Samson and Delilah at the World's End

It has been raining for five weeks. No one knows why.

Samson and Delilah at the End of the World
A Play in III Movements.

Before you begin:

- Geographically speaking, I don’t know where this story belongs. Sometimes I think New York City, then I have a vague notion of Italy, then a dirty bar in the deep south, then another planet. I’m not sure it’s that important.

-This play happens now.

-The audience should be seated in three sections around the playing space. The fourth section is roped off. It is where Delilah and the Philistines sit during the final movement.

-My thanks to Charles Mee, Roland Barthes, Vogue Magazine, Tim Robbins, and who ever added the book of Judges to the Bible. You all have been most helpful.

Movement I.

Lights are off.
Rain. Thunder. Lightening.

Lightening flashes, adding sudden hits of light. The first flash and then darkness, the second flash and the stage is dim, the third flash and lights are at 75%, on the fourth flash the lights are done. Do this instead of bringing the lights up in the traditional way.

A quick note about scenery: this is a throne room first and foremost- this scene could be set in a living room. But it isn’t.

Samson is practicing/playing with an impressive handgun. His targets are on the fourth wall. It is as if he is training for something.

A quick note about character: Samson is king; there is a reckless air about him. He is a baller, a rock star, a playboy, a mafia don, an Achilles. He could play Russian Roulette 24 hours a day and wouldn’t break a sweat.

An insistent knock at the door.
Surprised, Samson turns and aims the gun at the door.

A demanding pound at the door.
Samson steps toward the door, yanks it open, and shoves the gun in Delilah’s face. Delilah is startled and puts a hand on her stomach. It is a pathetic moment: the rock star aiming the gun at the drenched young woman holding a broken yellow umbrella.

Delilah: Don’t point that at me Samson.

Samson: I didn’t know it was you.

Delilah: Well, now you do.

He lowers the gun.

Samson: Why are you here Delilah?

Delilah: Can I come in?

Samson: What’s the matter with you?

Delilah: Do you think I enjoy this?

Samson: What are you talking about?

Delilah: You don’t know?

Samson: Why don’t you tell me?

Delilah: You left. I thought you loved me but you left.

Samson: I do. I do love you.

Delilah: You won’t even let me in your house.

Samson: Fine come in.

She steps in. Samson checks to see if anyone else is outside. Seeing no one, he closes the door, sits on his blue throne, places the gun on a side table, and lights a cigarette.

Samson: You’re soaking wet.

Delilah: Yes, yes I am.

Samson: All your make-up’s running down your face,

Delilah: Really?

She runs to the mirror to fix herself.

Delilah: I thought this shit was waterproof.

Samson: You’re shivering.

Delilah: Well, you’re just full of observations tonight aren’t cha?

Samson: Do you want a towel or a blanket or something?

Delilah: That would be nice.

Samson: Sit on the couch.

She picks up a bright red silk fabric- it is huge; it’s the size of a parachute at least. It drapes over the couch so when Delilah wraps herself in it she becomes part of the couch.

Samson: Nice hat.

Delilah: What?

Samson: Nice hat.

She takes it off and throws it at him. It lands at his feet. He picks it up, puts it on, and checks himself out in the mirror.

Samson:
When I lived in New York, I wore a hat everyday.
This was the mid-‘80s mind you
During the birth of rap and the death of disco.
We did of lot of shit then that people now consider crazy.
Stayed out all night
Never exercised
Shoveled snow up our noses
Women walked around trying to look like Debbie Harry.
Depending on the theme at the clubs
We’d wear beatnik berets
Russian Cossack hats
Greek fisherman’s caps
Fedoras.
I was at an event at the Met the other week.
A beautiful affair in the statue garden
All lit up with candles and gorgeous women
Full chamber orchestra
Full bar
And there was some heiress there, wearing a stovetop that would have made Abraham Lincoln jealous.

Delilah: Is that who you rushed off to when you left tonight?

Samson: No- I came here.

Delilah: I had a nightmare, I woke up and you were gone. The bed was cold.

Samson: I’m sorry. It was inconsiderate. A bad habit of mine. A reflex.

Delilah: You’ve been doing this for two years Samson.

Samson: It’s a condition really. Do you want a doctor’s note?

Delilah: I want you to love me.

Samson: I do. I do love you.

Delilah: Then why don’t you act like it?

