Sleep and His Cousin (play)

Sleep and His Cousin

A one-act play by Luke Labern

Dramatis personae

THE DREAMER, a young man in bed

SLEEP, the God of sleeping

LABOUR, the proud God of achievement

INERTIA, the God of laziness

ALARM CLOCK, an aggressive bedside object

A simple scene: a single bed, located in a bedroom with a window (through which we can see dawn), a chair on the opposite side of the room, facing the bed. THE DREAMER is in the bed, fast asleep, in traditional sleeping gear—the absurd hat included. In the chair is SLEEP, dressed all in white—yes, dressed in a sheet. With no eyeholes.

SLEEP: [over the sounds of DREAMER’s gentle snoring] I love my job. Look how peaceful he is. Just whiling away the hours: no pain, no exhaustion, no struggle. Earthly bliss. Why should anyone ever get out of bed? — He’s not missing out on anything, because he’s got his dreams. There is no money where he is. No morality, no obligations, no need for ambition. He has already fulfilled what it is that’s required of him: he’s asleep. And he loves it. There’s no denying it. When he’s awake, he longs for me. My simple, restorative powers are undeniable. When he’s lying there, half-awake, between waking and dreaming, he’s reminded of his childhood. All of these problems he’ll face when I leave— they could be avoided.

[A knocking at the door.]

Oh, Christ—how could it be time already? He didn’t fall asleep until 2AM! It took me three hours to get Insomnia out of here. And now he shows up at this hour.

[SLEEP pauses to hear if the knocks continue: they do not.]

At least it was a gentle knock; we still have some time.

[INERTIA rolls from under the bed, wearing one sock, a pair of boxer shorts and a jumper stuck halfway over his head, his arm caught in the wrong hole. He punctuates every motion with a sigh, or groan, as if he were being asked to roll Sisyphus’ stone up the hill.]

INERTIA: [in-between groaning and dribbling] It’s… it’s time to get up. I can’t… You need to…

[INERTIA attempts to stand up but cannot do so; he looks drunk. He lies flat on his back, exhausted.]

SLEEP: Every morning, the same routine. And when I return at night, he tries to stop me! He’s no idea what’s going on. My cousin’s had it right all along: why ever wake up?

[Another knock on the door: louder this time. An annoyed cough from outside.]

[sighing] Look at the time! What an ungodly hour to wake up. Doesn’t he realise that without sleep, nothing worthwhile can be done? He’ll only be looking forward to seeing me again.

[SLEEP gets up and attempts to wake up DREAMER. As he escalates his attempt, INERTIA—still on the floor—reacts simultaneously, like a puppet.]

SLEEP: I’m afraid it’s time to get up. [DREAMER and INERTIA groan in sync.] I know, I know: it’s a waste of all our time. — But let’s not get him involved.

[A final knock, louder than before.]

LABOUR: [from behind the door] What are you doing in there? It’s time to get up. There are things to do. He needs washing, he needs feeding, and he certainly needs to empty his bladder. Not to mention the real work. Dreams aren’t simply frivolous sleep-activity: dreams are what’s worth living for. And hard work is the only way there.

SLEEP: All right, all right! [To himself:] What a show. He’s completely wrong: dreams are dreams. Why both waking up to fulfil them, when you’re guaranteed them every night? [To INERTIA:] Get on with it, then. Let’s get this over and done with.

[INERTIA remains motionless. SLEEP pokes at him with his toe.]

INERTIA: Oh, GOD—I don’t want to live anymore! You can take over, Sleep—let’s end this right now. I haven’t got the energy—

LABOUR: [from behind the door] No, no, no—we’ll be having none of that. Open the bloody door. Let’s get on with it.

SLEEP: Look, we all seem to be in agreement: this is a waste of time. Let me call my cousin, and we can sort this out. All four of us can be at rest.

INERTIA: No… I need this job.

[INERTIA starts slowly crawling towards the door on his stomach. As he does so, the DREAMER reacts in sync, performing the standard waking-up ritual. Unlike usual depictions, however, he does so achingly slowly. He is visibly pained to be awoken. SLEEP returns to his seat. INERTIA, after an awkward silence, finally reaches the door and unlocks it.]

SLEEP: [quietly] Here we go…

[LABOUR bursts in, his huge stature—in both height and bulk—dominating the stage. He is dressed like a miner—helmet included—with his exposed face and arms covered in soot. He carries an axe in his right hand for some reason.]

