ACT 1

AMBROSE BIERCE sits alone in a darkened room containing an unmade bed, a few wooden chairs and an old dresser holding a bowl of water, a lamp, and a small statuette of the Blessed Virgin entwined with a few dried roses. At the other end, under a mirror, is a table lit by a second lamp; Ambrose's work table, containing a pile of old books, papers, a typewriter and various other items. Upon the books rests a human skull with a dried rose, from the Virgin, through one of its eye sockets. The room is lastly garnished with a closed wooden door and a large two-shutter window through which a glowing full moon and the silhouetted, leafless branches of trees can be seen. He is facing the audience, lighted eerily in a chair at center. A shiny, .45 revolver is in his waistband. He seems in contemplation for several awkward seconds.

AMBROSE I don't give a good goddamn what year it is where you sit. Where I sit it is December, cold and appropriately deathlike. It is the Year Of Our Lord, Nineteen Hundred and Thirteen. Anyone you see up here with me will behave accordingly. I hope this is none too confusing for you. Just sit there, right where you are. I'm in Mexico. Somewhere in Mexico, that's all. My benefactor, Mr. Pancho Villa, has been captured, and will likely hang. And soon therefore will my own life be ended. Very soon I reckon.

Ambrose lifts the revolver into view.

AMBROSE (CONT.) By whose hand, is the only remaining question. You had all best turn your heads when the moment comes, lest you relive it a time or two in fitful dreams of nights hence. I, on the other hand, will only live it once, and even then... won't exactly be living it now, will I.

He rises from the chair, with the lights rising as he does. He paces, with the revolver dangling at his side from his fingers.

AMBROSE (CONT.) Life is the spiritual pickle that keeps the body from decay. We live in daily apprehension of its loss. The question of life's worth the living has been much discussed, mainly by those who think it not to be--who write at great length in support of this cynical position, and by careful observance of the laws of health, for a long term of years enjoy the fruits of a successful controversy.

Life's not worth living, and that's the truth,
Carelessly carolled the golden youth.
In manhood still he maintained that view,
And held it more strongly the older he grew.
When kicked by an ass at eighty-three,
Go fetch me a surgeon at once, said he.

He pulls back the hammer of the pistol.

AMBROSE (CONT.) I will not be crying out for a surgeon. Some call this the coward's way. A coward is one who, in time of perilous emergency, thinks with his legs. I assure you, after the deed is done my legs, along with the rest of this old defiant carcass, will be convincingly stationary.

He positions himself before the mirror. He points the barrel of the gun directly up under his chin.

AMBROSE (CONT.)
(to audience) This here is the part I think you should turn your heads for. Particularly you women. Death, especially self-inflicted, is not what one may call picturesque.

He gazes at his own suicidal visage in the mirror, letting the tension of the moment mount, then back to the audience.

AMBROSE (CONT.) I mean it. You really shouldn't watch this.

Ambrose returns to his suicide. His eyes close in grim rapture. The pressure grows. He breaks the trance and turns again to the audience in disgust. He waves the gun AT THE AUDIENCE!

AMBROSE (CONT.) What are you, a bunch of ghouls? Alright then, I only assume that you who have afforded front row seating can also afford launderers. So be it.

He lifts the gun to place the muzzle into his mouth. He watches himself in the mirror. Tension mounts further. A gaze of resolution forms his brow and he pulls the trigger suddenly. There is only the clack of an empty chamber; the gun is not loaded. Ambrose flinches, then removes the gun and looks at it.

AMBROSE (CONT.) Damn, that hurt even without a bullet. I'll have to ponder this some.

There is a knock at the door. Ambrose is somewhat startled by it, and knows it may be those who come to haul him away. He goes to the door, brandishing the pistol that only he knows is empty.

AMBROSE (CONT.) I have a gun! Who is it!

ESPERANZA
(entering) It is me, Señor Bierce.

ESPERANZA DEL MONTE is the owner of this house. She is petite, raven haired and tan. Though she is not a young woman anymore, there is a fiery spark to her gaze and a fetching beauty that refuses to surrender to age. She is dressed in her nightgown, her shoulders wrapped with a Spanish designed shawl.