Samson:
I need you to be more specific.
How exactly am I supposed to act?
No, wait. There’s no point in me asking.
If you say you want me to be your hero,
I’ll move the Nile out of your way with my index finger,
If you say you want me to be the rich cultured gentleman,
I’ll buy you Paris,
If you say you want me to be more sensitive to the human condition
I’ll donate millions of dollars to AIDS relief in Africa,
And yet at the end of the day, it won’t be enough will it?

Delilah:
I’m not asking for you to be anyone or do anything
Except stay around long enough after sex to be who ever you are in front of me.
You are strong in front of the world, but if you never give your strength up to anyone, I don't know how you will ever fall in love.

Samson: That is such bullshit.

During the monologue Delilah rises and creates something out of the silk, something beautiful, which is torn apart so that by the end of this chunk of text everything is as it was. This is a visual metaphor for the emotional line of the speech, I just don’t know what that metaphor looks like. Maybe the inside of the bottle from that old TV. show “I Dream Of Genie?” I don’t know. You figure it out.

Delilah:
The first time we fucked
I was so nervous
You were always so skilled so commanding so larger than life
A Goliath
I couldn’t get off unless I knew that I was in control
I asked you
Samson, what is the secret to your great strength?
And you told me to bind you with seven green wreaths that had never been dried
And I thought
Damn
This is kinky
My friend Amanda has this theory that who you are in bed is opposite who you are in life
Meek housewives become leather clad Dominatrix chicks
The top men of the Fortune 500 like to be pissed on
That sort of thing
So I tied you down
Finally, I knew how all those weak women felt when they let the whip crack against their lover’s bare flash
Powerful.
Oh my God.
So powerful.
I woke up in the morning
Before I even opened my eyes
I thought
Damn
I hope that powerful ruler sleeping next to me likes an omelet
With spinach and feta cheese and sun dried tomatoes
Four strips of bacon
Extra crispy
And some whole-wheat toast
With butter sweetened by apricot marmalade spread on top
And dark coffee
A glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and cold J.P. Brute
Because when he wakes up
That’s what he’s going to find me making him for breakfast
And I’m going to be completely naked
That’s how I’m going to thank him for submitting to me
And the next time we make love, I’m gonna-
Then suddenly,
My thoughts were interrupted by the absence of the sound of your breathing.
You had been faking your weakness all night
Those ropes hadn’t held you for a second
And maybe I should have felt honored that you would pretend to be into something like that
To make me feel comfortable
But I couldn’t shake the idea
That while I was moaning in pleasure
You were laughing at the contrived delusion you induced to compensate for my feelings of inadequacy
Knowing the whole time that after my final orgasm
You would just break through what bound you and walk out my front door
That was the first time you left me.

Samson:
You expected me, King Samson, to fall asleep tied to the posts of the bed of some call girl just for some breakfast?

Delilah: You could have said goodbye.

Samson: Before I left, I kissed your forehead.

Delilah: You did?

Samson: Yes. I did.

Delilah: Prove it.
No, you can’t.
You know the one thing I love about prostitution?
Instead of striving to make sex an expression of love,
Which is always disappointing, because let’s face it,
The best man to cuddle with will never be the best man to fuck
Or assuaging guilt by using sex as an apology
Or ignoring a dying relationship by turning sex in to a band-aid
Prostitution is the exchange of a tangible symbol of worth for an act that man and woman alike have seen necessary since the beginning of the world.
It’s so incredibly simple.
So incredibly honest.
Money for sex.
Sex for money.
But you- you had to go above and beyond didn’t you?
You complicated this simple transaction when you lied to me.
You didn’t have to lie
You could have said,
Fuck you, I don’t care how scared you are, you’re not tying me up.
You could have slammed me on the bed, lifted my feet in the air and gone for it.
But instead, what do you do?
You pretend like you’re weak, you kiss me on the forehead, and you leave.

Samson: But you always find me again.

Delilah: And when I do, you always tell me you love me.

Samson: I do. I do love you.

Delilah: I want you to prove it.

Samson: What?

Delilah: I want you to prove it, right now, tonight.

Samson: How?

Delilah: Tell me the secret of your great strength. The real secret.

Samson: Go away Delilah.

Delilah: Excuse me?

Samson: You heard me. Go away.