LABOUR: Such inefficiency!

SLEEP: Relax, will you? There’s no rush. [Cutting LABOUR off] — Who’s to say there’s any point to all that work, anyway? You know as well as I do that, at the end of the day, I’ll make myself felt. The work is always interrupted. Some days—if not most—there is very little work indeed. Yet I am always necessary. It’s quite clear who is more important here; who more indispensible. Why not just give up altogether?

LABOUR: [always aggressive; impatient] The night-time is indeed your domain; but the day is mine. There’s a world out there, you know—not that you’ve ever seen it.

SLEEP: I feel better for it.

LABOUR: That’s precisely the problem. You know only indolence. You do not know achievement, nor success, nor… joy!

SLEEP: Show me any man offered a great night’s sleep and I’ll show you a happy man.

LABOUR: After a long day’s work, perhaps.

[DREAMER is finally awake. He sits up in bed.]

DREAMER: Oh, no… it’s not that time already, is it? I hear no alarm...

SLEEP: [to LABOUR] I told you. Why not leave him alone? I’m tired of this, he’s tired of it—surely you must be too?

LABOUR: Quite the contrary. [To DREAMER] Yes, sir: it’s time to get up. You made several useful goals yesterday, if I say so myself—you were extremely excited to fulfil them the last time we met—

SLEEP: —That was before I soothed him for the night.

LABOUR: [ignoring SLEEP] —And I think you will find yourself as focused as you were then very shortly. [A pause and change in tone.] We are all agreed on one thing… that this period is particularly unpleasant. But whose fault is that?

[LABOUR kicks at INERTIA, who remains prone on the floor.]

It’s this waste of space that’s responsible. In fact, I doubt that we would have this eternal argument altogether if the transition was smoother.

INERTIA: You’re like parents fighting for custody.

SLEEP and LABOUR: Oh, don’t be ridiculous—

[SLEEP and LABOUR look at one another, embarrassed.]

SLEEP: It’s pretty clear that this has gone on too long, if nothing else. I think we need to come to a decision, once and for all.

LABOUR: Oh? And how do you suggest we go about that?

SLEEP: I’ll call in my cousin.

DREAMER: [nervously] Hold on! Hold on! Don’t I have a say in this?

SLEEP: Well, I don’t know. Do you have a say in visiting me every night?

DREAMER: No; I admit I feel incredibly weak and irritable when I don’t get a good night’s sleep.

LABOUR: But don’t you feel unfulfilled when you don’t work?

DREAMER: Of course. But there are days when I can go without any work whatsoever, and I must say I enjoy those days…

LABOUR: … You know, some would say that’s not good enough.

[All turn towards LABOUR.]

SLEEP: And who are these mysterious people, who love work more than sleep?

LABOUR: Do you really want to know? In short, successful people.

DREAMER: Are you saying I’m…

LABOUR: I do not mean that in a general way, nor in a stereotypical one. I mean it in a precise way. Those people who get up each day and have something to do— despite the fact that there’s really no meaning to any of it—these are the people who change the world. These are the people who still benefit from your services, Sleep, but also affect the wider world.

DREAMER: Don’t I do that?

LABOUR: Do you really want to get into this?

DREAMER: Yes. I’ve not heard you open up like this before.

LABOUR: I say this all from experience. If I offend you, I apologise; but I have seen much human industry in my life, and I cannot deny that now is as good as any time to be alive—despite the reservations you have about technology. There is nothing to be afraid of in this world—

SLEEP: Not even my cousin?

LABOUR: Certainly not. Your cousin performs a noble job; a necessary job. As do you. But you must not deny that I, too, am necessary. In fact, I see the three of us as performing complimentary roles. Your cousin is, indeed, the guarantee: that, at the end of it all, there will be rest. You offer brief respite, and indeed that is very welcome. I, however, am the great bulk of life: I offer a different sort of joy than you, but a profound one nonetheless. I allow all those who exist to experience meaning. There is nothing quite like succeeding in a goal one has set. I alone can take them there.

SLEEP: I can see your thinking—but I have one question. What, at the end of the day, is the point? Why not sleep through it all? Why exist at all?

INERTIA: That was three questions.

LABOUR: It’s very simple: there isn’t one.

SLEEP: That doesn’t sound like an answer to me.

