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Overview
One of the most important contemporary works of political theater, The Kentucky Cycle was awarded the 1992 Pulitzer Prize for its astute and dramatically epic investigation of the brutal birth of America. Set in the Appalachian Mountains and spanning seven generations—from 1775 to 1975—this saga of rural Kentucky digs beneath our American mythology to confront the truth of our national history.
It is the story of three families whose lives are irrevocably intertwined as they struggle for control over a portion of the Cumberland Plateau. From the darker realities of our pioneer heritage to the bloody lessons of the Civil War, and from the Unionization of coal miners to the harsh environmental legacy of strip mining, this fascinating work chronicles the lives of ordinary people struggling to find a better place for themselves in an unpredictable world.
“Serious drama with a dark center . . . an epic.” —The New Yorker
“Riveting theater . . . [a] monumental work.” —Los Angeles Times
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780802189899 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Grove/Atlantic, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 04/24/2019 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 144 |
| Sales rank: | 782,034 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills at prey, When wealth accumulates, and men decay.
— Oliver Goldsmith
Masters of the Trade 1775
The Courtship of Morning Star 1776
The Homecoming 1792
— INTERMISSION —
Ties That Bind 1819
God's Great Supper 1861
PROLOGUE
(When the audience enters the theater, the house lights are on, exposing the entire stage and its mechanics. When the "curtain" rises, the house lights go out and the actors enter the stage from all four directions. The principal actors surround the earthen pit, facing one another, while the chorus remains stage left and stage right in the waiting areas. The principal actors turn as one and face the audience. A spot singles out one actor/actress, the NARRATOR.*)
NARRATOR: The Kentucky Cycle.
(Once again, the principal actors turn inward to face one another. A single actor EARL TOD steps into the dirt pit. As he does so, the work lights shift into stage light and the music begins. Chorus members ritually outfit this actor with a hat and a Kentucky long rifle. A large leather pack is set down beside him. Three wooden "fire" logs are carried on and placed together. As Earl Tod sits down by the "fire," the Narrator again turns to face the audience.)
NARRATOR: Masters of the Trade.
The year is 1775. A small clearing in a thick forest somewhere in eastern Kentucky. A creek flows nearby. "It was here on the frontier of the middle and upper South that the Indian Wars rose to their fiercest and cruelest pitch. Here the savage was taught his lessons in perfidy by masters of the trade."
Masters of the Trade.
All the actors leave the stage to sit in the waiting areas offstage left and right, where they will remain in full view of the audience.
The lights shift, and we are in the forest.
The play begins.
Masters of the Trade
It was here on the frontier of the middle and upper South that the Indian Wars rose to their fiercest and cruelest pitch. Here the savage was taught his lessons in perfidy by masters of the trade.
— H. Caudill
CHARACTERS EARL TOD a Scottish trapper
MICHAEL ROWEN age thirty-four, an Irish indentured servant
SAM (YOUNG MAN) a Virginia farmer
TASKWAN a Cherokee
DRAGGING CANOE a Cherokee
CHEROKEE WARRIORS (nonspeaking roles)
1775. Early morning, an hour before daybreak. Somewhere in 1775. Early morning, an hour before daybreak. Somewhere in eastern Kentucky. A small clearing in a thick forest. A creek flows nearby.
EARL TOD sits hunched over in front of a dying fire. He dozes, wrapped in a filthy blanket and cradling a rifle. Forest sounds fade in. Beat. A wolf howls in the distance. Beat.
Suddenly, Tod's head snaps upright. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he moves his hands down the stock, locating the trigger. He calls out a greeting in Cherokee:)TOD:O si yo! (There is no answer. He swings the gun up. Thereis an unmistakable Scottish brogue in his voice as he calls out:)You can step out into the light now wi' your hands up and tell me your name, or I'll put a bullet into ya from here and you can die unburied and nameless. It's all the same to me.
Beat. Out of the dark, a large, squarely built white man in tattered buckskins limps cautiously forward, his hands up. He speaks with a heavy Irish accent.
MICHAEL: The name is Rowen. Michael Rowen. And I have to be tellin' ya, sure but your hospitality is nothin' much to brag about.
TOD: What do ye want?
MICHAEL: A place by the fire. Somethin' to break me fast. I haven't eaten for two, mebbe three days now.
