M.Butterfly
(Excerpts)
ACT ONE
Scene 1
M.Gallimard’s prison cell.Paris, 1988.
Lights fade up to reveal Rene Gallimard, 65, in a prison cell.He wears a comfortable bathrobe, and looks old and tired.The sparsely furnished cell contains a wooden crate upon which sits a hot plate with a kettle, and a portable tape recorder.Gallimard sits on the crate staring at the recorder, a sad smile on his face.
Upstage[2] Song， who appears as a beautiful woman in traditional Chinese garb， dances a traditional piece from the Peking Opera，surrounded by the percussive clatter of Chinese music.
Then， slowly， lights and sound cross-fade[3]； the Chinese opera music dissolves into a Western opera， the “Love Duet” from Puccini’s Madame Butterfly[4].Song continues dancing， now to the Western accompaniment.Though her movements are the same， the difference in music now gives them a balletic quality.
Gallimard rises, and turns U.S.towards the figure of Song, who dances without acknowledging him.
GALLIMARD: Butterfly, Butterfly...
He forces himself to turn away， as the image of Song fades out[5]， and talks to us.
GALLIMARD： The limits of my cell are as such： four-and-a-half meters by five.There’s one window against the far wall； a door， very strong， to protect me from autograph hounds[6].I’m responsible for the tape recorder，the hot plate， and this charming coffee table.
When I want to eat, I’m marched off to the dining room—hot,steaming slop appears on my plate.When I want to sleep, the light bulb turns itself off—the work of fairies.It’s an enchanted space I occupy.The French—we know how to run a prison.
But, to be honest, I’m not treated like an ordinary prisoner.Why?Because I’m a celebrity.You see, I make people laugh.
I never dreamed this day would arrive.I’ve never been considered witty or clever.In fact, as a young boy, in an informal poll among my grammar school classmates, I was voted “least likely to be invited to a party.” It’s a title I managed to hold onto for many years.Despite some stiff competition.
But now， how the tables turn[7]！ Look at me： the life of every social function in Paris.Paris？ Why be modest？ My fame has spread to Amsterdam， London， New York.Listen to them！ In the world’s smartest parlors.I’m the one who lifts their spirits！
With a flourish, Gallimard directs our attention to another part of the stage.
Scene 2
A party.1988.
Lights go up on a chic-looking parlor, where a well-dressed trio, two men and one woman, make conversation.Gallimard also remains lit; he observes them from his cell.
WOMAN: And what of Gallimard?
MAN 1: Gallimard?
MAN 2: Gallimard!
GALLIMARD (To us.): You see? They’re all determined to say my name,as if it were some new dance.
WOMAN: He still claims not to believe the truth.
MAN 1: What? Still? Even since the trial?
WOMAN: Yes.Isn’t it mad?
MAN 2 (Laughing.): He says … it was dark … and she was very modest!
The trio break into laughter.
MAN 1: So—what? He never touched her with his hands?
MAN 2: Perhaps he did, and simply misidentified the equipment.A compelling case for sex education in the schools.
WOMAN: To protect the National Security—the Church can’t argue with that.
MAN 1: That’s impossible! How could he not know?
MAN 2: Simple ignorance.
MAN 1: For twenty years?
MAN 2: Time flies when you’re being stupid.
WOMAN: Well, I thought the French were ladies’ men.
MAN 2: It seems Monsieur Gallimard was overly anxious to live up to his national reputation.
WOMAN: Well, he’s not very good-looking.
MAN 1: No, he’s not.
MAN 2: Certainly not.
WOMAN: Actually, I feel sorry for him.
MAN 2: A toast! To Monsieur Gallimard!
WOMAN: Yes! To Gallimard!
MAN 1: To Gallimard!
MAN 2： Vive la différence！[8]
They toast, laughing.Lights down on them.
Scene 3
M.Gallimard’ s cell.
GALLIMARD (Smiling.): You see? They toast me.I’ve become patron saint of the socially inept.Can they really be so foolish? Men like that—they should be scratching at my door, begging to learn my secrets! For I,Rene Gallimard, you see, I have known, and been loved by ...the Perfect Woman.
Alone in this cell, I sit night after night, watching our story play through my head, always searching for a new ending, one which redeems my honor, where she returns at last to my arms.And I imagine you—my ideal audience—who come to understand and even, perhaps just a little, to envy me.
He turns on his tape recorder.Over the house speakers, we hear the opening phrases of Madame Butterfly.
GALLIMARD： In order for you to understand what I did and why， I must introduce you to my favorite opera： Madame Butterfly.By Giacomo Puccini.First produced at La Scala[9]， Milan， in 1904， it is now beloved throughout the Western world.
