Rhinoceros in Love Rhinoceros in Love*

By Liao Yimei №щ¤@±ц; Directed by Meng Jinghui ©sЁКЅч

Translated by Mark Talacko

Dramatis Personae:

Ma Lu -- a loner and rhino keeper obsessed with his neighbour, Ming Ming,

whose unrequited love drives him to extremes.

Ming Ming -- Malu's neighbour, a product of her time, materialistic and

modern, hopelessly in love with a man who mistreats her.

Heizi -- Malu's friend

Daxian -- Malu's friend, a wiseacre and hooligan.

Toothbrush -- A salesman befriended by Heizi, Daxian and Malu.

Hong Hong -- A TV producer with a cynical realist's take on love.

Lily -- A TV producer and friend of Hong Hong who falls in love with

Heizi.

PROLOGUE

On stage: A woman, Mingming, is blindfolded and tied to a chair. A young

man, Malu, is sitting beside her.

Malu: Dusk is the worst time for my vision. My eye wanders to the busy

street. All I see are pretty girls. The buildings and streets are shifting

in and out of focus; it's like being in a movie:

You're standing on the corner of the stairs. There's a strange, fragrant

scent. It's a little warm. It smells strange. It's only when it brushes

against your body that you notice that you're crying. That's when it all

started.

I've got a friend, Toothbrush. He wants me to believe in myself only when

I'm in a rut, like when Tula's pushing his way through the African savannah.

But I know our situations are not the same. You're not the same. You're

unique, soft, clean like the sky. My Mingming, how can I ever make you

understand? You're like a warm glove, an ice-cold beer, a shirt laundered in

the sun, a never-ending dream.

You're sweet and distressed, with fresh hope daubed upon your lips. Your

freshness and hope make you unpredictable, like a wild beast; inescapable,

like the sun's rays; phony, like a shameless starlet; ruthless, like the

starving.

I want to give you a home, be the father to your child. I want to give you

everything you want. When you wake up I want to show you sunlight, want to

caress your back, make you spread your wings to heaven. Can't you feel how

strong my desire rushes toward you, rises over the top of your feet,

submerges your legs and completely drowns you? I think of you. I open my

mouth wide, brazenly long for you; long for your hair, for your eyes; long

for your chin, your breasts, your splendid waist and stomach, the scent

diffused through your pores. I long for the way you wring your hands when

you're sad. You have the face of an angel and the heart of a bitch.

I love you. I truly love you from the bottom of my heart. I love you madly.

I flatter you shamelessly. I swear to you my eternal love. Whatever I can do

I'll do it. How can I possibly make you understand that I love you this

much? Silently bear it and swallow my tears? Shout it at the top of my lungs

until I'm hoarse and collapse from exhaustion? Curse myself bitterly before

the mirror? Rush into your office and knock you to the floor? Go to

university, get a PhD and become an author? Give myself up for lost and be

pitied by others from now on? Check into a mental hospital and love you

until I actually have a breakdown? Get lovesick? Or should I set myself on

fire beneath your window? Mingming, tell me what I should do. You're smart,

clever, quick-witted and silver-tongued, foolish beyond compare. My love, my

Mingming . . .

Act I

The entirety of the back of the stage is filled by a base of an enormous

clock that towers, unseen, into the sky. A group of people is gathered in

front of it.

The group sings with one voice.

This is an age of too many things

This is an age of too much emotion

This is an age of too much knowledge

This is an age of too much information

This is an age of intellect and reason

This is an age of sincerity and pragmatism

We have too many tasks to do

We have too many things to learn

We have too many voices to listen to

We have too many desires to fulfill

Love is a candle, giving you light,

Snuffed out with one gust of wind.

Love is a bird in flight, decorating the scene

Gone with a change in weather.

Love is a freshly blooming flower, thrilling with its scent,

Withered after May.

Love is a rainbow, a multitude of splendid colours,

A twinkling hoax, evaporated by the first rays of the sun.

Love is so wonderful, but delicate to the touch.

Love is so wonderful, but delicate to the touch.

Crowd: Before the arrival of the new century, we want to organise the wealth

of the world.

Before the arrival of the new century, we want to sweep away all the useless

junk.

Before the arrival of the new century, we want to overthrow all unrealistic

thought.

Before the arrival of the new century, we want to discard all the weak

things.

Master of Ceremonies: We will welcome the coming of the new century with a

giant clock, unequaled in size anywhere in the world. It will stand tall and

firm, indestructible, an expression of humanity's wisdom and strength. The

atmosphere around the construction site is tense but merry. Designers and

labourers are working overtime; the city's residents have gathered around

the site for a long time, not daring to leave. Everyone is joyously inspired

by our pioneering work. They're excited beyond belief!