TOD: What happened?
MICHAEL: Well, after all that terrible trouble at Zion, I said to meself, "Michael, me boy, it's time you were movin' on." And so I packed up me things and headed into the mountains — "whence cometh my strength." (Beat.) Psalm 121? "I lift up mine eyes unto these hills, whence cometh my strength." Are you familiar with the Scriptures, sir?
Tod remains silent, his gun pointed at Michael.
TOD: I know "An eye for an eye."
MICHAEL: Ahh, an Old Testament man, are ya? A fellow after me own heart. The New Testament, it's ... it's a little watery, now isn't it?
TOD: You didn't finish your story. What happened to you?
MICHAEL: Couple o' days ago, I ran into a catamount. Scared me horse so, he bolted off into a ravine carryin' everythin' I owned, includin' me rifle.
TOD: Bad luck.
MICHAEL: The devil's own! 'Course, I can't say I blame me horse, poor creature. When I seen that cat, I was off and runnin' meself, with about as much direction. I took a fall, knocked meself silly, ass over teacup, and turned this ankle in the bargain! Been wanderin' ever since. Real glad to see your fire.
TOD: Then why didn't ye just step up, 'stead of sneakin' in?
MICHAEL: Well, after Zion, I wasn't sure but ye might be Indians. (Beat.) Listen, Mr. ... uh ... ?
No response.
It's been very nice to chat with ya, but do ya suppose I could finish this conversation with me arms down and me belly full?
TOD: Warm yourself.
Michael drops his hands and limps to the fire. Tod turns quickly and strikes Michael a blow with the stock of his gun. Michael drops. Tod stands over him and searches his body for weapons. He finds a small knife in one boot and drops it in disgust. Michael moans. Tod crosses over to the other side of the fire. He tosses a canteen and a small leather pouch into the dirt in front of Michael.
MICHAEL (gasping, as he catches his breath): Son of a bitch!
TOD: There's water, and pemmican in the bag.
MICHAEL: Son of a bitch.
TOD: Can't take no chances. Not with Cherokee and Shawnee runnin' about. Renegades runnin' wi' 'em.
Michael struggles to sit up.
MICHAEL: You seen Indians?
TOD: Party o' bucks all painted up. Headin' northwest seven days ago.
MICHAEL (swallowing some water and digging into the pemmican): Shawnee?
TOD: Cherokee.
MICHAEL: Probably part of the same group what attacked Zion.
TOD: What happened to Zion?
MICHAEL: Ya don't know? Terrible thing. Tragic.
TOD: You're the first man I've run into since I left Boonesboro two months ago.
MICHAEL: White man.
TOD: What?
MICHAEL: First white man you've seen. You saw those Cherokee bucks a week ago. (Beat.) What're ya doin' out here? You a trapper?
TOD: You didn't answer my question.
MICHAEL: Oh, Zion. Terrible. About a hundred Cherokee savages attacked the settlement a week ago. Wiped it out. Man, woman, and child.
TOD (pointedly):'Cept you.
MICHAEL: I wasn't there. On me way back from Boonesboro, me horse threw a shoe, bless his soul, slowed me down and saved me life. I was in time to watch the massacre. Not take part.
TOD: You're a very lucky man.
MICHAEL: With a very unlucky wife. And two children even more unlucky.
Beat.
TOD: That's hard.
MICHAEL (shrugs): May their souls rest comfortably in the arms of the Lord.
TOD: Amen.
MICHAEL: I've no way to repay your hospitality but this. ...
He reaches into his back pocket. Tod starts and lowers his gun, cocked. Michael freezes.
I've nothin' more dangerous in me back pocket than a small flask of poteen. With your permission?
Tod nods. Michael pulls the flask out.
You're a nervous man, Mr. ... ?
TOD (ignoring the implied question): These are nervous times.
MICHAEL: That they be. When no man dare be sure of his neighbor and a white man'd ride with the murderin' red savages 'gainst his own kind. Nervous times. (Beat.) I'd toast the health of my host and savior, if I knew his name.
Beat.
TOD: Tod. Earl Tod.
MICHAEL: Mr. Tod, sir, your health. Like the Good Samaritan, ya have restored life to this poor wayfarer.
He drinks, then hands the flask to Tod.
TOD: Ye saw renegades at Zion?