As Gallimard describes the opera, the tape segues in and out to sections he may be describing.GALLIMARD: And why not? Its heroine, Cio-Cio-San, also known as Butterfly, is a feminine ideal, beautiful and brave.And its hero, the man for whom she gives up everything, is—(He pulls out a naval officer’s cap from under his crate, pops it on his head, and struts about)—not very good-looking, not too bright, and pretty much a wimp: Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton of the U.S.Navy.As the curtain rises, he’s just closed on two great bargains: one on a house, the other on a woman—call it a package deal.
Pinkerton purchased the rights to Butterfly for one hundred yen—in modern currency， equivalent to about ...ixty-six cents.So， he’s feeling pretty pleased with himself as Sharpless[10]， the American consul， arrives to witness the marriage.
Marc, wearing an official cap to designate Sharpless, Enters and plays the character.
SHARPLESS/MARC: Pinkerton!
PINKERTON/GALLIMARD: Sharpless! How’s it hangin’? It’s a great day, just great.Between my house, my wife, and the rickshaw ride in from town, I’ve saved nineteen cents just this morning.
SHARPLESS: Wonderful.I can see the inscription on your tombstone
already: “I saved a dollar here I lie.” (He looks around.) Nice house.
PINKERTON: It’s artistic.Artistic, don’t you think? Like the way the shoji screens slide open to reveal the wet bar and disco mirror ball? Classy, huh?Great for impressing the chicks.
SHARPLESS: “Chicks”? Pinkerton, you’re going to be a married man!
PINKERTON: Well, sort of.
SHARPLESS: What do you mean?
PINKERTON: This country—Sharpless, it is okay.You got all these geisha girls running around—
SHARPLESS: I know! I live here!
PINKERTON: Then, you know the marriage laws, right? I split for one month, it’s annulled!
SHARPLESS: Leave it to you to read the fine print.Who’s the lucky girl?
PINKERTON： Cio-Cio-San.Her friends call her Butterfly.Sharpless， she eats out of my hand！[11]
SHARPLESS: She’s probably very hungry.
PINKERTON: Not like American girls.It’s true what they say about Oriental girls.They want to be treated bad!
SHARPLESS: Oh, please!
PINKERTON: It’s true!
SHARPLESS: Are you serious about this girl?
PINKERTON: I’m marrying her, aren’t I?
SHARPLESS: Yes—with generous trade-in terms.
PINKERTON: When I leave, she’ll know what it’s like to have loved a real man.And I’ll even buy her a few nylons.
SHARPLESS: You aren’t planning to take her with you?
PINKERTON: Huh? Where?
SHARPLESS: Home!
PINKERTON： You mean， America？ Are you crazy？ Can you see her trying to buy rice in St.Louis[12]？
SHARPLESS: So, you’re not serious.
Pause.
PINKERTON/GALLIMARD.（as Pinkerton）： Consul， I am a sailor in port[13].（As Gallimard.） They then proceed to sing the famous duet， “The Whole World Over.”[14]
The duet plays on the speakers.Gallimard, as Pinkerton, lip-syncs his lines from the opera.
GALLIMARD: To give a rough translation: “The whole world over, the Yankee travels, casting his anchor wherever he wants.Life’s not worth living unless he can win the hearts of the fairest maidens, then hotfoot it off the premises ASAP.” (He turns towards Marc.) In the preceding scene,I played Pinkerton, the womanizing cad, and my friend Marc from school ...(Marc bows grandly for our benefit.) played Sharpless, the sensitive soul of reason.In life, however, our positions were usually—no,always—reversed.
…
Scene 5
M.Gallimard’s cell.
GALLIMARD: Next, Butterfly makes her entrance.We learn her age—fifteen ...but very mature for her years.
Lights come up on the area where we saw Song dancing at the top of the play.She appears there again， now dressed as Madame Butterfly，moving to the “Love Duet.”[15] Gallimard turns upstage slightly to watch，transfixed.
GALLIMARD: But as she glides past him, beautiful, laughing softly behind her fan, don’t we who are men sigh with hope? We, who are not handsome, nor brave, nor powerful, yet somehow believe, like Pinkerton,that we deserve a Butterfly.She arrives with all her possessions in the folds of her sleeves, lays them all out, for her man to do with as he pleases.Even her life itself—she bows her head as she whispers that she’s not even worth the hundred yen he paid for her.He’s already given too much, when we know he’s really had to give nothing at all.
Music and lights on Song out.Gallimard sits at his crate.
GALLIMARD: In real life, women who put their total worth at less than sixty-six cents are quite hard to find.The closest we come is in the pages of these magazines.(He reaches into his crate, pulls out a stack of girlie magazines, and begins flipping through them.) Quite a necessity in prison.For three or four dollars, you get seven or eight women.
I first discovered these magazines at my uncle’s house.One day, as a boy of twelve.The first time I saw them in his closet ...all lined up—my body shook.Not with lust—no, with power.Here were women—a shelfful—who would do exactly as I wanted.
The “Love Duet” creeps in over the speakers.Special[16] comes up，revealing， not Song this time， but a pinup girl in a sexy negligee， her back to us.Gallimard turns upstage and looks at her.
