the man born blind
I've finished a ten-minute play adaptation of a short story, "The Man Born Blind," if you'd like to read it.
The Man Born Blind
by Vi Nhan H. Tran
BASED UPON A SHORT STORY BY C.S. LEWIS. THIS ADAPTATION WAS CREATED FOR THEATRE 862: WORKSHOP IN PLAYWRITING AND IS NOT ENDORSED BY THE LEWIS ESTATE; IT IS MEANT FOR PRIVATE AND NON-COMMERCIAL USE ONLY.
ROBIN . . . . . male, 37
MARY . . . . . female, 34
MAN . . . . . . male, early thirties
(Lights are dim. Two armchairs, a table and a bookcase. ROBIN enters. He is in his pajamas. He crosses to a bookcase and begins running his hands across the books. He hears a noise offstage and crosses to an armchair, sits. MARY enters. She is also in her pajamas.)
MARY. Robin? Robin. It’s almost eleven, dear. You want to be nice and fresh for your first walk tomorrow, don’t you?
ROBIN. Yes, I know. But I can’t sleep. I keep thinking, there’ll be light out there… there’ll be light when we go for our walk.
MARY. What do you mean, sweetheart? Do you mean it will be lighter outdoors? (A beat.) Well, I guess it will be. But, honey, I always think this is very light house, don’t you? Why, when the curtains are drawn in this room--it’s had sun on it all day. You know how it gets in there by afternoon.
ROBIN. The sun makes it… hot?
MARY. What are you talking about?
ROBIN. Now, dear, please don’t use that schoolteacher voice with me. I mean… Mary, there’s a thing I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since I came back from the hospital.
MARY. Well, what is it?
ROBIN. (standing) I know it’ll sound silly to you. But then it’s different for me. As soon as I knew I had a chance of getting my sight, of course I looked forward. The last thing I thought before the operation was “light.” Then after all those days afterwards, waiting till they took the bandages off--
MARY. Of course, darling. That was only natural.
ROBIN. Then, then, why don’t I… I mean, where is the light?
MARY. Why don’t we go to bed, Robin? If this is all that big a deal, can’t we talk about it in the morning? You know you’re tired now.
ROBIN. No. I’ve got to know. You’ve got to tell me about light. Jesus, don’t you want me to know?
(A short pause. MARY leads ROBIN back to his chair. She sits down across from him.)
MARY. Fine, Robin. Just ask me whatever you want. There’s nothing to be worried about--is there?
ROBIN. Okay, then. First things, first. There’s light in this room?
MARY. Well, of course there is.
ROBIN. Then where is it?
MARY. Why, it’s all around us.
ROBIN. Can you see it?
MARY. Yes.
ROBIN. Then why can’t I?
MARY. Robin, you can. Honey, you’re being impossible. You can see me, can’t you, and the fireplace, and the coffee table and everything?
ROBIN. Are those light? Is that all it means? Is the fireplace light? Is the table light?
MARY. Oh! Okay, I see. No. Of course not. (She crosses to the light switch and turns it on. The room is flooded with light. She points to the light bulb.) That’s the light.
(A short pause.)
ROBIN. If that’s light, why did you tell me the light was all around us?
MARY. I mean, that’s what gives off light. The light comes from there.
ROBIN. Then where is the light itself? (MARY is at a loss for something to say. ROBIN stands.) You see, you won’t say where it is! No one will tell me! You tell me the light’s here or the light’s there, and this is in the light and that’s in the light, and yesterday you told me I was your light, and now you say that light is just some yellow wire in a glass bulb that hangs from our ceiling? Call that light? Is that what Milton was talking about?
(A beat.)
ROBIN. Come on, honey, why are you crying? Mary, hon, if you don’t know what light is, then why can’t you just say so? (ROBIN sits down again.) If the operation’s been a failure and I can’t see correctly after all, tell me. And if there’s no such thing--if it was all just some fairy tale from the beginning--tell me. But for God’s sake--
MARY. Robin!
