She gestures to them, and one by one they respond:
BACHELOR NUMBER ONE:
Wipers it was, miss.
BACHELOR NUMBER TWO:
(He wears a GI uniform from World War Two. He is missing an arm.)
They told us we were supposed to take this mountain. I think they said it was named Monte Cassino.
BACHELOR NUMBER THREE:
(He wears a Union infantry uniform from the Civil War. He is black and resembles Eddie Murphy.)
Near Petersburg, ma’am. Dey blowed up de mine an’ we went in, an’ den dey started shootin’ down at us.
BACHELOR NUMBER FOUR:
(He wears a Red Army uniform, though it is in rags. He is skeletally thin.)
Lake Ladoga, the siege of Leningrad. I fell through the ice and froze.
BACHELOR NUMBER FIVE:
(He is Oriental, small, wearing what looks like black pajamas. They are completely burned away on one side, and his flesh is blistered.)
I was carrying rocket grenades down the Trail when the napalm came.
BACHELOR NUMBER SIX:
(He wears the fur-collared flying suit of a U. S. Navy pilot, vintage of 1954. He is also badly burned.)
I was shot down north of the Yalu. I landed all right, but the plane was burning and when I tried to get out they shot at me.
BACHELOR NUMBER SEVEN:
(He wears the uniform of one of Napoleon’s hussars. He is seated with Bachelor Number Eight at a common desk.)
I too froze in Russia. It was on the way back from Moscow, very cold, and we had no food.
BACHELOR NUMBER EIGHT:
(In Wehrmacht uniform. He is blind.) And I also froze, kind lady. It was more than one hundred thirty years later, but it was in almost the same spot as the Frenchie.
JANE:
Thanks, guys. (To audience.)
We could Ve had lots more—hey, we could’ve had millions, all the way from Thermopylae to Grenada, only you know what it is when you have to stay under budget. And, listen, not just soldiers. Women, children, old people—remember Hiroshima? Or the time they wiped out the Catharists in France? “Kill them all,” the Catholic general told his troops, “God will know which are His own.” And I’m not even talking about, like, say, the Mongols, or that all-time goldy oldy, the Second Punic War.
(She scratches her crotch reminiscently,)
Then there were all the other little things that went along with the war for the civilians. You know what I mean?
You have to use your imagination a little bit here, folks—remember I told you about the budget? So we couldn’t bring you all the starved children and all like that, and I have to play all the civilian women myself. So there was this soldier; he came into the cellar where I was hiding and there I was. He got me right behind the ear with the butt of his rifle and he was already opening his pants ....
Jane turns away and walks toward the wings, lost in thought,
BACHELOR NUMBER EIGHT:
(Indignantly,) That must have been an Ivan. We German soldiers do not rape.
BACHELOR NUMBER FOUR:
No, you just bayonet babies.
BACHELOR NUMBER EIGHT:
A damnable lie! I personally bayonetted no babies.
The youngest I killed had no less than fifteen years, absolutely, I am almost sure.
Jane isn‘t listening. She has begun strutting across the stage, top hat, tails and cane on her shoulder; she is doing aerobic exercises, and is paying no attention to the eight “bachelors.“
BACHELOR NUMBER ONE:
Miss? Beggin’ yer pardon, miss? We’ve got a kind of an argle-bargle here.
JANE:
(She stops at the wing RIGHT, and looks at them, irritated.)
Oh, shut up, okay? It doesn’t matter which of you it was, does it? I mean, after he stuck me with that thing he stuck me with his other thing so I died anyway. Anyway, you probably all got off on it.
BACHELOR NUMBER TWO:
(Also indignant.) Hey, lady, that’s a load of crap. We never done nothing like that.
JANE:
What, never?
BACHELOR NUMBER TWO:
You bet your pretty little bottom, never. General Mark Clark would’ve crucified us. Anyway, the Eye-tie broads was giving it away.
JANE:
For a can of Spam, you mean?
(She looks at him thoughtfully, then grins and turns to the wings. She pulls an army cot out onto the stage and sits on the edge of it. She pats the cot.)
So what do you think, GI Joe? Remember, I don’t want your Spam and I’m not interested in you. But you’ve got your gun. I couldn’t stop you, could I?
BACHELOR NUMBER TWO: (Dangerously.) What’re you trying to prove, lady?
JANE:
What do you think? A heroic fighting man has a right to a little R&R, hasn’t he? If you mean to sin, why wait to begin? I can’t stop you. Anyway, if you’ve killed my kids and blown up my house, what’s a little gang-bang?
BACHELOR NUMBER TWO:
You’re really asking for it! (He starts toward her, grimly horny. Then he stops in consternation, feels his groin, shakes his head. He looks at her angrily.)
Hell, lady, you really take the starch out of a fellow.
JANE:
(Sympathetically.) Testosterone running a little low? I guess you haven’t killed anybody lately, that it?
All eight of the bachelors are muttering as Jane pushes the cot back into the wings.
BACHELOR NUMBER TWO:
You make us sound like a bunch of animals! We were soldiers. I got a Silver Star. If I’d been an officer I bet it would Ye been the Medal of Honor!
BACHELOR NUMBER SEVEN:
The Emperor himself shook my hand!
BACHELOR NUMBER FIVE:
It was the shells we carried that made our comrades in the South able to throw off the imperialist yoke!
BACHELOR NUMBER FOUR:
Even when we were starving, we fought!
BACHELOR NUMBER FIVE:
We done what dey tole us to do, ma’am. We was supposed to break right through to Richmond, an’ we dang near done it, too. We would’ve, iffen de generals hadda got some more troops into de Crater ‘fore we was all kilt ourselfs.
JANE:
Oh, gosh, nobody said you weren’t all brave. I mean, not counting if you pooped your pants sometimes, right? But you went right on and did the job you were supposed to do. The thing is, what were you so brave about!
BACHELOR NUMBER ONE:
It was the Huns, miss. They was doin’ awful fings in Belgium.
BACHELOR NUMBER SEVEN: For the Emperor!
BACHELOR NUMBER THREE:
Dey whupped us, ma’am, when we was slaves. Freedom! An’ we kilt dem back.
BACHELOR NUMBER EIGHT: For the Aryan race!
BACHELOR NUMBER FOUR:
For the Soviet motherland!
JANE:
(As the bachelors are all speaking at once.) Boys, boys! Let’s kind of hold it down, okay?
(She looks at Bachelor Number Six.) What about you, Ensign? Don’t you have anything to say?
BACHELOR NUMBER SIX:
(Grinning.)
Seems to me you’re doing all the talking, hon. Me, I’m just a fly-boy. Drop a couple five-hundred pounders, shoot up a column of trucks, back on the ship for a malted milk and the night movie—except for that damn MIG. I bet it was a Russky pilot that got me. No damn slopey could’ve flown like that.