MICHAEL: Well, I wasn't close enough to be sure, ya understand, but ... uh, when did ya ever hear of Indians carryin' rifles?
TOD: Christ!
MICHAEL: I counted near a dozen rifles. Mebbe more. (Beat.) They looked new.
Tod drinks.
Ah well, way of the world, eh, Mr. Tod? I mean, we been sellin' 'em everythin' else. It was bound to happen sooner or later. And one man's profit ... is just another man's dead wife.
Tod throws the flask back to Michael.
TOD: When there's light enough, I'll show ye where ye are. Give ye some water and jerky. Even with your ankle bad, should make Boonesboro in a week. Little less.
MICHAEL: You in trade, Mr. Tod?
TOD: What I do is none of your damn business.
Beat.
MICHAEL: I meant no offense, to be sure, Mr. Tod. It's just that I find meself in your debt, sir, and I always pay me debts. I've friends in Boonesboro might be useful to a man like yourself, if he's in trade.
TOD: That's kind of ye. But what little tradin' I do, just keeps me in what I needs. Nothin' more.
MICHAEL: Aye, but that's the real question now, innit, Mr. Tod? What is it a man needs?
TOD: Meanin'?
MICHAEL: One man's needs are another man's luxuries. Take yourself now. What brings you to Kentucky, Mr. Tod?
TOD: Room. And quiet. And it don't look like I'm goin' to get much of either this mornin'.
MICHAEL (grinning): It's a beautiful country, now, innit? Lookat the size of them trees. Sure but that's the King of Oaks there. And the water in that creek is so sweet, and so clear, b'God but you could read the date off a shilling on the bottom of it.
TOD: If you had one to throw in.
MICHAEL: Oh, no trouble there! It's a grand land of opportunity, it is, with plenty of scratch to be made for those with an itch! All that, and enough room for a man to stretch out and lose himself entirely. Become somethin' new. Somethin' different. A new man. That's what we're makin' here in Kentucky, Mr. Tod. New men. (Beat.) Meself, I came by way of Georgia. Brought over indentured, don't ya know. Only, me and me master disagreed over the length of me service.
TOD: And?
MICHAEL: And then there was this terrible accident, and the poor man up and died. Very sudden-like.
Tod laughs, in short, sharp barks.
TOD: Sad!
MICHAEL (laughing): Yes! It was all very sad! Tell me, Mr. Tod, don't you worry 'bout sharin' all this lovely space of yours with them savages?
TOD: They don't bother me.
MICHAEL: They don't?
TOD: I leave them alone, they leave me alone.
MICHAEL: Is that a fact? You have an understandin' then, do ya, you and them?
TOD: I wouldna call it that.
MICHAEL: What would you call it? A deal, maybe? Ah, but I forgot, you're not a tradin' man, are ya? Ha dlv digalowe? [Where are the rifles?]
TOD: What ... what is that?
MICHAEL: Cherokee. As you well know. Ha dlv digalowe? Where are the rifles?
TOD: I don't know what you're talkin' about.
MICHAEL: That was a Cherokee greetin' you called out when I first stumbled onto your campfire. Where are the rifles, Mr. Tod?
Tod stands up nervously, pointing his gun at Michael.
TOD: I don't know what you're talkin' about
MICHAEL: The rifles them Cherokee had at Zion. They come from you, didn't they? (Beat.) Where's the rest?
Tod cocks his rifle.
Don't be stupid as well as greedy, Mr. Tod. Ya don't think I walked in here unarmed, alone?
A noise offstage. Tod whirls and fires. As he does so, Michael leaps up and screams: DON'T KILL HIM!
A single shot rips out of the darkness. Tod falls. Beat. A thin, nervous YOUNG MAN emerges from the woods, holding a rifle.
YOUNG MAN: That him?
MICHAEL: Yes, you little shit — that was him.
The Young Man walks over to the body. He drops his rifle, kneels down, and begins to pummel the corpse with both his hands with increasing ferocity.
YOUNG MAN: You bastard! You bastard! YOU BASTARD!
Michael strides over and hauls the Young Man roughly to his feet.
He killed my family! He kilt'em!
Michael slaps him across the face several times and then drops him to his knees with a blow to the stomach.