AMBROSE
(furious) Esperanza, gawddammit, I was ready to blow your head off.

ESPERANZA Señor Bierce, will you put that damn thing away already! You point that at a Federalé, it's all he needs to put a bullet in your gut. And being a Gringo don't help you this far south.

AMBROSE
(replacing gun in his waistband) If I'm caught I won't have to point anything at them to receive that hot dose of lead poisoning. Just the same, I thank you for the impromptu civics lesson, Madame Butterfly. Now what do you want?

ESPERANZA There are men here to see you.

Ambrose tenses, pulling the gun back out.

AMBROSE How many of them?

ESPERANZA Relax. Two of them. And they are not Federalés. One of them is a priest.

AMBROSE Here to give Old Gringo the last rites, I have no doubt. Thank you for your magnanimous sentiment, but I--

ESPERANZA I didn't send for them. They are both gringos, like you. The priest told me to tell you something, that Betty is here to get you. He said you would know what it means.

AMBROSE
(sobered, lowering pistol) I do know what that means. And that priest is no priest.

ESPERANZA He is dressed as a priest.

AMBROSE
(replacing gun in waistband) He's a Baptist Reverend.

ESPERANZA What's the difference?

AMBROSE There is a distinct difference, Esperanza, between anything espousing holy religion, and a Baptist.

ESPERANZA You want I should send them away?

AMBROSE They won't go away. May as well show them in so we can get this overwith.

ESPERANZA
(exiting peevishly) Okay, Señor Bierce. I bring them.

AMBROSE
(to Esperanza's back, then the audience) You do that. My friends, you are about to meet someone very dear to me indeed. The priest you just heard reference to, is my cousin Albert, whom as a child I nicknamed 'Betty' after the countenance of his swirling, shoulder-length auburn locks, of which my Aunt--his mother--was awestruck and therefore refused ever to cut, and in fact brushed and groomed and curled with great personal delight, to my Uncle Lucius's seething consternation, my embarrassment and Albert's seeming indifference. Even after neighbors were regularly mistaking him for my sister, despite his parents having never produced any female children, Aunt would not relent. Albert endured endless torment rendered throughout his childhood by various schoolyard ruffians, and once the school's headmaster pulled me into the shed and demanded to know what kind of foulhearted young man could watch his own sister so daily accosted and not rush to her defense. I quickly informed him that not only was that little fairy not my sister, but my male kin, and I was in fact the chief accoster. Finally, on the eve of his graduation from grammar school, did Albert in a blinding rush of anger and finality take his grandmother's sewing shears into the basement with him, and emerge minutes later looking like a fuzzy bruised doorknob with ears. Doubly shocking a sight was he to the rest of the family, for we had forgotten what those prodigiously elephantine appendages looked like. But I have never forgotten my Aunt's tears of betrayal as she swept Albert's shorn tresses from the basement floor. She carefully preserved a choice lock in her rosewood jewelry box, but never forgave him. He never apologized. But it could be said that his lasting guilt drove him to the cloth.

Esperanza leads in ALBERT BIERCE VUROS, dressed in a darkly conservative hat and coat, with a silver crucifix dangling by a chain from his watch pocket. With them is another man, WILLIAM BRAND, dressed in a finely tailored business suit appropriate to the period, with a cigar butt held firmly in his mouth. Both men wear boots, caked with dried mud, over the cuffs of their suitpants. They remove their hats and place them on the wallpegs.

ESPERANZA Here he is. Here they are, Señor Bierce.

ALBERT Ambrose.

AMBROSE Betty Albert. And William H. S. Brand, Esquire and Pundit, as I live and breathe.

BRAND Hello Ambrose.

AMBROSE Madame Butterfly I would like to make your acquaintance with my cousin, the priest. Albert Bierce Vuros... Esperanza Del Monte, my beloved hostess and yours.

ALBERT
(taking Esperanza's hand politely) Pleased, Miss.

ESPERANZA
(glumly) How do you do.