GIRL: I know you’re watching me.
GALLIMARD: My throat ...it’s dry.
GIRL: I leave my blinds open every night before I go to bed.
GALLIMARD: I can’t move.
GIRL: I leave my blinds open and the lights on.
GALLIMARD: I’m shaking.My skin is hot, but my penis is soft.Why?
GIRL: I stand in front of the window.
GALLIMARD: What is she going to do?
GIRL: I toss my hair, and I let my lips part ...barely.
GALLIMARD: I shouldn’t be seeing this.It’s so dirty.I’m so bad.
GIRL: Then, slowly, I lift off my nightdress.
GALLIMARD: Oh, god.I can’t believe it.I can’t—
GIRL: I toss it to the ground.
GALLIMARD: Now, she’s going to walk away.She’s going to—
GIRL: I stand there, in the light, displaying myself.
GALLIMARD: No.She’s—why is she naked?
GIRL: To you.
GALLIMARD: In front of a window? This is wrong.No—
GIRL: Without shame.
GALLIMARD: No, she must ...like it.
GIRL: I like it.
GALLIMARD: She ...she wants me to see.
GIRL: I want you to see.
GALLIMARD: I can’t believe it! She’s getting excited!
GIRL: I can’t see you.You can do whatever you want
GALLIMARD: I can’t do a thing.Why?
GIRL: What would you like me to do ...next?
Lights go down on her.Music off.Silence, as Gallimard puts away his magazines.Then he resumes talking to us.
GALLIMARD: Act Two begins with Butterfly staring at the ocean.Pinkerton’s been called back to the U.S., and he’s given his wife a detailed schedule of his plans.In the column marked “return date,” he’s written“when the robins nest.” This failed to ignite her suspicions.Now, three years have passed without a peep from him.Which brings a response from her faithful servant, Suzuki.
Comrade Chin enters， playing Suzuki[17].
SUZUKI： Girl， he’s a loser.What’d he ever give you？ Nineteen cents and those ugly Day-Glo stockings[18]？ Look， it’s finished！ Kaput！ Done！And you should be glad！ I mean， the guy was a woofer！ He tried before，you know—before he met you， he went down to geisha central and plunked down his spare change in front of the usual candidates—everyone else gagged！ These are hungry prostitutes， and they were not interested， get the picture？ Now， stop slathering when an American ship sails in， and let’s make some bucks—I mean， yen！ We are broke！
Now， what about Yamadori[19]？ Hey， hey—don’t look away—the man is a prince— figuratively， and， what’s even better， literally.He’s rich， he’s handsome， he says he’ll die if you don’t marry him—and he’s even willing to overlook the little fact that you’ve been deflowered all over the place by a foreign devil.What do you mean， “But he’s Japanese？” What do you think you are？ You think you’ve been touched by the whitey god？ He was a sailor with dirty hands！
Suzuki stalks offstage.
GALLIMARD: She’s also visited by Consul Sharpless, sent by Pinkerton on a minor errand.
Marc enters, as Sharpless.
SHARPLESS: I hate this job.
GAILLIMARD: This Pinkerton—he doesn’t show up personally to tell his wife he’s abandoning her.No, he sends a government diplomat ..at taxpayer’s expense.
SHARPLESS: Butterfly? Butterfly? I have some bad—I’m going to be ill.Butterfly, I came to tell you—
GALLIMARD: Butterfly says she knows he’ll return and if he doesn’t she’ll kill herself rather than go back to her own people.(Beat.) This causes a lull in the conversation.
SHARPLESS: Let’s put it this way ...
GALLIMARD: Butterfly runs into the next room, and returns holding—
Sound cue: a baby crying.Sharpless, “seeing” this, backs away.
SHARPLESS: Well, good.Happy to see things going so well.I suppose I’ll be going now.Ta ta.Ciao.(He turns away.Sound cue out.) I hate this job.(He exits.)
GALLIMARD: At that moment, Butterfly spots in the harbor an American ship—the Abramo Lincoln!
Music cue： “The Flower Duet.”[20] Song， still dressed as Butterfly，changes into a wedding kimono， moving to the music.
GALLIMARD: This is the moment that redeems her years of waiting.With Suzuki’s help, they cover the room with flowers—
Chin, as Suzuki, trudges onstage and drops a lone flower without much enthusiasm.
GALLIMARD:—and she changes into her wedding dress to prepare for Pinkerton’s arrival.
Suzuki helps Butterfly change.Helga Enters, and helps Gallimard change into a tuxedo.
GALLIMARD: I married a woman older than myself—Helga.
HELGA: My father was ambassador to Australia.I grew up among criminals and kangaroos.
GALLIMARD: Hearing that brought me to the altar—
Helga exits.
GALLIMARD: —where I took a vow renouncing love.No fantasy woman would ever want me, so, yes, I would settle for a quick leap up the career ladder.Passion, I banish, and in its place - practicality!