MICHAEL: And mine! And everyone else's! And now he's dead, you little shit! I told you not to kill'im! (Beat. With great disgust:) Now wipe your face and shut up.
YOUNG MAN (crying): He killed my Sarah!
MICHAEL: Piss on your Sarah!
He grabs the Young Man and throws him to the ground.
You little turd! Them shots will have every Indian in two miles down on us.
YOUNG MAN (blanching in terror): Cherokee?
MICHAEL: Well, who do you think dear Mr. Tod was waitin' for? The blessed St. Christopher? So unless you want to join your precious Sarah in the hereafter, you shut your mouth and do as I say. Now bring our packs in.
The Young Man staggers off into the woods. Michael searches Tod's body closely, removing and keeping a knife. He discovers a gold watch, which when opened plays a bright tune. He pockets it. He then searches through Tod's belongings, with increasing urgency and finally frustration.
MICHAEL: Damn! Damn it!
The Young Man returns with two heavy leather packs, which he drops by the fire.
YOUNG MAN: What's wrong?
MICHAEL: I can't find anything! Not flints, powder, bullets, or muskets. I don't know — mebbe he buried it somewhere. Worried, were you, Mr. Tod, 'bout the good word of our red brothers?
Michael starts rummaging through one of the packs. He pulls out a worn, red blanket. He looks at it oddly for a moment, then tosses it to the Young Man.
Cover'im up.
YOUNG MAN: Why?
MICHAEL: You're developin' an annoyin' habit, Samuel, of questionin' me. Just do as I say and we'll both live longer. Now cover him up!
SAM obeys.
How much powder and shot have you got, Sam?
SAM: I don't know. Mebbe two horns and a quarter-pound of shot.
MICHAEL: Get it out.
SAM: You think we'll have to make a fight of it?
MICHAEL: I'm hopin' we can work out a trade.
SAM: What?
MICHAEL: Get out what you've got!
Sam starts to comply, but before he can move, four figures emerge from the woods, surrounding them. They are CHEROKEE WARRIORS, dressed simply in buckskins, but beautifully painted. They all carry rifles. One of the men steps forward. Unnerved, Sam tries to reach for his gun.
MICHAEL: Be still, for the love of Christ!
Sam freezes, as every rifle is lowered at him. Two of the Indians — TASKWAN and DRAGGING CANOE — openly contemptuous of the white men before them, converse in Cherokee.
DRAGGING CANOE:Gago yunsti na anisgaya? [Who are these men?] Taskwan shrugs.
TASKWAN (to Michael): Tod di nah? [Where is Tod?]
MICHAEL: Greetings to my Cherokee brothers.
TASKWAN: Who are you?
MICHAEL (surprised): You speak English?
TASKWAN: It is easier than hearing you butcher Cherokee. I am Taskwan. Who are you?
MICHAEL: Friends.
TASKWAN: Whose friends?
MICHAEL: We could be yours.
TASKWAN (indicating Tod's body): Was he a "friend"?
Michael says nothing.
Your friendship is very hard.
DRAGGING CANOE:Tod is unihlv? [Have they killed Tod?]
TASKWAN:Hu tle gi. [Uncover the body.]
One of the Warriors pulls the blanket off Tod. Taskwan steps over and looks into his face.
Vs kidv. [It is him.]
Beat.
DRAGGING CANOE:Didi luga. [Kill them.]
The Warriors raise their rifles. Michael and Sam tense.
MICHAEL: We can still do business!
Dragging Canoe gestures for the Warriors to hold.
DRAGGING CANOE:Gado adi? [What does he say?]
MICHAEL: You need us!
Beat. Dragging Canoe gestures to his Warriors and they lower their guns.
DRAGGING CANOE:Wiga wo ni hi. [Let him speak.]
MICHAEL: Ya had a deal, right, with Tod? Guns for pelts — right? But how much powder and lead did the bastard give ya? Huh? Not enough, I bet. Not nearly enough.
SAM: What are ya doin', Michael?
MICHAEL: Shut up, boy! So, we'll step in for Mr. Tod, see. Here. Here's a good-faith gesture. ...
He starts to move toward Sam's pack. The Warriors shift uneasily.
Easy, lads! Call'em off, Taskwan.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Kentucky Cycle"
by .
Copyright © 1993 Robert Schenkkan.
Excerpted by permission of Grove Atlantic, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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