ROBIN. I mean, I’ve been blind my entire life. If the surgery didn’t work, then I’m still blind and that’s fine, just tell me.
MARY. Robin! Don’t. Don’t go on like that.
ROBIN. Go on like what? (MARY begins to sob quietly) Oh… oh, it’s alright, sweetheart. Please don’t cry. Come now, don’t sob like that. I’m so sorry.
(ROBIN stands and looks up at the light bulb, turning in circles slowly.)
ROBIN. Let me… see. (A beat.) Yes. Yes, it’s… lovely. All lovely.
(MARY crosses to him.)
MARY. Do you understand?
ROBIN. (nodding) I think I do.
MARY. I want you to see the light just as much as you do.
ROBIN. (taking her hand) Just let me drink it in.
MARY. Let’s go to bed.
ROBIN. (patting her hand) Go on in. I want to stay here a moment.
(MARY holds onto ROBIN for a moment, then exits. ROBIN waits a moment, looks to see that she is gone, and crosses to the light switch. He looks up at the light bulb for moment then turns it off. Stage returns to dim lighting.)
ROBIN. (closing his eyes) Ah. That’s better.
(ROBIN exits. Sounds of dishes clinking. After a moment, ROBIN returns with a plate of food, a fork and a knife. He sets them on the table, sits, and proceeds to eat. His eyes remain shut. In between bites, he speaks.)
ROBIN. A blind man has few friends. A blind man who has recently received his sight… has none. I don’t belong to the world of the blind and I don’t belong to the world of the seeing. Mary. I can’t talk to her about my problem with light anymore. I can’t mention it to anyone, they’ll just think I’m crazy. They won’t tell me. I know if I point at all the things I’m curious about… if I were to say, “Is this light, or is that light?” they’ll just say, “No. That’s green, or blue, or yellow, or the grass, or a tree, or a car.”
(ROBIN’s eyes are still closed. He sets his fork and knife down, stands, and crosses to the bookcase. Running his hands across worn volumes of Braille books, he finds the one he wants, picks it up and takes it back to the table with him. He resumes eating with his left hand and begins reading the Braille book with his right hand.)
Ah, that’s more like it. They told me that I learned to read by sight very quickly, but it will never be like the real thing. W-A-T-E-R can be spelled out, but never, never will those black marks be wedded to their meaning as in Braille, where the very shape of the characters communicate an instantaneous sense of liquidity to my fingertips.
(He closes the book and sets his utensil down.)
That was the first meal I’ve really enjoyed since recovering my sight.
(Lights out on ROBIN. A scene change occurs and lights come back up. It is early the next morning. The air is foggy and the stage resembles a park. The park overlooks an abandoned quarry and there is a short, metal guardrail all along the cliff edge, downstage. There may also a few small trees scattered across the stage. There is a bench upstage. Enter ROBIN and MARY. ROBIN might be wearing a dress shirt and slacks underneath a black wool overcoat. MARY could be in a simple, pretty dress. Both of them have on comfortable walking shoes and MARY is carrying an umbrella, in case of rain. ROBIN stops to catch his breath.)
MARY. Well, look who’s tired already? Come on, lazy bear! I told you to get some rest last night. Now, here we are, on your first walk and you’re already exhausted.
ROBIN. Let me, let me catch my breath.
(He crosses to the bench, sits.)
MARY. (laughing) Are you having fun?
ROBIN. Yes. Yes, I am.
(MARY crosses downstage and rests her hands on the guardrail.)
MARY. (smiling) Come here. Come enjoy this view with me.
(ROBIN remains sitting, watching MARY.)
MARY. (Over her shoulder to ROBIN.) What a lovely light that is, on those hills over there.
ROBIN. Is there? (He sighs softly.)
(A MAN enters on the far side of the stage. He is carrying an easel and a bag full of his brushes and paints. He stops almost immediately upon entering and begins to work on his canvas. ROBIN speaks softly to himself.)
ROBIN. It seemed like some great rumor. Something that only the great poets or old prophets knew about. Like it was guarded in some deep woods or divided by some distant seas. Light might actually exist in a place like that, springing up like a fountain or growing like a flower.
