Free The Anarchist by David Mamet Page A

I’m sorry, go ahead.
    ANN : Thank you. And, during that time, you also met with the rabbi.
    CATHY : I met with them all.
    ANN : But, particularly?
    CATHY : The rabbi. Why “particularly?”
    ANN : Because.
    CATHY : Some people. Are born. Into a tradition. In which they perhaps feel other-than-comfortable.
    ANN : They . . .
    CATHY : Or, better, they, later in life, may discover a covenant, in which, for the first time, they find comfort.
    ANN : A covenant? . . .
    CATHY : A home . A mate. Or a profession. People, late in life, for example, may discover their true sexuality , or . . . the parallels are obvious. Mine dealt with Faith.
    ANN : Your?
    CATHY : Revelation.
    ANN : . . . your revelation.
    CATHY : Of Christ.
    ANN : But you continued . . . (She consults notes) During the first years, to meet with the rabbi.
    CATHY : That’s right.
    ANN : After you had discovered this new Covenant.
    CATHY : Do you know? I didn’t want to insult him.
    ANN : Really . . .
    CATHY : The others came so seldom. And the rabbi was additionally . . .
    ANN : Yes?
    CATHY : A sort of “entertainment,” faute de mieux. (Pause) I forgot a French verb. Yesterday.
    ANN : And you were reading . . .?
    CATHY : Actually, I was writing.
    ANN : In French.
    CATHY : Yes.
    ANN : What were you writing?
    CATHY : An attempt at a Translation.
    ANN : Of your book.
    CATHY : Oh very good.
    ANN : That’s right?
    CATHY : Yes.
    ANN : An attempt at a translation. But you speak French.
    CATHY : I did. (Pause) Someone asked me, “Do you play an instrument?” I said, “No,” with some regret, and then remembered that I played the piano all my life. How about that?
    (Pause.)
    ANN : You spoke French fluently.
    CATHY : As one does. With the vocabulary of one’s interests. A sort of “waiter’s French.”
    ANN : And what were your interests?
    CATHY : And the language of theology is rather abstruse.
    ANN : Your interest, then, was in theology?
    CATHY : Well, in hindsight, what else would you call it?
    ANN : You were translating your book.
    CATHY : I was attempting to.
    ANN : And you forgot a verb.
    CATHY : I did.
    ANN : But you must have had a dictionary.
    CATHY : I thought that to use the dictionary, would be admitting, a, a . . . No, I’m getting old. An “unworthiness.”
    ANN : But, you read widely, in French.
    CATHY : Well. That was the Language of the Movement.
    ANN : Of the Movement.
    CATHY : Yes.
    (Pause.)
    ANN : Have you read them since? Those books?
    CATHY : Those books.
    ANN : Yes.
    CATHY : Would they be allowed here?
    ANN : Well—that’s a fair question.
    CATHY : But, do you know. I’ve thought about them.
    ANN : The books.
    CATHY : And, in my memory , I couldn’t make heads or tails of them.
    ANN : Today .
    CATHY : No. Nor sort out their attraction . No, that’s not true. They were attractive as they were incendiary.
    ANN : “Revolutionary.”
    CATHY : If you will.
    ANN : In their ideas.
    CATHY : Not in their ideas , no. What were they? Finally? (Pause) They were essentially a sort of chant.
    ANN (Reads) : “Words not meant to misdirect are wasted.”
    CATHY : Well, there you are . . . and their absence of meaning allowed us . . . or, we understood them. As a celebration of the transgressive. Because they had no meaning.
    (Pause.)
    ANN : They wanted Revolution.
    CATHY : They?
    ANN : The writers.
    CATHY : They wanted . . . I suppose.
    ANN : And you found it attractive.
    CATHY : As the young do. No, it was thrilling .
    ANN : And now?
    (Pause.)
    CATHY : They’re quite immoral. Don’t you think? The French.
    ANN : Tell me. Why?
    CATHY : They hold the view the world is an illusion.
    ANN : Is that their view?
    CATHY : Oh, yes. No wonder it sparked terrorism.
    ANN : Did it?
    CATHY : If nothing has meaning save that we ascribe to it. What reality is there, for example, in another’s suffering? As aresult of which we find much tragedy. (Pause) No wonder they tend