But my vows had long since lost their charm by the time we arrived in China.The sad truth is that all men want a beautiful woman, and the uglier the man, the greater the want.
Suzuki makes final adjustments of Butterfly’s costume, as does Gallimard of his tuxedo.
GALLIMARD: I married late, at age thirty-one.I was faithful to my marriage for eight years.Until the day when, as a junior-level diplomat in puritanical Peking, in a parlor at the German ambassador’s house, during the “Reign of a Hundred Flowers,” I first saw her ...singing the death scene from Madame Butterfly.
Suzuki runs offstage.
Scene 6
German ambassador’s house.Beijing.1960.
The upstage special area now becomes a stage.Several chairs face upstage, representing seating for some twenty guests in the parlor.A few“diplomats”—Renee, Marc, Toulon—in formal dress Enter and take seats.
Gallimard also sits down， but turns towards us and continues to talk.Orchestral accompaniment on the tape is now replaced by a simple piano.Song picks up the death scene from the point where Butterfly uncovers the hara-kiri knife[21].
GALLIMARD: The ending is pitiful.Pinkerton, in an act of great courage,stays home and sends his American wife to pick up Butterfly’s child.The truth, long deferred, has come up to her door.
Song, playing Butterfly, sings the lines from the opera in her own voice—which, though not classical, should be decent.
SONG: “Con onor muore/ chi non puo serbar/ vita con onore.”
GALLIMARD (Simultaneously): “Death with honor/ Is better than life/Life with dishonor.”
The stage is illuminated; we are now completely within an elegant diplomat’s residence.Song proceeds to play out an abbreviated death scene.Everyone in the room applauds.Song, shyly, takes her bows.Others in the room rush to congratulate her.Gallimard remains with us.
GALLIMARD: They say in opera the voice is everything.That’s probably why I’d never before enjoyed opera.Here ..here was a Butterfly with little or no voice—but she had the grace, the delicacy ...I believed this girl.I believed her suffering.I wanted to take her in my arms—so delicate, even I could protect her, take her home, pamper her until she smiled.
Over the course of the preceding speech, Song has broken from the upstage crowd and moved directly upstage of Gallimard.
SONG: Excuse me.Monsieur ...?
Gallimard turns upstage, shocked.
GALLIMARD: Oh! Gallimard.Mademoiselle ...? A beautiful ...
SONG: Song Liling.
GALLIMARD: A beautiful performance.
SONG: Oh, please.
GALLIMARD: I usually—
SONG: You make me blush.I’m no opera singer at all.
GALLIMARD: I usually don’t like Butterfly.
SONG: I can’t blame you in the least.
GALLIMARD: I mean, the story—
SONG: Ridiculous.
GALLIMARD: I like the story, but… what?
SONG: Oh, you like it?
GALLIMARD: I ...what I mean is, I’ve always seen it played by huge women in so much bad makeup.
SONG: Bad makeup is not unique to the West.
GALLIMARD: But, who can believe them!
SONG: And you believe me?
GALLIMARD: Absolutely.You were utterly convincing.It’s the first time—
SONG: Convincing? As a Japanese woman? The Japanese used hundreds of our people for medical experiments during the war, you know.But I gather such an irony is lost on you.
GALLIMARD: No! I was about to say, it’s the first time I’ve seen the beauty of the story.
SONG: Really?
GALLIMARD: Of her death.It’s a ...a pure sacrifice.He’s unworthy,but what can she do? She loves him ...so much.It’s a very beautiful story.
SONG: Well, yes, to a Westerner.
GALLIMARD: Excuse me?
SONG： It’s one of your favorite fantasies， isn’t it？ The submissive Oriental woman and the cruel white man.[22]
GALLIMARD: Well, I didn’t quite mean ...
SONG： Consider it this way： what would you say if a blonde homecoming queen[23] fell in love with a short Japanese businessman？ He treats her cruelly， then goes home for three years， during which time she prays to his picture and turns down marriage from a young Kennedy.Then，when she learns he has remarried， she kills herself.Now， I believe you would consider this girl to be a deranged idiot， correct？ But because it’s an Oriental who kills herself for a Westerner—ah！—you find it beautiful.
Silence.
GALLIMARD: Yes ...well ...I see your point ...
SONG: I will never do Butterfly again, Monsieur Gallimard.If you wish to see some real theatre, come to the Peking Opera sometime.Expand your mind.
Song walks offstage.Other guests exit with her.
GAllMARD (To us): So much for protecting her in my big Western arms.
…
Scene 8
Chinese opera house and the streets of Beijing.1960.
The sound of gongs clanging fills the stage.
GALLIMARD: My wife’s innocent question kept ringing in my ears.I asked around, but no one knew anything about the Chinese opera.It took four weeks, but my curiosity overcame my cowardice.This Chinese diva—this unwilling Butterfly—what did she do to make her so proud?
