Today I decided to look at ancient Greek misogyny. You know, the old legends, the ones where men were always doing something the gods wanted, and somehow the women always got blamed? Or something like that? It seems misogyny has been around a long time. So today, another monologue…designed for performance on the stage, but able to be read, too.

THE FACE

SETTING: A train station waiting area. The train is due soon.

AT RISE: An empty bench. Papers and magazines attest to the fact that people spend time waiting here. HELEN enters, out of breath. She moves toward the empty bench, brushes aside the papers and magazines the clutter the seat.

HELEN

Mind if I sit here? No? Great. I’m exhausted. I’ve been running…miles. These shoes…

(HELEN removes her high heels.)

These shoes are not made for running. Or even for walking, really. But what can I say? It’s required…I have to look…stunning. When you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, you don’t have a choice. What? Me? No, I’m not Miss Universe. I’m…well…have you ever heard of the face that launched a thousand ships? That’s me. Helen’s my name. You can just call me Helen. Is the train running on time? Oh…dear…I hope…I hope they don’t…find me…before it gets here. I was counting on it…still, I guess I can’t force the train. Maybe I should wait…in the restroom. No, that’s the first place they’d look. Hey, is there anyplace around here that someone can be…you know, not seen?...I didn’t think so. It’s hard to hide in a crowd, even.

Maybe…maybe I could…you know, get all of you to…sort of surround me? Keep them from finding me? Oh. Well, if you must know…no, I’m not running from the police. I’m running from…them. I’ve been running from them forever. They always find me, drag me back. They have fought for me, killed for me, died for me, and never stopped to think how stupid that is, really. I mean, I’m just one woman. I’m beautiful, sure, I realize that, but lots of women are beautiful. Why me? Why do I have to be blamed for everything? It isn’t me, you know. It’s those men…the ones that think they have to possess me. They don’t love me. It’s just…pride. Manly pride. They think if they possess the most beautiful woman, they must be the best among all men.

It all started when I got married. Menelaus, that’s my husband. He was the king of Sparta. I was told I would be happy. I was told I would learn to love him…or at least to tolerate him and be able to stand it when he put his hands all over me. I was told all sorts of things. I was just a girl. I was too young to be getting married. I should have still been playing, making daisy chains, laughing with my girlfriends. But there I was, packed off to live with a man much older than me, a man I didn’t know, a man who didn’t really know how to love. I was a possession, a trophy. He paraded me through the streets of town to show everyone how beautiful I was, then locked me away to make sure no one could look at me.

Things were boring, but I was learning to adjust. I kept telling myself, one day I’ll learn to love him. I couldn’t imagine it, but I kept whispering. Then one day, he showed up. Paris. A young man from Troy. He came around every day, flirting with me, trying to get me to run away with him, telling me he loved me, he wanted me, he could make me happy. It was tempting, but I could tell it was just more of the same. Taken to some man’s house to be his prize possession, to show off, and to lock away from the world. I was skeptical. But he took me away with him, carried me back to his home in Troy to be his wife.

Love him? Paris? God, no. He was a swaggering braggart, always telling his friends how smart he was, how good looking he was, how he persuaded me to run away from the king. He didn’t, you know. He simply grabbed me and carried me to his ship. I didn’t have any say in the matter, just like I had no say in getting married. I was just a piece of meat to be bought, sold, stolen, and recovered as if I were a prize heifer. No one actually asked me what I wanted. They just took.

So that started a war. Yes, a war! A group of grown men, strong leaders and citizens of their country, started a bloody war to recover a woman. The war lasted 20 years. So many people died. It pretty much destroyed Troy. All the women were taken into slavery by my husband and his supporters, and forced to leave their home and sail to a place they never knew. They blamed me, of course. They called me tramp. They spit at me. I can’t really blame them. No one ever blamed the men, the men who thought it reasonable to start a long, bloody war just because of a woman.

They took me back, but I had enough. I ran away. The gods took pity on me, and helped me. The men continued to chase me, across continents, across oceans, across years…decades…centuries. The gods laugh. They think it’s grand amusement, watching them catch me, drag me to their ship…their train…their airplane…and cart me back to a land that has changed too much to care anymore. Then the gods help me escape again, just so they can watch the hunt.

They caught me in Denver. Stupid. I should have never agreed to be a cheerleader for the Broncos. Too easy to spot. I was right there on TV, front and center, so of course they came and got me again. I should have stayed with that job at McDonald’s. A good thick pair of glasses and that hideous uniform, no one ever spotted me. But I got tired of French fries, and thought the glamour would be fun. They hauled me away from the stadium on live TV, and no one made a move to stop them. No one stepped forward to help. I suppose it could be partially because the damn team chose that moment to make a touchdown. No one cared about anything else. I think that was Apollo’s idea. He always did have a streak of cruelty.

So now, I’m here. Waiting for a train that is late. I don’t know where to hide if they show up before the train does. If I can just get on that train before they find me…I can be in New Mexico by morning. Then a quick leap over the border, and keep going into South America. They won’t think to look for me there for a long time. So…now that you’ve heard my story…will you hide me?

You know, that’s a fabulous idea. Yes, let’s change clothes. Here, you take my dress…

(HELEN removes her dress.)

Hand me your suit, quickly.

A suit flies toward HELEN from the audience, a man’s three piece suit and tie. HELEN dons the suit. Shoes are tossed to her. She puts them on. The suit fits perfectly.

You are a true friend. You gave me the shirt off your back. And I will put in a good word for you with the gods. Oh, no! They’re here…quick, hide in the…no, that won’t work…hide…it’s too late. They’ve seen you. Don’t worry, they’ll figure out their mistake soon enough. Just pretend you like to wear dresses…they’ll let you go. And I’ll be miles away. Gotta go now. Time to blend in with the crowd.

(HELEN turns to exit. She turns back around and blows a kiss to the audience.)

Thank you. The gods will bless you.

END OF PLAY