Delilah: I think I deserve-

Samson:
That’s it.
That’s your problem.
You think you deserve something.
You deserve shit.
It’s not your inalienable right to come in here and start demanding things of me.
I am a powerful man
I am a wise man
But above all I am a busy man.
Do you hear the storm outside?
Do you realize that it has been raining for five weeks straight?
Five weeks.
I’m getting apocalypse warnings from fundamentalists
Astronomers, geologists,
My mother, my generals,
And the weather channel.
Each message crazier than the last.
So, if I seem a little distracted
If my focus doesn’t seem to be a hundred and sixty percent on you
Let me apologize.
You see, I have to deal with the terror stricken state of my people.
There can be no love
Not this reckless vulnerable absolute love that you’re talking about,
Until I eradicate fear.
Not all fear,
But this enormous, expanding, overwhelming fear brought on by the Philistines and their bullshit prophecies covering everyone.
Present company excluded of course.
Since my present company is too busy with her head in my ass.

Delilah: Fuck you.

Samson: Don’t swear at your king.

Delilah: I’m sorry.

Delilah cuddles up to Samson

Delilah: When’s it going to happen?

Samson: What?

Delilah: The end of the world.

Samson:
It’s not.
I mean it is eventually.
A long time from now,
After all the plants and animals die out
And the oceans vaporize
And our sun becomes a red giant,
And swallows the earth.
But these Philistines,
Are convinced that this is the end of days.
Which is impossible.

Delilah: Why?

Samson: Don’t tell me you’re buying in to this.

Delilah: I’m not. I’m not.

Samson: Good. Because let me tell you something:
They believe it.
That’s what makes them so scary
It’s not just that they’re using fear to control people.
It’s that they’re afraid themselves.
They’re actually preparing for the end of days.
I get phone calls from General Agamemnon
With reports of cult activity in Peru.
They drink blood by the vile down there
They use fingers and toes as currency.
Everyday my inbox is flooded with emails from General McArthur
They’re in Cape Town
Sacrificing children nightly,
Praying for my demise.
Apparently, I’m the only thing keeping the world from ending.

Delilah: What if they’re right?

Samson: They’re not.

Delilah: How do you know?

Samson: Because there’s no scientific evidence suggesting the existence of the Apocalypse. There’s no JAMA published that indicate that I have any symptoms of the world’s savior.

Delila: How do your journals explain the rain?

Samson: They don’t. No one can.

Delilah takes a cigarette out of Samson’s pack, which is sitting on the table.

Samson: You don’t smoke.

Delilah: I do now.

He snatches it out of her hand. She slaps him. He grabs her, lifting her straight up as if she is weightless. It is at this point that we get a glimpse of Samson’s strength.

Samson: No you don’t.

Beat.
He drops her.

Samson: Oh shit.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I just-
You know,
During the Holocaust they would give us cigarettes with our ration of food.
We would trade them for things that would keep us alive
Wool blankets
An extra serving of dried bread or watery soup.
When you saw a man smoke his cigarettes
You knew he was doomed.
Holocausts are about the mind
Fighting to stay alive when you have a reason to
And dying when you don’t.
And we’re about to go through another one Delilah
A holocaust greater than any I’ve ever seen before.
Many people will die,
But that doesn’t mean you give up hope and start smoking.
There is too much to lose,
To believe that all can be lost.
Remember that.
Do you hear me?
Remember that.

Delilah: Ok.

Samson:
They sound primitive,
And they are,
They’re savage.
But they’re smart Delilah,
Their technology is incredible.
They’re well organized.
They can spread information faster then any rebel group I’ve ever seen
No one knows where anyone stands anymore
Allegiances are breaking.
Even here,
In my own kingdom I have people plotting to kill me
Just yesterday I caught my Minister of the Interior trying to poison my cocaine
And I’ve lost so many food testers
That I’ve resorted to cooking for myself

Delilah: Oh my god. That’s what this is about isn’t it? You don’t trust me.

Samson: Of course I don’t. You’re-

Delilah: I’m nothing. I’m a prostitute.

Samson: Exactly. You’re a prostitute.

Delilah: Would you trust me if I were a telemarketer?
A podiatrist?
A mortician?
A clown?
A camp counselor?
A sanitation worker?
An epidemiologist?
What if I was a sky diving instructor?
A journalist?
A cab driver?
A secretary?
A chef?
What if I designed lampshades for a living?
Then you could you trust me?

Samson: An epidemiologist? Is that a skin doctor or something?

Delilah: No, they study the spread of diseases, like small pox and tuberculosis.