The room was hot, and full of smoke.Wrinkled faces, old women,teeth missing—a man with a growth on his neck，like a human toad.All smiling, pipes falling from their mouths, cracking nuts between their teeth,a live chicken pecking at my foot—all looking, screaming, gawking … at her.
The upstage area is suddenly hit with a harsh white light.It has become the stage for the Chinese opera performance.Two dancers enter,along with Song.Gallimard stands apart, watching.Song glides gracefully amidst the two dancers.Drums suddenly slam to a halt.Song strikes a pose，looking straight at Gallimard.Dancers exit.Light change.Pause,then Song walks right off the stage and straight up to Gallimard.
SONG: Yes.You.White man.I’m looking straight at you.
GALLIMARD: Me?
SONG: You see any other white men? It was too easy to spot you.How often does a man in my audience come in a tie?
Song starts to remove her costume.Underneath, she wears simple baggy clothes.They are now backstage.The show is over.
SONG: So, you are an adventurous imperialist?
GALLIMARD: I...thought it would further my education.
SONG: It took you four weeks.Why?
GALLIMARD: I’ve been busy.
SONG: Well, education has always been undervalued in the West,hasn’t it?
GALLIMARD (Laughing): I don’t think that’s true.
SONG: No, you wouldn’t.You’re a Westerner.How can you objectively judge your own values?
GALLIMARD: I think it’s possible to achieve some distance.
SONG: Do you? (Pause.) It stinks in here.Let’s go.
GALLIMARD: These are the smells of your loyal fans.
SONG: I love them for being my fans, I hate the smell they leave behind.I too can distance myself from my people.(She looks around，then whispers in his ear) “Art for the masses” is a shitty excuse to keep artists poor.(She pops a cigarette in her mouth.) Be a gentleman, will you? And light my cigarette.
Gallimard fumbles for a match.
GALLIMARD: I don’t...smoke.
SONG (Lighting her own.): Your loss.Had you lit my cigarette, I might have blown a puff of smoke right between your eyes.Come.
They start to walk about the stage.It is a summer night on the Beijing streets.Sounds of the city play on the house speakers.
SONG: How I wish there were even a tiny cafe to sit in.With cappuccinos, and men in tuxedos and bad expatriate jazz.
GALLIMARD: If my history serves me correctly, you weren’t even allowed into the clubs in Shanghai before the Revolution.
SONG： Your history serves you poorly， Monsieur Gallimard.True，there were signs reading “No dogs and Chinamen.”[24] But a woman，especially a delicate Oriental woman—we always go where we please.Could you imagine it otherwise？ Clubs in China filled with pasty，big-thighed white women， while thousands of slender lotus blossoms[25]wait just outside the door？ Never.The clubs would be empty.（Beat.） We have always held a certain fascination for you Caucasian men， have we not？
GALLIMARD: But … that fascination is imperialist, or so you tell me.
SONG: Do you believe everything I tell you? Yes.It is always imperialist.But sometimes … sometimes, it is also mutual.Oh—this is my flat.
GALLIMARD: I didn’t even—
SONG: Thank you.Come another time and we will further expand your mind.
Song exits.Gallimard continues roaming the streets as he speaks to us.
GALLIMARD: What was that? What did she mean, “Sometimes …it is mutual?” Women do not flirt with me.And I normally can’t talk to them.But tonight, I held up my end of the conversation.
ACT THREE
Scene 1
A courthouse in Paris.1986.
As he promised, Song has completed the bulk of his transformation onstage by the time the houselights go down and the stagelights come up full.He removes his wig and kimono, leaving them on the floor.Underneath, he wears a well-cut suit.
SONG: So I’d done my job better than I had a right to expect.Well,give him some credit, too.He’s right—I was in a fix when I arrived in Paris.I walked from the airport into town, then I located, by blind groping,the Chinatown district.Let me make one thing clear: whatever else may be said about the Chinese, they are stingy! I slept in doorways three days until I could find a tailor who would make me this kimono on credit.As it turns out, maybe I didn’t even need it.Maybe he would’ve been happy to see me in a simple shift and mascara.But ...better safe than sorry.
That was 1970, when I arrived in Paris.For the next fifteen years, yes,I lived a very comfy life.Some relief, believe me, after four years on a fucking commune in Nowheresville, China.Rene supported the boy and me, and I did some demonstrations around the country as part of my“cultural exchange” cover.And then there was the spying.
Song moves upstage, to a chair.Toulon enters as a judge, wearing the appropriate wig and robes.He sits near Song.It’s 1986, and Song is testifying in a courtroom.
SONG: Not much at first.Rene had lost all his high-level contacts.Comrade Chin wasn’t very interested in parking-ticket statistics.But finally, at my urging, Rene got a job as a courier, handling sensitive documents.He’d photograph them for me, and I’d pass them on to the Chinese embassy.