AMBROSE Madame Butterfly, you're looking at the only Calvinist this side of the Rio Grande. I assure you, that is not a misplaced coat hanger up his shirt, but all him. Cousin, did you cross the river by boat, mule, or did the waters part with a wave of your staff and a solemn gaze to on-high?

ALBERT I was at least hoping that impending doom breathing down your collar would prove a sobering influence. I should've known better.

AMBROSE As if you haven't preached my impending doom for the past twenty years, usually behind my back. And Esperanza, this is William Brand, erudite master of the fickle pen, I assume still waving the banner of the esteemed San Francisco Examiner; Mr. W.R. Hearst's intrepid war correspondent who has never beheld a drop of blood he couldn't faint at. How are the paper cuts mending, Bill?

BRAND Shut up. Still the same old foulmouthed muleskinner masquerading as a journalist, I see. Still the Ambassador to the Slaughterhouse whenever a sacred cow is present. Mr. Hearst wants you to give up this foolishness about Pancho Villa and come home before the Mexican government sends a posse to kill you.

AMBROSE This foulmouthed muleskinner can still write circles around you, you old desk hugging, bow-tied cockscomb. And if what I've heard is correct, the posse is presently en route. Of course, they could mistake you for me under the right circumstances.

BRAND
(turning his back on Ambrose, removing a folded document from his vest pocket) I have a signed travel visa from His Excellence, General Victoriano Huerta. Mr. Hearst is not without influence.

AMBROSE
(suddenly enraged) Neither am I at the moment.

Ambrose again cocks the pistol, and brandishes it at Brand, who turns around just in time to see the muzzle pointed at him. All three; Brand, Albert and Esperanza are terrified at this sudden action.

ESPERANZA
(enraged) Ei yi yi!

AMBROSE (CONT.) I'll bet you led them right to me, didn't you, Bill.

ALBERT Put that down, Ambrose, no one followed us!

ESPERANZA Put the gun down please, Señor Bierce.

AMBROSE William, I've never actually held any personal grudge or ill will against you, save for the enigma of your combined lofty position and lackluster talent; but suddenly I feel perfectly within my rights to shoot you dead.

ALBERT Give me the gun, Ambrose.

BRAND Shoot me dead and I'll see you hang!

AMBROSE Come again, Bill?

BRAND I said shoot me dead and I'll see you... damn it, you know what I mean! Put the gun down!

ALBERT Give it here! Now!

AMBROSE No need to quiver, gentlemen. I'll put it down. Soon as I feel safe there's nobody else out there.

ALBERT We weren't followed here, Ambrose. You may not trust Mr. Brand, but you have to trust me. Would I do that to my own kin?

ESPERANZA There is no one else outside, Señor Bierce, but I will go check again if you will just put that damn gun away.

AMBROSE Alright. Well, get going.

ESPERANZA
(exiting) (Goes out cussing in Spanish.)

Ambrose still does not lower the gun, but holds it on the two men, lowering himself casually into his chair.

BRAND I thought you were going to put it down.

AMBROSE In due time, Bill. In due time.

ALBERT Ambrose this is ridiculous, don't you think?

AMBROSE
(to Albert, then Brand) No. In my position it is not, dear cousin. Answer me something; why would General Huerta grant a free visa to a Yankee newsman, and not keep track of every step he made?

BRAND I am Hearst's war correspondent, Ambrose.

AMBROSE Sent to serve up some favorable press south of the border for His Excellence, with Hearst's approval. Right?

BRAND Yes, that. But sent also to find you. At Hearst's insistence, and unbeknownst to Huerta.

AMBROSE It's amazing Hearst got you to step out into the daylight. How much did he have to stuff into your pockets? Or did he threaten to drive a stake through your heart?

BRAND Actually, I volunteered.

AMBROSE Hoping all you'd have to do is identify a body, stick a tag on a pine box and wave so-long to a northbound steamer. So sorry to encumber you, Bill.

ALBERT Quiet, the two of you. This is as tiresome as it is pointless. Ambrose you have to come with us, now.

AMBROSE Cousin, now that I see the company you keep, I think I'll take my chances with the lynching party due to arrive soon.