(MARY overhears him, cross to the bench, and sits)
MARY. Don’t let it get to you, sweetheart. It’s all so much simpler than that.
ROBIN. (Takes her hand and squeezes it.) I can still hope.
(The MAN at the edge of the stage begins singing softly to himself. ROBIN notices and crosses to him.)
ROBIN. What are those? (Pointing at the brush in the man’s hand, and at the canvas.) What are you doing?
MAN. (staring at ROBIN and shielding his canvas as if he were trying to guard it.) Doing? Doing? I’m trying to catch the light, if you’re so damn interested.
ROBIN. (He smiles excitedly, makes sure he is out of earshot of MARY, and whispers.) So am I!
MAN. Oh… you know too, huh? (chuckling softly.) They’re all fools. How many of them would come out to paint on a day like this, huh? How many of them would recognize it if you put it right between their eyes? If they weren’t so damn near-sighted, they’d open up their eyes! See that this is the only kind of day in the whole world when you can really see light. Solid light, that you could drink in a cup or bath in! Look at it!
(The MAN grabs ROBIN roughly by the arm and points down into the quarry.)
MAN. Do you see that? The fog, in a death-grip with the sun, but you can’t see a stone on the quarry floor, not yet! The bath of vapor, shining like white metal. Unfolding itself over and over again in blossoming spirals, heading right at us! Do you see that? There’s light for you if you like it!
(A pause, then suddenly-ROBIN climbs upon the guardrail. He faces the audience, standing balanced upon it, with his arms outstretched. He looks down into the quarry, an amazed expression on his face. MARY and the MAN both run towards ROBIN and reach for him. Lights go out. In the darkness:)
MAN. Are you crazy-what are you doing?
MARY. Robin! Robin, what on earth?
(There is a soft thud and the scattering of a few loosened stones. Lights come back up. MARY and the MAN still stand there, frozen, reaching out towards where ROBIN had been, but ROBIN is gone. Lights out. Curtain.)
The Man Born Blind
by Vi Nhan H. Tran
BASED UPON A SHORT STORY BY C.S. LEWIS. THIS ADAPTATION WAS CREATED FOR THEATRE 862: WORKSHOP IN PLAYWRITING AND IS NOT ENDORSED BY THE LEWIS ESTATE; IT IS MEANT FOR PRIVATE AND NON-COMMERCIAL USE ONLY.
ROBIN . . . . . male, 37
MARY . . . . . female, 34
MAN . . . . . . male, early thirties
(Lights are dim. Two armchairs, a table and a bookcase. ROBIN enters. He is in his pajamas. He crosses to a bookcase and begins running his hands across the books. He hears a noise offstage and crosses to an armchair, sits. MARY enters. She is also in her pajamas.)
MARY. Robin? Robin. It’s almost eleven, dear. You want to be nice and fresh for your first walk tomorrow, don’t you?
ROBIN. Yes, I know. But I can’t sleep. I keep thinking, there’ll be light out there… there’ll be light when we go for our walk.
MARY. What do you mean, sweetheart? Do you mean it will be lighter outdoors? (A beat.) Well, I guess it will be. But, honey, I always think this is very light house, don’t you? Why, when the curtains are drawn in this room--it’s had sun on it all day. You know how it gets in there by afternoon.
ROBIN. The sun makes it… hot?
MARY. What are you talking about?
ROBIN. Now, dear, please don’t use that schoolteacher voice with me. I mean… Mary, there’s a thing I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since I came back from the hospital.
MARY. Well, what is it?
ROBIN. (standing) I know it’ll sound silly to you. But then it’s different for me. As soon as I knew I had a chance of getting my sight, of course I looked forward. The last thing I thought before the operation was “light.” Then after all those days afterwards, waiting till they took the bandages off--
MARY. Of course, darling. That was only natural.
ROBIN. Then, then, why don’t I… I mean, where is the light?