JUDGE: Did he understand the extent of his activity?
SONG: He didn’t ask.He knew that I needed those documents, and that was enough.
JUDGE: But he must’ve known he was passing classified information.
SONG: I can’t say.
JUDGE: He never asked what you were going to do with them?
SONG: Nope.
Pause.
JUDGE: There is one thing that the court—indeed, that all of France—would like to know.
SONG: Fire away.
JUDGE: Did Monsieur Gallimard know you were a man?
SONG: Well, he never saw me completely naked.Ever.
JUDGE: But surely, he must’ve ...how can I put this?
SONG: Put it however you like.I’m not shy.He must’ve felt around?
JUDGE: Mmmmm.
SONG: Not really.I did all the work.He just laid back.Of course we did enjoy more ...complete union, and I suppose he might have wondered why I was always on my stomach, but… But what you’re thinking is.“Of course a wrist must’ve brushed ...a hand hit ...over twenty years!” Yeah.Well, Your Honor, it was my job to make him think I was a woman.And chew on this: it wasn’t all that hard.See, my mother was a prostitute along the Bundt before the Revolution.And, uh, I think it’s fair to say she learned a few things about Western men.So I borrowed her knowledge.In service to my country.
JUDGE: Would you care to enlighten the court with this secret knowledge? I’m sure we’re all very curious.
SONG: I’m sure you are.(Pause.) Okay, Rule One is: Men always believe what they want to hear.So a girl can tell the most obnoxious lies and the guys will believe them every time—“This is my first time.”—“That’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.”—or both, which, if you really think about it, is not possible in a single lifetime.You’ve maybe heard those phrases a few times in your own life, yes, Your Honor?
JUDGE: It’s not my life, Monsieur Song, which is on trial today.
SONG: Okay, okay, just trying to lighten up the proceedings.Tough room.
JUDGE: Go on.
SONG： Rule Two： As soon as a Western man comes into contact with the East—he’s already confused.The West has sort of an international rape mentality18 towards the East.Do you know rape mentality[26]？
JUDGE: Give us your definition, please.
SONG; Basically, “Her mouth says no, but her eyes say yes.”
The West thinks of itself as masculine—big guns, big industry, big money—so the East is feminine—weak, delicate, poor ...but good at art,and full of inscrutable wisdom—the feminine mystique.
Her mouth says no, but her eyes say yes.The West believes the East,deep down, wants to be dominated—because a woman can’t think for herself.
JUDGE: What does this have to do with my question?
SONG: You expect Oriental countries to submit to your guns, and you expect Oriental women to be submissive to your men.That’s why you say they make the best wives.
JUDGE: But why would that make it possible for you to fool Monsieur Gallimard? Please—get to the point.
SONG: One, because when he finally met his fantasy woman, he wanted more than anything to believe that she was, in fact, a woman.And second, I am an Oriental.And being an Oriental, I could never be completely a man.
Pause.
JUDGE： Your armchair political theory[27] is tenuous， Monsieur Song.
SONG: You think so? That’s why you’ll lose in all your dealings with the East.
JUDGE: Just answer my question: did he know you were a man?
Pause.
SONG: You know, Your Honor, I never asked
Scene 2
Same.
Music from the “Death Scene” from Butterfly blares over the house speakers.It is the loudest thing we’ve heard in this play.
Gallimard Enters, crawling towards Song’s wig and kimono.
GALLIMARD: Butterfly? Butterfly?
Song remains a man, in the witness box, delivering a testimony we do not hear.
GALLIMARD (To us): In my moment of greatest shame, here, in this courtroom—with that … person up there, telling the world… What strikes me especially is how shallow he is, how glib and obsequious ...completely ...without substance! The type that prowls around discos with a gold medallion stinking of garlic.So little like my Butterfly.
Yet even in this moment my mind remains agile, flip-flopping like a man on a trampoline.Even now, my picture dissolves, and I see that ...witness ...talking to me.
Song suddenly stands straight up in his witness box, and looks at Gallimard.
SONG: Yes.You.White man.
Song steps out of the witness box, and moves downstage towards Gallimard.Light change.
GALLIMARD (To Song): Who? Me?
SONG: Do you see any other white men?
GALHMARD: Yes.There’re white men all around.This is a French courtroom.
SONG: So you are an adventurous imperialist.Tell me, why did it take you so long? To come back to this place?
GALLIMARD: What place?
SONG: This theatre in China.Where we met many years ago.
GALLIMARD (To us): And once again, against my will, I am transported.
Chinese opera music comes up on the speakers.Song begins to do opera moves, as he did the night they met.
SONG: Do you remember? The night you gave your heart?
GALLIMARD: It was a long time ago
SONG: Not long enough.A night that turned your world upside down.
GALLIMARD: Perhaps.
SONG: Oh, be honest with me.What’s another bit of flattery when you’ve already given me twenty years’ worth? It’s a wonder my head hasn’t swollen to the size of China.