ALBERT That's nonsense.

Esperanza re-enters, carrying a bottle and enough cups for the four of them.

ESPERANZA Señor Bierce, there is no one out there except my two horses, their two horses and your mule. And I think the cat came back; some of its food's been eaten.

AMBROSE
(rising) Are you sure you didn't see anything... peculiar out there?

ESPERANZA I mentioned your MULE, didn't I? Look, the trees are too thin to hide behind, unless General Huerta is enlisting garden snakes...

ALBERT There, are you satisfied?

ESPERANZA
(handing out the cups) I'm pouring us some sangria, and you don't get any unless you stop waving that stupid gun around, Señor. You wake my girls again and I drag you to Huerta myself.

Ambrose's arm sags slightly but the gun stays up. Esperanza begins pouring the sangria wine.

AMBROSE How'd you two find me anyway?

ALBERT Your presence here isn't exactly a secret, Ambrose. I had only to ask a few of the locals until I pinpointed you.

BRAND That's why he's nervous.

Ambrose thrusts the gun menacingly at Brand, making him back up. Esperanza comes to give Ambrose a cup, but sees he is still holding the gun.

ESPERANZA No Señor. You put that down.

Ambrose tries to accept the cup with his free hand, but Esperanza pulls the cup away. He finally, grudgingly, uncocks the gun and plops it into the chair, accepting the cup of wine. Albert makes a grab for the gun.

ALBERT Good, I'll take that.

AMBROSE
(stopping Albert) It stays where it is, or I'll take charge of it again. I will endeavor to be civil, gentlemen. But I won't promise to be cooperative.

Esperanza looks at the gun as if to try taking it herself. Ambrose's stare wards her away from it.

AMBROSE (CONT.) I admit I am a bit puzzled how the disparate likes of you two came to join forces.

BRAND Now, now, Ambrose; I've known your cousin almost as long as I've known you. We ran into each other at a livery stable a few miles north.

ALBERT Naturally we each wondered why the other was in Mexico, given the violent atmosphere that presently grips this region. When we discovered that we shared our mission--to locate you--we decided to partner up.

BRAND We come to fetch you outta this murder hole, Ambrose. Anyone connected to Villa right now is as good as hung, unless one of Huerta's snipers finds him first.

AMBROSE You two are an unlikely pair for all but one shared quality. I can't think of one good reason that either of you should be heartfelt to see my life spared.

ALBERT You are my cousin, Ambrose, my brother, both by flesh and blood, and in the eyes of the Almighty. Did I risk life and limb coming here only to be insulted? As I said, not even impending death has altered your disposition.

Albert sips his wine.

AMBROSE I see it has yours. I thought you were a teetotaller, cousin.

ALBERT The Good Book tells us only not to be drunk with wine. I have no intention of creating a stupor.

AMBROSE But only to keep that yellow streak from soaking through the back of your coat. On the contrary, gentlemen, drink up. You too, Madame Butterfly. Wine is God's second greatest gift to man, next to the pulchritudinous bearer of his offspring. In fact, in time, he may not fully come to appreciate the first, without the second.

ESPERANZA NOW I think I was just insulted.

ALBERT Ambrose I will not make light of the situation simply because we've had drinks placed in our hands. You must leave with me, preferably before sunrise if not at once.

BRAND Listen to him, Ambrose. You're no good to anybody here.

AMBROSE Gentlemen, your gallantry warms my blood.

ALBERT Ambrose, you are near seventy. You have lived your whole life in death's face, defying it, mocking it. Don't you think it's time to rest? Time to spend your remaining years in the comforting presence of family and friends, relishing your life and accomplishments from the safety of hindsight?

AMBROSE Go home to die of old age, a sickly old trembling mule, tied to the same old fencepost. I've always considered home to be a place of last resort, cousin. Nothing more. I'd rather face the Old Reaper here toe to toe with a fire in my eye, than at home on a sweat-soaked deathbed with a fluttering heart, being poked and prodded by some gin-breathed horsedoctor. There is, however, one service you can render me before you depart.