LABOUR: That’s precisely the point: you cannot see the beauty in that. You, like your cousin, are guaranteed: I, however, am a choice. The will to live is a choice. That is what makes it so beautiful. For every day one chooses to wake up and engage in work, they are doing something from their own volition—even if they don’t feel like it. Though they may think ‘my boss will fire me if I don’t come to work’, it is they who are making the decision to get out of bed. Why? It can be broken down: they don’t want to get fired—they want a job—they want the money—they want the means to live—they want to live. Can I deny that some people need to be made aware of this? Of course not: that is why I am speaking now.

DREAMER: Do you really think all of that is true? Is there really that much going on when one gets out of bed? It feels a lot more instinctive than that.

LABOUR: It’s instinctive because most people refuse to acknowledge the fact. But the fact remains, regardless. How one lives is no one else’s responsibility but their own. And that is not a brutal fact: it’s a beautiful one.

SLEEP: What of those who really do wish to sleep all day?

LABOUR: I haven’t contradicted them at all. It’s their decision.

SLEEP: Why don’t more people do it, then?

LABOUR: For two reasons. Either they’re too weak, or too unconscious to realise that it’s a decision they are able to make—or, really, they don’t want to.

DREAMER: Well—and what about those who want to bypass all of this, and head directly to…

[He looks both ways and whispers:]

Death?

LABOUR: That’s their decision too.

SLEEP: Really, Labour—I’m surprised to hear all this out of you. All along I had you pegged as someone very unthinking, someone very stuck in his ways. This all sounds incredibly controversial.

LABOUR: It’s the truth. That’s all. I don’t believe in denying the truth for comfort’s sake.

SLEEP: I’m impressed. But you know, perhaps we should invite my cousin along, and see what he has to say about this…

DREAMER: No! I’m—we’re quite all right. I’ll get out of bed now. I’m fully awake: this discussion has woken me right up.

SLEEP: In fact, that might be him. I can hear someone coming up the stairs.

DREAMER: Oh, Christ…

[They all wait—DREAMER, in particular, looks as though he is about to jump out of his skin. Finally, another knock at the door.]

SLEEP: Come in.

[ALARM CLOCK enters. Indeed, a giant, foam alarm clock with an absurd smiling face on it: not death.]

ALARM: [insanely] Look, you fuckers! I’ve been going off for hours! Let’s get this fucking show on the road. Don’t you know it damages my insides to shake like this? I’ve almost run out of batteries; I’ve woken up half the street. Stop this philosophical nonsense and let’s get out of here. I need some rest.

DREAMER: That’s enough for one morning.

[LABOUR and INERTIA leave; the ALARM CLOCK remains in place, looking furious, whilst SLEEP slowly rises from its chair. DREAMER gets out of bed and turns ALARM off. ALARM is motionless on the floor: switched off. DREAMER sits on the edge of his bed, thoughtful.]

SLEEP: What did you think of all that, then?

DREAMER: It’s a bit much for a 6AM start. … But, he made many points. I mean, as exhausting as it is to transition between waking and sleeping, it really is my decision after all, isn’t it?

SLEEP: It is. And though I was being quite genuine in suggesting that people might like to sleep forever—really, what would that have to do with me? That would be my cousin’s domain.

DREAMER: Unless people dreamt all day, forever.

SLEEP: Wouldn’t that, in essence, just be life?

DREAMER: True—although with less control. I suppose—and forgive me if this sounds unrealistic—that there really is a link between both types of dreams. If dreams are what I’m after, then why play the lottery when I can craft my own in waking life? After all, I’ll always have your dreams to look forward to at the end of the day.

SLEEP: Wise words, indeed. It’s time for me to go: I’ll see you tonight.

[SLEEP motions to leave.]

DREAMER: One last thing.

SLEEP: Yes?

DREAMER: What’s Death like? Is he… like you?

SLEEP: [laughing] I’m afraid that’s just a superstition. Death doesn’t dress up in a black cloak and walk around looking like a cartoon character! Death is cessation; non-existence! He couldn’t be portrayed: for then he would be an existent. I’ve never understood artists and their absurd attempt to portray him like that! It just shows how little people really understand death. So too have people been fooled into believing Death is something to be afraid of. The pain is only ever on the waking side: death, like sleep, is only ever restful. I wonder if people will ever understand that. — Have a good day.

[SLEEP leaves, laughing to himself. Finally paying attention to ALARM, DREAMER’s eyes widen.]

DREAMER: I knew it! I’m late!

THE END