Plays, novels & novelties

Mary has made a stuffed shell dinner for her son, Joseph, but he doesn't get to have bread with it? FuhgeDDaboudit! 
Oozing with the passive aggressive, it may be one way to confront the issue of their son’s sexuality, but Catholic denial only makes a saucy dish much messier!

ACTORS: 1 Female: 40s/50s; 2 Male: 1 - 40s/50s, and 1 - 18

Past Productions: Fertile Ground Festival of New Plays, Portland Oregon, February 1&2, 2014.

At rise: LOU, MARY, and JOSEPH are sitting at the kitchen table eating stuffed shells. They are decidedly Italian-American and New York. JOSEPH, age 18 is LOU and MARY’s son. A long baguette is also on the table. During most of the dialogue, if LOU isn’t speaking, he’s eating bread with his pasta. He often speaks with his mouth full.

JOSEPH:   Boy, Mom, you sure outdid yourself. These stuffed shells are outstanding.

LOU:   Bread.

(MARY passes the bread to LOU. Then back to JOSEPH.)

MARY:   Have some more. Your father always likes the spaghetti, but I wanted to do something special, just for you.

(He puts another shell on his plate, but she grabs the dish and heaps more on his plate.)

JOSEPH:   Whoa! Basta already! There’s no way I’ll eat it all!

MARY:   You can’t get too much shell. They’re just the right shape.

JOSEPH:   Whatever you say, Ma. I’ll have some of that bread.

(MARY doesn’t move to get it.)

JOSEPH:   Please?

MARY:   You should hold off on the bread.

JOSEPH:   I gotta have more bread. You gave me more of the shell.

MARY:   It’s two starches.

JOSEPH:   What?

MARY:   It’s two starches. Italians don’t eat two starches at the same time.

JOSEPH:   Since when?

MARY:   Since always. It’s always been that way.

JOSEPH:   No one’s ever told me that.

MARY:   We have. You just don’t listen. Remember when we were at Mafalda and Nunzio’s place in Rome and you asked for bread with your pasta? It stopped the party cold and everyone looked at me like I’d raised you wrong it was so embarrassing.

JOSEPH:   Yeah, but then they let me have it anyway.

MARY:   You were just six years old. Everyone thought you were cute. But the look they gave me. It said, “This better be temporary. Or else.”

JOSEPH:   Or else what? What are we eating it for then?

MARY:   Don’t argue. Eat your shells.

(JOSEPH sulks. He eats, ruminates.)

JOSEPH:   We’ve had bread and pasta forever.

MARY:   And it was wrong.

(LOU takes another piece of bread.)

JOSEPH:   Dad’s eating it.

MARY:   Your father has experience. Eating two starches hasn’t messed up his life.

JOSEPH:   And mine’s messed up?

MARY:   You’re young. We just want you to be happy.

JOSEPH:   I’m happy already! I’d be happier if I had a piece of bread. Shees!

(Pause. She begins to weep.)

MARY:   I made the shells special. For you.

LOU:   Your ma’s crying.

JOSEPH:   I didn’t do anyth—

LOU:   You made her cry! And she went through all that trouble to make you stuffed shells.

JOSEPH:   I’m sorry!

LOU:   Do you think she works that hard for me? Do you think she makes me the stuffed shells?

MARY:   I worked hard my whole life.

LOU:   You stayed at home.

MARY:   You raise a family of eight.

LOU:   I did! I went to work, didn’t I? Paid for everything, made sure everyone was clothed and fed, had a roof over your heads? Look. That’s not the point. The point is that your mother did all this work for you and you don’t give a good God damn.

MARY:   Please don’t say that.

LOU:   Huh?

MARY:   When you say— You’re taking the Lord’s name in vain when you say “good God D-A-M.”

LOU:   You see? You see how she keeps this family together?

MARY:   And I did make you stuffed shells.

LOU:   But only once, right? Just once. You made it for me once and I got better.

JOSEPH:   What are you talking—

MARY:   Your father’s just saying that if you do the right things, then you have nothing to worry about.

LOU:   I wasn’t always the best father or husband.

MARY:   Lou—

LOU:   It’s all right, Mary. Our son needs to know these things.

MARY:   No. He does not. He just needs to eat his shells.

(JOSEPH eyes his food with suspicion.)

JOSEPH:   What did you do with my shells.

MARY:   What do you mean what did I do? I baked ‘em.

JOSEPH:   I mean what did you put in ‘em?

MARY:   What I always put in them. Ricotta, mozza—

JOSEPH:   Drugs?

MARY:   What?

JOSEPH:   Did you drug me?

LOU:   What kind of a pervert are you, thinking your own mother would do such a thing?

(MARY starts to cry again.)

JOSEPH:   I’m really confused.

(MARY gets up and goes to her son and holds him.)

MARY:   You see? I knew it all along. I knew you were just confused, and you didn’t trust your mother. And all I was trying to do was get you to understand.

JOSEPH:   Understand what!

MARY:   That two starches don’t belong together.

(Pause. JOSEPH is getting impatient.)

JOSEPH:   OK, Ma, you gotta help me out here. So we’re sitting at the table and I ask for bread and you say no, it’s two starches. Right?

(MARY nods.)

JOSEPH (CONT’D):   And then you say eat your shells it’ll make you all better it made your father all better. Right?

(She nods again.)

JOSEPH (CONT’D):   But he’s still eating two starches.