GALLIMARD: Who’s to say it hasn’t?
SONG: Who’s to say? And what’s the shame? In pride? You think I could’ve pulled this off if I wasn’t already full of pride when we met? No,not just pride.Arrogance.It takes arrogance, really —to believe you can will, with your eyes and your lips, the destiny of another.(He dances.)C’mon.Admit it.You still want me.Even in slacks and a button-down collar.
GALL1MARD: I don’t see what the point of—
SONG: You don’t? Well maybe, Rene, just maybe—I want you.
GALLIMARD: You do?
SONG: Then again, maybe I’m just playing with you.How can you tell? (Reprising his feminine character, he sidles up to Gallimard.) “How I wish there were even a small cafe to sit in.With men in tuxedos, and cappuccinos, and bad expatriate jazz.” Now you want to kiss me, don’t you?
GALLIMARD (Pulling away.): What makes you—?
SONG: —so sure? See? I take the words from your mouth.Then I wait for you to come and retrieve them.(He reclines on the floor.)
GALLIMARD: Why?! Why do you treat me so cruelly?
SONG: Perhaps I was treating you cruelly.But now—I’m being nice.Come here, my little one.
GALLIMARD: I’m not your little one!
SONG: My mistake.It’s I who am your little one, right?
GALLIMARD: Yes, I—
SONG: So come get your little one.If you like.I may even let you strip me.
GALLIMARD: I mean, you were! Before ...but not like this!
SONG: I was? Then perhaps I still am.If you look hard enough.(He starts to remove his clothes)
GALLIMARD: What—what are you doing?
SONG: Helping you to see through my act.
GALLIMARD: Stop that! I don’t want to! I don’t—
SONG: Oh, but you asked me to strip, remember?
GALLIMARD: What? That was years ago! And I took it back!
SONG: No.You postponed it.Postponed the inevitable.Today, the inevitable has come calling.
From the speakers, cacophony: Butterfly mixed in with Chinese gongs.
GALLIMARD: No! Stop! I don’t want to see!
SONG: Then look away.
GALLIMARD: You’re only in my mind! All this is in my mind! I order you! To stop!
SONG: To what? To strip? That’s just what I’m—
GALLIMARD: No! Stop! I want you—!
SONG: You want me?
GALLIMARD: To stop!
SONG: You know something, Rene? Your mouth says no, but your eyes say yes.Turn them away.I dare you.
GALLIMARD: I don’t have to! Every night, you say you’re going to strip, but then I beg you and you stop!
SONG: I guess tonight is different.
GALLIMARD: Why? Why should that be?
SONG: Maybe I’ve become frustrated.Maybe I’m saying “Look at me, you fool!” Or maybe I’m just feeling ...sexy.(He is down to his briefs.)
GALLIMARD: Please.This is unnecessary.I know what you are.
SONG: You do? What am I?
GALLIMARD: A—a man.
SONG: You don’t really believe that.
GALLIMARD: Yes I do! I knew all the time somewhere that my happiness was temporary, my love a deception.But my mind kept the knowledge at bay.To make the wait bearable.
SONG: Monsieur Gallimard—the wait is over.
Song drops his briefs.He is naked.Sound cue out.Slowly, we and Song come to the realization that what we had thought to be Gallimard’s sobbing is actually his laughter.
GALLIMARD: Oh god! What an idiot! Of course!
SONG: Rene—what?
GALLIMAAD: Look at you! You’re a man! (He bursts into laughter again)
SONG: I fail to see what’s so funny!
GALLIMARD: “You fail to see—!” I mean, you never did have much of a sense of humor, did you? I just think it’s ridiculously funny that I’ve wasted so much time on just a man!
SONG: Wait.I’m not “just a man.”
GALLIMARD: No? Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to convince me of?
SONG: Yes, but what I mean—
GALLIMARD： And now， I finally believe you， and you tell me it’s not true？ I think you must have some kind of identity problem[28].
SONG: Will you listen to me?
GALLIMARD: Why?! I’ve been listening to you for twenty years.Don’t I deserve a vacation?
SONG: I’m not just any man!
GALLIMARD: Then, what exactly are you?
SONG: Rene, how can you ask—? Okay, what about this?
He picks up Butterfly’s robes, starts to dance around.No music.
GALLIMARD: Yes, that’s very nice.I have to admit.
Song holds out his arm to Gallimard.
SONG: It’s the same skin you’ve worshiped for years.Touch it.
GALLIMARD: Yes, it does feel the same.
SONG: Now—close your eyes.
Song covers Gallimard’s eyes with one hand.With the other, Song draws Gallimard’s hand up to his face.Gallimard, like a blind man, lets his hands run over Song’s face.
GALLIMARD: This skin, I remember.The curve of her face, the softness of her cheek, her hair against the back of my hand ...