Ambrose goes over to his work table and retrieves a somewhat sloppily bound stack of typewritten material. He hands it to Brand.

AMBROSE (CONT.) Give this to Hearst. You can even share the by-line, Bill. I won't be around to lodge a protest over it.

BRAND
(reading the coverpage, turning into a laugh) Mexico's Cry For Freedom... the truth behind the propaganda against the Robin Hood of the Plains.

AMBROSE
(incensed) The fully chronicled exploits of one Pancho Villa, up to and including his capture by the forces of the dictatorial General Victoriano Huerta.

BRAND
(tossing the manuscript back at Ambrose) I will not take this to Hearst.

AMBROSE Yes you will. This revolution happens to be as newsworthy as anything occurring in the Western Hemisphere, Mr. War Correspondent. Pancho Villa is the nexus of it. And I intend to stick with it till the last flag is flown.

BRAND And one of those flags will be a noose around your neck! Ambrose, nobody north of the border cares about these damned Mexicans killing each other.

ESPERANZA Hijo de puta.

ALBERT Please, sir. A man's race is not the mantel of his worth as a human being. In the Almighty's eyes, there is none greater nor lesser--we are all equals.

BRAND Pardon my coarseness, Reverend. My apologies, Ma'am. But I was referring to Mr. Bierce's cockeyed loyalty to a cause that neither requested his participation, nor embraces it now. Ambrose, Pancho Villa's finished. He's a petty bandit, a terrorist, caught and sentenced to hang. Will you piss your life away on the likes of him?

AMBROSE That petty bandit is a revolutionary, and though rough hewn and full of grit; a hero to Mexico's oppressed. I suppose you'd have given up on General Washington outnumbered on Manhattan Island; right and wrong be damned. And let us not forget that our precious Saviour paid the cost between two such petty bandits--that was your line, cousin, I think you better abstain from any more "demon drink."

Ambrose takes Albert's wine and defiantly pours it into his own cup, to the amazement of the others. He hands the empty cup back to Albert.

ALBERT
(enraged) I have made this perilous journey in vain. To not only throw yourself to the wolves in the name of this empty selfishness you've labeled a noble journalistic rite, but to push away your own kin to do it. They told me you had gone crazy, Ambrose. I should've listened.

AMBROSE Who is they?

BRAND All of 'em.

AMBROSE Are you saying I am without an ally, even at the publication for which I did my best work?

BRAND You're certainly without one here, Ambrose. Your cousin and I are as good as it gets, and you'd better take advantage of it, if you want to see another sunrise after tomorrow.

AMBROSE What does London think?

ALBERT I had no idea your work was known abroad.

AMBROSE Not London, England. London as in Jack!

BRAND Mr. Jack London is just as crazy as you are, in my humble opinion. And you'll be happy to know that I am retiring come January, and he will be assuming this very position.

AMBROSE He's coming here? London, a War Correspondent to Mexico?

BRAND He thinks it's possible the U.S. will somehow become militarily involved in this messy little provincial squabble... a position I do not share... however, should it come to pass, I want no part of it. I remember San Juan Hill fifteen years ago; that was enough for this old pen pusher.

AMBROSE Intrepid journalist that you are...

BRAND My allergies.

AMBROSE Specifically to loud noises and flying corpses.

BRAND In my stead, Mr. London, the Boy Wonder, has jumped at the chance to cover the Mexican trenches, and cook up some flowery prose about the romantic struggle for liberty south of the border. I am more than sure Mr. Hearst will be among his chief subscribers.

AMBROSE I'll bet it's just an excuse to sail his yawl around the horn, but the copy that results will be second to none. Perhaps I should try to meet him.

ALBERT In order to do that you must survive the night. Please, Ambrose, come. You can deliver your writings to Mr. Hearst personally in San Francisco, and perhaps sail with Mr. London, if you must return.

BRAND I, unlike your cousin, am perfectly willing to leave you here. If you wish. I'll tell them I found an insufferable madman. Alive, but mad. They'll believe me, too. It won't be that much a stretch of the truth.

Brand gulps the last of his wine and places the cup down haphazardly.