Samson: Well, that could be neat- why don’t you be one of those?

Delilah: I’m not fucking around Samson.

Samson: Yes, you are that’s your job.

Delilah: Fine- I’ll quit.

Samson: Really?

Delilah: But if I do, I want you to propose to me. I want to be your wife. So if- who am I kidding? When I wake up in the morning and your not there, I at least have ring on my left hand to console me.

Samson: Are you out of your mind?

Delilah: Why not? You said you loved me.

Samson: I do. I do love you.

Delilah: Maybe. But you don’t love me in that way.

Samson: And what way is that?

Delilah:
You don’t love me the way a man loves a woman he wants to be with forever.
You don’t love me the way a man loves a woman he tells all his secrets to.

Samson: I never pretended to love you in that way.

Delilah: I can’t live life without ever being loved in that way.

Samson: Delilah, many people- I would say most people, die having never been loved in that way… and if this rain doesn’t let up, and if the Philistine army isn’t conquered, it safe to say that many more will perish never knowing this kind of love.

Delilah: And you’re fine with being one of them?

Samson: I’m not one of those people- I’ve found unconditional love from you.

Delilah: Really?

Samson: You said it yourself. You love me while the world ends. You would love me after the world ended- if you could.

Delilah: I don’t think so Samson.

Samson: Excuse me?

Delilah:
I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t keep tying you up just to tie myself to you.
I’m deleting your number from my cell phone
And adding your email address to my spam list
And changing my locks
I’ve already killed the carrier pigeon I used to send you love letters.
I can’t love you anymore.

Samson: You’re only lying to yourself.

Delilah: I know. But I’ve found if you lie for long enough, it eventually becomes the truth.

She stands to leave. She bends over to pick her hat up off the ground.

Samson: How about one last go? For old times sake? I’ll pay double.

Delilah: You will never understand Samson.

Samson: Triple.

Delilah: Fuck off.

Samson flies at her in a rage, even more grotesque than before.

Samson:
Ok, how about one last time, and I won’t kill you.

He chokes her- the way Christopher choked Adreana when he found out she was a FBI informant, the way Othello choked Desdemona.

Holy shit.
Oh my go-
Delilah?
Delilah?
Shit.
Goddammit.
Fuck.
Are you ok?
Baby?
I’m sorry-
I’m so sorry.
I’m not like this
You know I’m not
I’m just stressed out
And I need you so bad baby
You know I do
I’m sorry
I’m just so fucking-
Fucked up.

Delilah: Get away from me.

Samson: Baby, I-

Delilah:
Fuck you.
Get away from me.

Samson:
Please.
Just two seconds ago,
You knelt before me
Begging me to love you
Begging me to trust you
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m so fucking sorry.

Delilah: I can’t breathe.

Samson: I’m sorry baby. Lie down.

He holds her. She gives in to the comfort he offers.

Delilah: You’re more of a threat to me than I could ever be to you.

Samson:
I know.
I’m just overworked and angry
And trying to save the world.
People think it’s hard to be a prostitute,
But let me tell you something baby,
It ain’t easy being king either
There’s this expectation people have
That they should have really,
They expect you to be able to fuck some one up.

Delilah: I should thank you.

Samson: Why?

Delilah:
For choking me.
I know it sounds crazy
But it’s a luxury for me not to feel any destructive impulse
To let you do it for me.

Samson: No, you should deplore it. You deserve so much more then my paranoia, my commitment phobias, my violent outbursts-

Delilah:
But all of that is what I depend on to live!
If there is going to be a great holocaust
I need your violence and your paranoia and your mania to protect me,
Everyone in this kingdom does.
When you turn your rage against me
I see a cruelty that I should know and feel as intimately as you do
Because it is a part of this world we both live in
And I refuse to go through life pretending it only belongs to you.

Samson:
I wish it belonged to no one.
I wish you could just cut off all my hair, and we could just run and hide away.
We could breathe the fumes of the volcano at Delphi
And fall into eternal sleep holding hands with prophetic visions drifting through our fading minds.
Or we could wade out in shores of Cypress
Every morning for the rest of our lives,
And stay beautiful forever.
Or,
Do you know they call Rome the eternal city?
We could go underground
Hole up in the catacombs
With wedding cake and champagne
Like in a real love story.
I don’t care if it’s cowardly
Or feminine
You would come with me wouldn’t you?