SONG: I’m your Butterfly.Under the robes, beneath everything, it was always me.Now, open your eyes and admit it—you adore me.(He removes his hand from Gallimard’s eyes.)
GALLIMARD: You, who knew every inch of my desires—how could you, of all people, have made such a mistake?
SONG: What?
GALLIMARD: You showed me your true self.When all I loved was the lie.A perfect lie, which you let fall to the ground—and now, it’s old and soiled.
SONG: So—you never really loved me? Only when I was playing a part?
GALLIMARD: I’m a man who loved a woman created by a man.Everything else—simply falls short.
Pause.
SONG: What am I supposed to do now?
GALLIMARD: You were a fine spy, Monsieur Song, with an even finer accomplice.But now I believe you should go.Get out of my life!
SONG: Go where? Rene, you can’t live without me.Not after twenty years.
GALLIMARD: I certainly can’t live with you—not after twenty years of betrayal.
SONG: Don’t be so stubborn! Where will you go?
GALLIMARD: I have a date… with my Butterfly.
SONG: So, throw away your pride.And come ...
GALLIMARD: Get away from me! Tonight, I’ve finally learned to tell fantasy from reality.And, knowing the difference, I choose fantasy.
SONG: I’m your fantasy!
GALLIMARD: You? You’re as real as hamburger.Now get out! I have a date with my Butterfly and I don’t want your body polluting the room! (He tosses Song’s suit at him.) Look at these—you dress like a pimp.
SONG： Hey！ These are Armani slacks[29] and—！ （He puts on his briefs and slacks.） Let’s just say ...I’m disappointed in you， Rene.In the crush of your adoration， I thought you’d become something more.More like ...a woman.
But no.Men.You’re like the rest of them.It’s all in the way we dress,and make up our faces, and bat our eyelashes.You really have so little imagination!
GALLIMARD: You, Monsieur Song? Accuse me of too little imagination? You, if anyone, should know—I am pure imagination.And in imagination I will remain.Now get out!
Gallimard bodily removes Song from the stage, taking his kimono.
SONG: Rene! I’ll never put on those robes again! You’ll be sorry!
GALLIMARD (To Song.): I’m already sorry! (Looking at the kimono in his hands.) Exactly as sorry… as a Butterfly.
Scene 3
M.Gallimard’s prison cell.Paris.1988.
GALLIMARD: I’ve played out the events of my life night after night,always searching for a new ending to my story, one where I leave this cell and return forever to my Butterfly’s arms.
Tonight I realize my search is over.That I’ve looked all along in the wrong place.And now, to you, I will prove that my love was not in vain—by returning to the world of fantasy where I first met her.
He picks up the kimono; dancers enter.
GALLIMARD： There is a vision of the Orient that I have.Of slender women in chong sams and kimonos[30] who die for the love of unworthy foreign devils.Who are born and raised to be the perfect women.Who take whatever punishment we give them， and bounce back， strengthened by love， unconditionally.It is a vision that has become my life.
Dancers bring the wash basin to him and help him make up his face.
GALLIMARD: In public, I have continued to deny that Song Liling is a man.This brings me headlines, and is a source of great embarrassment to my French colleagues, who can now be sent into a coughing fit by the mere mention of Chinese food.But alone, in my cell, I have long since faced the truth.
And the truth demands a sacrifice.For mistakes made over the course of a lifetime.My mistakes were simple and absolute—the man I loved was a cad, a bounder.He deserved nothing but a kick in the behind, and instead I gave him ...all my love.
Yes—love.Why not admit it all? That was my undoing, wasn’t it?Love warped my judgment, blinded my eyes, rearranged the very lines on my face ...until I could look in the mirror and see nothing but ...a woman.
Dancers help him put on the Butterfly wig.
GALLIMARD: I have a vision.Of the Orient.That, deep within its almond eyes, there are still women.Women willing to sacrifice themselves for the love of a man.Even a man whose love is completely without worth.
Dancers assist Gallimard in donning the kimono.They hand him a knife.
GALLIMARD： Death with honor is better than life ...life with dishonor.（He sets himself center stage， in a seppuku position[31].） The love of a Butterfly can withstand many things—unfaithfulness， loss， even abandonment.But how can it face the one sin that implies all others？ The devastating knowledge that， underneath it all， the object of her love was nothing more， nothing less than… a man.（He sets the tip of the knife against his body） It is 1988.And I have found her at last.In a prison on the outskirts of Paris.My name is Rene Gallimard—also known as Madame Butterfly.
Gallimard turns upstage and plunges the knife into his body, as music from the “Love Duet” blares over the speakers.He collapses into the arms of the dancers, who lay him reverently on the floor.The image holds for several beats.Then a tight special25 up on Song, who stands as a man,staring at the dead Gallimard.He smokes a cigarette; the smoke filters up through the lights.Two words leave his lips.
SONG: Butterfly? Butterfly?
Smoke rises as lights fade slowly to black.
END OF PLAY