Resident A: One hundred kilograms, the second hand alone is one hundred

kilograms. Time has never felt so heavy.

Resident B: That's the miracle of modern technology. Each gear has been

supplied by the National Space Administration and is entirely made from

titanium to resist, warping by the great changes time brings to the

world--any warping would be dishonourable. It is a monument to our people.

Resident C: Each curve is meticulously carved. Each target will go down in

history.

Resident D: Hundreds of people were born in this century; the best poems of

our most outstanding poets to die this century will be engraved on the dial.

Resident E: A 67 year-old poet just killed himself so that his works would

be chosen.

Resident F: This is our offering to the approaching new century, a giant

clock unparalleled in the world, designed entirely by us, built completely

by us.

Resident G: On it we should write that this is the crystallisation of human

wisdom.

Resident A: I suggest we write that it is the 9th Wonder of the World, a

landing beacon for extraterrestrials.

Resident B: They're issuing "Big Clock" lottery tickets. The prize money is

already up to five million Yuan, and it's still going up! Whoever gets that

money is going to be the lucky one of the 21st Century.

Resident C: I heard that the dial is gold-plated. It's like what today's

people love to say: "Time is money."

Resident D: A neighbour of mine promised to give me fifty thousand Yuan if I

secretly carve his initials on the back of the big hand.

Resident E: You wouldn't dare! You guys would be destroying something that

will be a cultural relic in two hundred years!

Resident F: I want to secretly carve my name beside eight o'clock, that way

I can leave my name to the ages.

Resident G: I want to carve my lover's name on its base, and beside it carve

a heart to show our enduring love.

The crowd looks in unison at the side of the big clock.

Crowd: Love is so wonderful, but delicate to the touch. Love is so

wonderful, but delicate to the touch.

Act II

Malu's home. Daxian is playing with a deck of cards in his hands. Heizi and

Malu are sitting beside him.

Heizi: Is he coming or not?

Malu: How do I know?

Heizi: Call him! How can he let a woman come between friends!

Daxian: (Daxian takes a card with his hand.) Look here, look here. This side

Is red, this side black, I blow on it, and red becomes black. Hey, look over

here! (Daxian works his trick. Malu and Heizi look on without interest.)

Daxian: Eh? How about it?

Heizi: What did Xiaoshi say exactly?

Daxian: He said he'd be over in a bit.

Heizi: After this we're not inviting him to play anymore.

Daxian: Fine. (He conjures another trick.) Watch this, watch this!

Heizi: (To Malu.)What does that new chick I've seen you with do?

Daxian: Hey! Dreamer! You listening?

Heizi: I also want to become somebody with something to do! I'm asking you

Malu.

Malu: I think she's a secretary in an office.

Heizi: Did she tell you that?

(Malu shakes his head.)

Heizi: Then how do you know?

Malu: She smells like a photocopier.

Heizi: You're kidding!

Malu: I can determine a person's status, profession, and what they've just

done, all from the smells they give off. Don't believe me? Take a whiff of

Daxian. Do you smell that hospital smell? No matter how much lemon-scented

washing powder or industrial-strength soap he uses, he'll never wash it off.

The smell has already soaked into the crevices of his bones, seeping out

every minute of the day.

I can smell those office workers who carry the smell of photocopiers and air

conditioners; those small time businessmen whose bodies reek of smoke; even

housewives just out of the kitchen, dolled up in their latest mall purchases

and sprayed with perfume still can't mask the smell of oily smoke in their

hair. And then there are the hookers. Each one carries the scent of a John's

astringent sperm on her body. I can even tell from somebody's breath what

they had for lunch: Fish-flavoured pork, spicy tripe, mushrooms and

vegetables . . .

Heizi: All that with your bulbous nose?

Daxian: The usefulness of the nose isn't determined by its appearance, but

by its function.

Malu: That's right! People have standards for testing eyes and ears, and if

they fail them, they think that they're disabled, which influences their

work, whether they go to university, even their attitude about life. There

are many colourful terms to describe disabilities of the eyes and ears:

blind, deaf, colour blind, but there's no such term for a disabled nose. A

stuffed nose only describes the symptom of a cold, which can be easily cured

with some Sudafed. A competent, outstanding nose has never received any

attention.

Daxian: It's just like that rhino Malu looks after. His eyes are no good,

but his nose is fantastic.

Heizi: It'll soon match a dog's nose.

Malu: Take yourself for example. (To Heizi) Your hair always carries smell