Delilah: Your hair?

Samson:
You would have to.
I would make you.
And you’d love me even more for it.
I wouldn’t be able to be king anymore, but fuck it.
I rule you,
And that’s what matters.
We could wear hats.
You could cook me that omelet,
It sounded almost as amazing as you naked.
And we could have sex without me paying
Or you tying me up.
Real sex:
Awkward, boring, funny, stupid, sloppy, frustrating sex

Delilah: We would never have that kind of sex.

Samson:
We might at first.
But we would be patient
And begin listening to each other’s bodies
And find what turns each other on-
You would bite my ear lobes
And eventually we could have multiple mutual orgasms.
We might have so much sex we’d get tired of each other,
I’d start pretending you were someone else
You’d begin to fake it all the time
But then your body would surprise me one day
You would shift your hips differently,
Or change your rhythm slightly,
And I could marvel at how after so many years
Your flesh and mind were still such a mystery to me
So damn intriguing
And you would see me exploring you
And you would be brought back to us.

Delilah: And you can’t do this without a haircut?

Samson: Forget it Delilah.

Delilah: Forget it? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.

Samson: Good.

Delilah:
But we could do all this!
What you’re talking about- why couldn’t we?
What obligation do you have to a world that falls down around you?
Why bend to war when you could choose love?

Samson: That’s asking a lot Delilah.

Delilah: Yes it is. It’s asking a lot of both of us really.

Samson: A lot of people would die.

Delilah: Everyone dies. That’s nothing special. It’s what we do in life that makes us unique.

Samson: No. I can’t.

Delilah: The bruises around my neck say you can.

Samson: Alright. Delilah, if I tell you something, you have to swear to me you will never ever repeat it.

Delilah: Of course.

Samson: Swear on your life.

Delilah: On my life.

Samson:
My hair has never been cut.
I have never even seen the inside of a barber’s shop.
When I was young, my mother would tell me no scissors were good enough to touch a hair on my head.
Then one night, years ago, I made a pact with a dear friend.
We exchanged blood, swore every oath, and performed every ritual to bind us to our word
And one of the rituals called upon a lock of hair from each of our heads
To be tied together.
Hair lasts you know,
It grows after you’re dead
It takes centuries to biodegrade.
I cut it with a knife
And I could feel every strand as it was severed
It hurt so bad I threw up.
I wasn’t the same for weeks afterward.
That’s when I knew for certain what I suspected all my life,
I had been in some way chosen, in some sublime unknowable unspeakable way
Some God, or deity, or force of nature has given me my exceptional strength
But only as long as my hair stays intact.

Delilah: That’s so weird.

Samson: I know.

Delilah: Thank you for telling me.

Samson: As long as my hair is on my head, I’m too important to run away, but without it I am only useful to you.

Delilah: Maybe you are the world’s savior, like the Philistines say.

Samson: No. I’m special, but I’m not that special. There’s no such thing as prophecy- I’ve worked too hard to get where I am for it to be fate.

Delilah: What about your hair?

Samson: I want it gone. I don’t want this anymore. I’m tired of hurting you. I’m tired of saving the world.

Delilah: Where are your scissors?

Samson: I don’t have any. I have a butcher’s knife in the kitchen.

She runs to get it. Samson stands or sits there… waiting… waiting… waiting. The rain falls outside.

Delilah: offstage How have I never been in your kitchen before?

Samson: Can you find them?

Delilah: offstage No.

Samson: They’re by the sink.

Delilah: offstage Which one?

Samson: The black marble one.

Delilah returns. She holds a butcher’s knife.

Delilah: Ok- where should we do this?

Samson: How about right here?

He sits on his throne.

Delilah:
Ok.
Oh wait.

She reaches inside her yellow umbrella and pulls out four sets of handcuffs.

Samson: Why do you have those?

Delilah: I like to be prepared. Can we use them?

Samson: What ever floats your boat, as long as it takes us to Delphi

She handcuffs his wrists to the arms of the chair, and his ankles to the chair’s legs. She straddles him, butcher knife in hand, and they kiss. Still in lip lock, Delilah begins to cut Samson’s hair. At first he writhes in pain, and pulls away from her. He looks at her for a beat, takes the butcher knife and cuts off her shirt.

Delilah: On to Delphi.

She takes the knife back and they begin kissing again. She continues to cut his hair as the lights go down and the rain continues outside.