BRAND (CONT.) Stay right here, Ambrose. Write your poetic biography of a peasant bandit. Even catch a bullet for him, if that's your desire.

Brand retrieves his hat as he begins his exit.

BRAND (CONT.) Albert, I have no idea why this cantankerous old fart refers to you by the effeminate moniker of Betty, and I'm sure I don't care to find out; but since you're kin, I'm sure you won't mind if I take my leave, as I have done what I came to do. Ambrose, if you should come to your senses, say, within the next hour, the padre here knows the farm back up the road where I'll be briefly encamped. I suggest you follow him. Good night, gentlemen. Madam.

Brand flamboyantly takes Esperanza's hand and kisses it with a mischievous chuckle.

AMBROSE Keep the coffin lid shut tight, and don't let the sunlight touch you.

Brand exits, still laughing. Esperanza slams the door after him.

AMBROSE (CONT.)
(to Albert) Does the nightmare end or do you plan to stay?

ALBERT I will not leave without you, cousin.

AMBROSE Two can hang as well as one, I suppose. I'm just glad mother isn't alive to hear about it.

ESPERANZA
(begins to exit) Good. You can sit up with him. And I can get some sleep.

ALBERT Madame, pardon me, but it has crossed my mind--aren't you a bit casual considering the situation at hand?

ESPERANZA How do you mean?

ALBERT My cousin staying here in your abode--I would think that, well, harboring a Villa sympathizer would place you in danger as well. Indeed, perhaps you should consider joining us? Plus I heard you refer to children sleeping in the other room--?

ESPERANZA I said girls. Not children. And I will stay right here and be fine, señor.

AMBROSE
(chuckling mischievously) There are two individuals upon whom in time of war, the gun is aimed with great trepidation and ultimately withdrawn; by soldiers on both sides fearing they might destroy a source of fleeting future comfort; clergymen such as yourself, and purveyors of the more carnal side of inspiration such as Madame Butterfly here.

ALBERT
(wide-eyed at Esperanza) Do you inform me that I am in the presence of a... a lady of the evening?

Esperanza casts a knowing grin at Albert, seething her satisfaction at his discomfort.

AMBROSE If you had turned right instead of left in that front room, you'd be in the presence of sixteen of 'em.

ALBERT This... this house is a bordello?

ESPERANZA
(flirtatious) So fancy, I love the way you speak, Señor Albert. What was that word again?

AMBROSE Bordello. It means the same thing, Madame. It's alright, dear cousin, in this province of the country, 'hoorhouse' is quite commonly acceptable.

Albert is mortified, outraged, fuming.

ESPERANZA Can I pour you another wine before I go to bed, Señor?

AMBROSE I will have another, Madame Butterfly, and please pour my cousin a second helping as I fear he may be feeling a chill coming on.

ALBERT I will not have any more wine, thank you. Ambrose why was I not forewarned this was a house of sin!

AMBROSE Didn't Brand tell you? He can find a cathouse blindfolded. Come to think of it, he's been seen coming out of a few blindfolded.

ALBERT A den of lust. I suppose you've had your way with a few of Ms. Esperanza's 'escorts' in the time you've been here.

ESPERANZA Actually, no he hasn't. He spends all his time typing; all night long, typing.

AMBROSE Now if you had a little wench whose father was named Smith and mother Corona, and who could spell, you might have emptied my pockets by now Madame Butterfly.

ESPERANZA
(sarcasm) That joke is still too funny, Señor. You came here with empty pockets, remember?

AMBROSE Mm-hmm. You see cousin dear, I have not soiled the family's good name. Besides, as you so accurately stated, I'm quite too old to be doing anything more strenuous than drooling.

ALBERT A house of prostitution, Ambrose. A veritable home away from home I'm sure. And all you've done is type?

AMBROSE A seventy-year old man with little cash in a surrounding such as this, might as well take up writing a novel.

ALBERT Your being here, I suppose, was Mr. Villa's doing.

AMBROSE Like I said, preachers and whores are revered in war. This inconspicuous pit of passion is as neutral ground as a church.

Act 1 Continued | Back to Start Page