MARY. Why don’t we go to bed, Robin? If this is all that big a deal, can’t we talk about it in the morning? You know you’re tired now.
ROBIN. No. I’ve got to know. You’ve got to tell me about light. Jesus, don’t you want me to know?
(A short pause. MARY leads ROBIN back to his chair. She sits down across from him.)
MARY. Fine, Robin. Just ask me whatever you want. There’s nothing to be worried about--is there?
ROBIN. Okay, then. First things, first. There’s light in this room?
MARY. Well, of course there is.
ROBIN. Then where is it?
MARY. Why, it’s all around us.
ROBIN. Can you see it?
MARY. Yes.
ROBIN. Then why can’t I?
MARY. Robin, you can. Honey, you’re being impossible. You can see me, can’t you, and the fireplace, and the coffee table and everything?
ROBIN. Are those light? Is that all it means? Is the fireplace light? Is the table light?
MARY. Oh! Okay, I see. No. Of course not. (She crosses to the light switch and turns it on. The room is flooded with light. She points to the light bulb.) That’s the light.
(A short pause.)
ROBIN. If that’s light, why did you tell me the light was all around us?
MARY. I mean, that’s what gives off light. The light comes from there.
ROBIN. Then where is the light itself? (MARY is at a loss for something to say. ROBIN stands.) You see, you won’t say where it is! No one will tell me! You tell me the light’s here or the light’s there, and this is in the light and that’s in the light, and yesterday you told me I was your light, and now you say that light is just some yellow wire in a glass bulb that hangs from our ceiling? Call that light? Is that what Milton was talking about?
(A beat.)
ROBIN. Come on, honey, why are you crying? Mary, hon, if you don’t know what light is, then why can’t you just say so? (ROBIN sits down again.) If the operation’s been a failure and I can’t see correctly after all, tell me. And if there’s no such thing--if it was all just some fairy tale from the beginning--tell me. But for God’s sake--
MARY. Robin!
ROBIN. I mean, I’ve been blind my entire life. If the surgery didn’t work, then I’m still blind and that’s fine, just tell me.
MARY. Robin! Don’t. Don’t go on like that.
ROBIN. Go on like what? (MARY begins to sob quietly) Oh… oh, it’s alright, sweetheart. Please don’t cry. Come now, don’t sob like that. I’m so sorry.
(ROBIN stands and looks up at the light bulb, turning in circles slowly.)
ROBIN. Let me… see. (A beat.) Yes. Yes, it’s… lovely. All lovely.
(MARY crosses to him.)
MARY. Do you understand?
ROBIN. (nodding) I think I do.
MARY. I want you to see the light just as much as you do.
ROBIN. (taking her hand) Just let me drink it in.
MARY. Let’s go to bed.
ROBIN. (patting her hand) Go on in. I want to stay here a moment.
(MARY holds onto ROBIN for a moment, then exits. ROBIN waits a moment, looks to see that she is gone, and crosses to the light switch. He looks up at the light bulb for moment then turns it off. Stage returns to dim lighting.)
ROBIN. (closing his eyes) Ah. That’s better.
(ROBIN exits. Sounds of dishes clinking. After a moment, ROBIN returns with a plate of food, a fork and a knife. He sets them on the table, sits, and proceeds to eat. His eyes remain shut. In between bites, he speaks.)
ROBIN. A blind man has few friends. A blind man who has recently received his sight… has none. I don’t belong to the world of the blind and I don’t belong to the world of the seeing. Mary. I can’t talk to her about my problem with light anymore. I can’t mention it to anyone, they’ll just think I’m crazy. They won’t tell me. I know if I point at all the things I’m curious about… if I were to say, “Is this light, or is that light?” they’ll just say, “No. That’s green, or blue, or yellow, or the grass, or a tree, or a car.”
(ROBIN’s eyes are still closed. He sets his fork and knife down, stands, and crosses to the bookcase. Running his hands across worn volumes of Braille books, he finds the one he wants, picks it up and takes it back to the table with him. He resumes eating with his left hand and begins reading the Braille book with his right hand.)
