at the door) Enter!

(Enter DARCY. JEROME shoves the bottle out of sight and smoothes his hair back.)

DARCY: Hi, Jerome— oh! Sorry, you’re busy, I’ll—

JEROME (grandly): My dear Darcy, you are forever welcome in my humble abode. (He makes a sweeping gesture, pushing some of the crumpled sheet music out of sight.) This is my brother, Simon.

SIMON: Nice to meet you.

DARCY: Nice to meet you too. (They shake hands.) I didn’t know you have a brother, Jerome.

JEROME (pushes SIMON discreetly away from DARCY): Yes, well, Simon travels quite a lot, for his work. He’s not around much.

DARCY: Oh? What do you do?

JEROME: Dull stuff, really.

SIMON: I’m an investigative reporter for the New York Times.

DARCY: Oh, wow! You know, I majored in journalism.

JEROME: With a minor in music, if I remember correctly.

DARCY: Yep. Not like either of them have helped me find work in this damn recession.

SIMON: You know, I could talk to my boss, see if he—

JEROME: Simon, Darcy didn’t come here to waste her time making small talk. What was it you needed?

DARCY(sighs): My dad doesn’t have the balls to do this, so he sent me. You’re three weeks behind on the rent, Jerome. He needs the money by Tuesday, at the very latest.

(JEROME is thrown off-guard, but only for a second.)

JEROME: I will not sully your ears with meaningless excuses. Rest-assured, I will have the rent by Tuesday.

DARCY: Please do. I would hate to be the one to evict you. Um, sorry if this seems kinda forward, but do you think I could get your number, Simon? If you were serious about talking to your boss . . .

SIMON: Sure! Here . . . (he pulls out a pen and paper, but JEROME beats him to it.)

JEROME: Allow me. (He writes down the number. SIMON looks over his shoulder.)

SIMON: That five should be a seven.

JEROME: What? Oh, of course! You have been away so long, I had forgotten . . . (He finishes the number with an angry flourish.) Here you are. I wish you the best of luck getting a hold of him. He rarely has the time to talk any of us mere mortals.

(SIMON rolls his eyes but says nothing.)

DARCY: Well, I’ll give it a shot. Nice to meet you, Simon. See you later, Jerome. (She exits.)

JEROME: Oh, the pain, the ecstasy of love! (JEROME runs to the piano, begins playing badly and singing very out of tune) Darcy, my darling, the landlord’s daaaaaaughter, when you look right at me, my heart begins to tooooooootter, even if you tried, you couldn’t be any . . . (pauses, looking for the right word,) hooooooootter . . .

SIMON: Jerome, please shut—

JEROME (still singing): Oh I wish I were your gentlemanly looooooooooover! Together so many things we could discooooooooover! I would write you songs most every daaaaaaaaaay! So that you would never want to go awaaaaaaaaaaay! I would take you on a shopping spreeeeeeeeee, we could sit under yonder large oak treeeeeeeeeeeee, just as long as you never evict meeeeeeeeeeee! (Seems to come to a loud finish.)

SIMON: Yeah, can we talk about the whole eviction—

(JEROME starts playing again, la-ing the “Darcy” melody.)

SIMON: Jerome!

(JEROME just plays louder, putting his hand inside the piano to strum the strings in a bad imitation of contemporary music.)

SIMON: Jerome! Will you— Urgh! (SIMON walks over to the piano and tries to take JEROME’S hands off the keys. JEROME tries to knock him away, a scuffle ensues, they fall, SIMON knocks JEROME over. He lies on the floor, propped up by his elbows.)

JEROME (with a feeble smile): Truce?

SIMON: My first day home. Most people take a nap when they get off a 12 hour flight. How did I end up dealing with you?

JEROME: Well, you needed a ride from the airport—

SIMON: Evicted, Jerome? What are you going to do? Move back in with mom and dad? Have you thought about the implications of this at all? Oh God. What if you have to move in with me—

JEROME (ever so calm): Simon, I beg of you—

SIMON: And what the hell is with all of this 19^th century English novel talk? What—

JEROME (getting up and brushing himself off): Simon, please! I am not going to be evicted.

SIMON: You’re girlfriend seems to think otherwise!

JEROME (holding up his hands in a calming gesture): I have the money, Simon, I will give it to her on Tuesday, never fear.

SIMON (gaping): You have the money? Where did you get it?

JEROME (shrugs): Mom and dad pay the rent so I don’t have to live with them. I was always the less loved of their offspring, as I’m sure you remember.

SIMON (slowly): If you have the money, why didn’t you pay the landlord when the rent was due?

JEROME (scoffs): Simon, what great master of the musical arts ever pays their rent on time? We must live on the edge in order to keep the creative juices flowing.

SIMON: Ok. You remember how, when the police almost took you to the asylum, I managed to convince them you weren’t crazy? I’m starting to think I was wrong. I mean, not paying your rent, living in rat’s nest, what are you going to do to yourself next!?

JEROME: Whatever gives you the idea that I’m going to do something to myself—

SIMON: You tried to cut off your ear, Jerome! And when I asked you why, you said it was because Van Gough did it, and he was a good painter, so why not try it to see if it helped your own painting? And I thought, oh, it’s just one of Jerome’s little quirks, no big deal, my brother couldn’t be crazy, no officer, it’s nothing serious! Jesus, what were you thinking? What was I thinking? What are you gonna do now? Make yourself deaf because Beethoven was a good composer?!

JEROME (intrigued): I hadn’t thought of that . . .

SIMON: NO! (pauses) You know what? Forget it. I’m too jetlagged to even care. Just go on with you’re crazy life. Call me when you need your obituary written.

(SIMON grabs his suitcase, exits. JEROME stands in silence for a while, a bemused expression on his face. Lights go down as he sits at txhe piano and starts to play. There is a moment of silence as after he finishes playing, then there is a knock at the door. Spot goes up on the door- the rest of the stage is dark. SIMON speaks from off-stage.)

SIMON: Hey, Jerome, it’s me. Listen, I’m really sorry about last week. I didn’t mean what- well, all of what I said . . . look, the point is, you’re my brother, and I love you. (starting to sound worried) And I really hope you didn’t actually make yourself deaf and—

(JEROME opens the door dressed in full safari gear with a large backpack and a butterfly net.)

JEROME: Ah, Simon!

(SIMON drops his head into his hands. Lights go down. The end.)