MARY:   He—

MARY and JOSEPH:   has experience

JOSEPH:   I heard that. But— OK. We normally eat spaghetti, right? which is a starch. And we’ve had it with bread since forever, right? So what’s with the shells?

(MARY looks over at LOU who looks up at her, shrugs, and points as if to say, ‘Get on with it.’)

MARY:   All right. Put out your right hand.

(JOSEPH does so. MARY takes the baguette and plants it in his hand so that the uneaten end is pointing upward. JOSEPH gets excited.)

JOSEPH:   Now that’s all I want—

MARY:   Don’t move! Now put out your left hand.

(She takes the serving spoon and puts a single stuffed shell directly in JOSEPH’s hand.)

MARY:   Now look at the bread in your right hand.

JOSEPH:   I really want the bread, Ma.

(MARY grabs his head and turns it away from the bread.)

MARY:   All right. That’s enough of the staring.

LOU:   The bread.

MARY:   Could you hold on a minute?

JOSEPH:   Yeah, Dad. We’re using it.

LOU:   I’m out of bread.

JOSEPH:   Well, I haven’t had any yet!

LOU:   Hey hey hey! Don’t raise your voice at the table! Now pass the bread.

(MARY goes to tear off the uneaten end of the baguette, but JOSEPH protectively pulls it away and points the torn end at her.)

JOSEPH:   I wanted the end piece. I didn’t get to have any, you know.

(She tears off a piece and hands it to LOU. She turns back to JOSEPH who is still patiently holding the stuffed shell and baguette, but is clearly fixated on the baguette. He begins to bring the end of the baguette toward his mouth when MARY smacks the back of his head.)

MARY:   Don’t you dare! Not in this house you don’t.

(Pause.)

Joseph. Just do this one thing for me. All right?

(JOSEPH shrugs.)

JOSEPH:   So first I look at the bread, is that right?

MARY:   No! I mean, yes, but you did that already, so you don’t need to no more.

JOSEPH:   Until we’re done, right? So we can get on with the eating?

MARY:   That’s right. Now look down at the shell in your left hand. Allow yourself to gaze deeply into it where all the rich creamy filling has been stuffed and is bursting from within.

How does that make you feel?

JOSEPH:   I feel...feel all...

MARY:   Uh huh?

JOSEPH:   ...all warm and moist...

MARY:   Yes?

JOSEPH:   ...and shriveled from the sauce.

MARY:   But the slit! The slit! What about the slit!

LOU:   For Christ’s sakes, Mary. Have him lick it. Just like you did with me.

MARY:   I was getting there. These things take time. And don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.

(Pause.)

Do what your father says, Joseph. Lick it.

JOSEPH:   But—

MARY:   Do it!

(JOSEPH puts his tongue out tentatively.)

JOSEPH:   Can’t I just put some of this on the bread and eat it like that?

MARY:   No. It don’t work that way. Go on. Try again.

(JOSEPH does so and has better success at it this time, as he actually touches his tongue to the shell and moves it around a little, getting some of the sauce. There’s no enthusiasm to it but he continues doing it for the next few lines until MARY takes over to show him how it’s done.)

MARY:   There. Now isn’t that something? It’s really the only way to enjoy the shell, you’ll see. Warm, moist. So much better than the hard unyielding bread in your other hand. And if you work at it a little longer, you get to the surprise inside. No surprises in the spaghetti your father’s made us for the last eighteen years.

LOU:   What’s wrong with my spaghetti?

MARY:   Would you please not interrupt me. I’m talking here.

(Back to JOSEPH.)

Your father’s spaghetti’s all right. I’m just saying a thin noodle only goes so far.

LOU:   There’s nothing wrong with my noodle and you know it!

MARY:   Please, Lou.

(Back to JOSEPH.)

You’re doing just fine. Close your eyes and feel the sensations wash over you. Here. Let me show you.

(MARY pulls her chair closer to JOSEPH and puts a shell in her own hand.)

See, now. You want to start all gentle-like, working from the outside in. Breathe in the aroma, taste the earthiness— you know, the porcini, the prosciutto. Takes you back to the old country when you had to make everything in small dark places where the flavors ripen. Then you gradually bring your tongue in closer to the slit, taste the filling, still respectful and all gentle, like I told you. And then start to tease the treasure chest open so you can get deeper into the cave with all the goodies.

(MARY starts to get into what she’s doing and starts making yummy noises and ad-libbing how good it is. By the end of the play, she has her sauce-covered face mashed into the shell.)

JOSEPH:   That’s great, Ma. Can I have my bread now? Ma?

LOU:   She’s gone.

JOSEPH:   Huh?

LOU:   I saw it once before. When she made shells for me that one time. It’ll be a while before she comes up for air.

(Pause.)

Pass the bread for me, would you, Son?

JOSEPH:   Sure thing, Dad.

LOU:   Better yet. There’s another in the bread box. Grab it for us, would ya?

JOSEPH:   You got it!

(JOSEPH grabs a fresh baguette and hands it to LOU.)

LOU:   Thanks, Joseph. Your a good boy, you know that?

JOSEPH:   Here’s to two starches.

LOU:   To two starches!

(They “cheer” with their baguettes as if with wine glasses. Then taking them in both hands with sauce and pasta piled on top, they devour them passionately, making yummy noises. Lights fade to black.)

END OF PLAY