Ah, that’s more like it. They told me that I learned to read by sight very quickly, but it will never be like the real thing. W-A-T-E-R can be spelled out, but never, never will those black marks be wedded to their meaning as in Braille, where the very shape of the characters communicate an instantaneous sense of liquidity to my fingertips.
(He closes the book and sets his utensil down.)
That was the first meal I’ve really enjoyed since recovering my sight.
(Lights out on ROBIN. A scene change occurs and lights come back up. It is early the next morning. The air is foggy and the stage resembles a park. The park overlooks an abandoned quarry and there is a short, metal guardrail all along the cliff edge, downstage. There may also a few small trees scattered across the stage. There is a bench upstage. Enter ROBIN and MARY. ROBIN might be wearing a dress shirt and slacks underneath a black wool overcoat. MARY could be in a simple, pretty dress. Both of them have on comfortable walking shoes and MARY is carrying an umbrella, in case of rain. ROBIN stops to catch his breath.)
MARY. Well, look who’s tired already? Come on, lazy bear! I told you to get some rest last night. Now, here we are, on your first walk and you’re already exhausted.
ROBIN. Let me, let me catch my breath.
(He crosses to the bench, sits.)
MARY. (laughing) Are you having fun?
ROBIN. Yes. Yes, I am.
(MARY crosses downstage and rests her hands on the guardrail.)
MARY. (smiling) Come here. Come enjoy this view with me.
(ROBIN remains sitting, watching MARY.)
MARY. (Over her shoulder to ROBIN.) What a lovely light that is, on those hills over there.
ROBIN. Is there? (He sighs softly.)
(A MAN enters on the far side of the stage. He is carrying an easel and a bag full of his brushes and paints. He stops almost immediately upon entering and begins to work on his canvas. ROBIN speaks softly to himself.)
ROBIN. It seemed like some great rumor. Something that only the great poets or old prophets knew about. Like it was guarded in some deep woods or divided by some distant seas. Light might actually exist in a place like that, springing up like a fountain or growing like a flower.
(MARY overhears him, cross to the bench, and sits)
MARY. Don’t let it get to you, sweetheart. It’s all so much simpler than that.
ROBIN. (Takes her hand and squeezes it.) I can still hope.
(The MAN at the edge of the stage begins singing softly to himself. ROBIN notices and crosses to him.)
ROBIN. What are those? (Pointing at the brush in the man’s hand, and at the canvas.) What are you doing?
MAN. (staring at ROBIN and shielding his canvas as if he were trying to guard it.) Doing? Doing? I’m trying to catch the light, if you’re so damn interested.
ROBIN. (He smiles excitedly, makes sure he is out of earshot of MARY, and whispers.) So am I!
MAN. Oh… you know too, huh? (chuckling softly.) They’re all fools. How many of them would come out to paint on a day like this, huh? How many of them would recognize it if you put it right between their eyes? If they weren’t so damn near-sighted, they’d open up their eyes! See that this is the only kind of day in the whole world when you can really see light. Solid light, that you could drink in a cup or bath in! Look at it!
(The MAN grabs ROBIN roughly by the arm and points down into the quarry.)
MAN. Do you see that? The fog, in a death-grip with the sun, but you can’t see a stone on the quarry floor, not yet! The bath of vapor, shining like white metal. Unfolding itself over and over again in blossoming spirals, heading right at us! Do you see that? There’s light for you if you like it!
(A pause, then suddenly-ROBIN climbs upon the guardrail. He faces the audience, standing balanced upon it, with his arms outstretched. He looks down into the quarry, an amazed expression on his face. MARY and the MAN both run towards ROBIN and reach for him. Lights go out. In the darkness:)
MAN. Are you crazy-what are you doing?
MARY. Robin! Robin, what on earth?
(There is a soft thud and the scattering of a few loosened stones. Lights come back up. MARY and the MAN still stand there, frozen, reaching out towards where ROBIN had been, but ROBIN is gone. Lights out. Curtain.)