January 21 Play: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS

20: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS - by Ed Valentine
© January 21, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

IN THE DARKNESS: BLESSED SAINT PANACEA alone in a spotlight. White robe and a shepherd’s crook.

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: They think it’s quite glamorous, you know. They always do. And in a way… they’re right.

(She spreads her wings.  In the darkness behind her, colored lights blink on and off wildly. Coolly electronic beeping/chirping sounds. Lights up on a sleek, modern open space: with phone banks. There are many SAINTS with wings, answering phones, wearing earpieces. As if heaven were something between a spa and an Apple store.)

ST. MARIA GABRIELLA: (ON PHONE, AS ARE ALL THE SAINTS:) Hello, Maria Gabriella, Patron Saint of the Poor, how may I help you?

ST. RADEGUND: Hello? St. Radegund, patron saint of leprosy here, how may I help you?

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: Of course all the buzzing and beeping and the lights. At first it’s quite heady, really. And you get quite a rush.

ST. RADEGUND: No, Sir, I’m Leprosy. St. Swithbert’s Angina, I’ll transfer you.

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: They all think it’s glamorous. Being a saint, I mean. This is just after beatification, I mean, when you hear your praises sung. And your name’s chanted and called and set to music, and they make shrines and fight over who gets to keep your bones, and in which Cathedral!

ST. VALENTINE OF GENOA: St. Valentine here.

ST. AMBROSE OF MILAN: Yes, I look after Beekeepers.

ST. VALENTINE OF GENOA: (SIGHS:) No, I’m Saint Valentine of Genoa.

ST. CLOTILDE: Patron Saint of Disappointing Children.

OUR LADY OF CHINQUINQUIRA: Venezuelan National Guard? Si!

ST. VALENTINE OF GENOA: No, there’s more than one. There’s also St. Valentine of Viterbo and St. Valentin Faustino Berro Ocho. But I’m sure you want St. Valentine of Rome. He’s the famous one.

OUR LADY OF CHINQUINQUIRA: No, St. Marta’s dietitians. I’ll transfer. You too, ciao.

ST. VALENTINE OF GENOA: Viterbo. Italy. ITALY. I’ll transfer you. Mm-hmm, bye-bye.
(Pushing a button.)
Be specific, people! Jeez!

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: I was kind of a big deal. Maybe you heard of me? Blessed Saint Panacea de’Muzzi of Quarona? Patron Saint of Shepherdesses? They celebrate my festival with puff pastries? I was stabbed with a spindle on a spring evening in 1383? Remember this – Yes? No? No, I didn’t think so.

ST. CLOTILDE: No, Ma’am, protection against St. Vitus’s Dance is, um. Saint Vitus.  Sorry, static. Please hold.
(Covers the microphone on her earpiece. Cracks up.)

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: But after awhile, the statues in the shrines grow dusty and dusky, and the candles burn down to a wick, and the flowers left at your altar start to wilt. I mean, it can take years, decades, centuries, even, but that hardly matters to you. After all, what does a Saint have… but TIME?

ST. JULIAN THE HOSPITALLER: I’m boatmen, carnival workers, childless people, circus acts, clowns. Yes, clowns. Ferrymen, fiddle makers, fiddle players, hospitality, hotel-keepers, innkeepers, jugglers, knights, murderers, pilgrims, the city of San Giljan in Malta, shepherds, lodgers needing traveling, travelers in general, and wandering minstrels.

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: And then, of course, unless you're one of the big ones – a Francis of Assisi, say, or Saint Anthony of Padua –

ST. CLOTILDE: He’s dreamy!

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: Or Bernadette of Lourdes. Lourdes! And don’t get me started on Saint Theresa the Little Flower. But unless you’re one of the big ones, you’re waiting around for the phone to ring. Two weeks vacation a year, but you’re still on call, of course, in case a prayer comes through.
(Holds up phone: a golden blackberry with wings.)
But the calls don’t come in for most of us, not that often. There’s not that much call for prayers for Shepherdesses. And so we sit. And wait. And transfer calls. And make small talk with each other.
(Turns to another Saint.)
Weather’s nice.

ST. HYPATIUS: I was beheaded in 273 in Byzantium.

ST. JULIAN THE HOSPITALLER: A talking stag predicted I’d kill my parents. And I did.

(A beat.)

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: But small talk is hard for saints.  Oh, St. Rose of Lima lent me her portable DVD player for awhile, but St. Balbina the Virgin spilled coffee on it, so...
(Beat. Mind wanders.)
Balbina’s the patron of Scrofulous Diseases.
(Beat.)
Anyway, I guess I’m saying to the children in Catholic school, who wish to be saints someday: be careful what you wish for! Be careful when you pray to become a saint! It’s not as glamorous as it seems.

ST. HYPATIUS: Fine, I’ll give you my name. Hypatius. H. Y. P. A. T. I. U. S. No Sir, you cannot speak to a supervisor.

BLESSED SAINT PANACEA: The smoke rises from the candles, the prayers waft up, smelling of wax and wick. But all too soon, the fragrant scent is gone.
And you’re left with secondhand smoke.
And the smell of sulfur.
(She puts on a headpiece. Phone near her chirps, lights up.)
Hello? Oh.
(Hands it to ST. RADEGUND)
It’s for you.

(Sits. Stares out. Waits. The Saints all shiver their wings. Lights fade, except for blinking lights of the phone bank. Lights out.)

END OF PLAY.