Fefu and Her Friends Quotes

FEFU: My husband married me to have a constant reminder of how loathsome women are.

CINDY: What?

FEFU: Yup.

CINDY: That’s just awful.

[…]

FEFU: Don’t be offended. I don’t take enough care to be tactful. I know I don’t. But don’t be offended. Cindy is not offended. She pretends to be, but she isn’t really. She understands what I mean.

CINDY: I do not.

FEFU: Yes, you do.—I like exciting ideas. They give me energy.

CHRISTINA: And how is women being loathsome an exciting idea?

FEFU: (With mischief.) It revolts me.

FEFU: There you have it! You too are fascinated with revulsion.

CHRISTINA: Hmm.

FEFU: You see, that which is exposed to the exterior . . . is smooth and dry and clean. That which is not . . . underneath, is slimy and filled with fungus and crawling with worms. It is another life that is parallel to the one we manifest. It’s there. The way worms are underneath the stone. If you don’t recognize it . . . (Whispering.) it eats you. That is my opinion.

FEFU: That’s all right. I scare myself too, sometimes. But there’s nothing wrong with being scared . . . it makes you stronger.—It does me.—He won’t put real bullets in the guns.—It suits our relationship . . . the game, I mean. If I didn’t shoot him with blanks, I might shoot him for real. Do you see the sense of it?

FEFU: […] I still like men better than women.—I envy them. I like being like a man. Thinking like a man. Feeling like a man.—They are well together. Women are not. Look at them. They are checking the new grass mower. . . . Out in the fresh air and the sun, while we sit here in the dark. . . . Men have natural strength. Women have to find their strength, and when they do find it, it comes forth with bitterness and it’s erratic. . . . Women are restless with each other. They are like live wires . . . either chattering to keep themselves from making contact, or else, if they don’t chatter, they avert their eyes . . . […]—Have I offended you again?

CHRISTINA: No. I too have wished for that trust men have for each other. The faith the world puts in them and they in turn put in the world. I know I don’t have it.

CINDY: He shot. Julia and the deer fell. The deer was dead . . . dying. Julia was unconscious. She had convulsions . . . like the deer. He died and she didn’t. I screamed for help and the hunter came and examined Julia. He said, “She is not hurt.” Julia’s forehead was bleeding. He said, “It is a surface wound. I didn’t hurt her.” I know it wasn’t he who hurt her. It was someone else. He went for help and Julia started talking. She was delirious.—Apparently there was a spinal nerve injury. She hit her head and she suffered a concussion. She blanks out and that is caused by the blow on the head. It’s a scar in the brain. It’s called the petit mal.

([…] Julia goes to the gun, takes it and smells the mouth of the barrel. She looks at Cindy.)

CINDY: It’s a blank.

(Julia takes the remaining slug out of the gun. She lets it fall on the floor.)

JULIA: She’s hurting herself. (Julia looks blank and is motionless. Cindy picks up the slug. She notices Julia’s condition.)

CINDY: Julia. (To Christina.) She’s absent.

CHRISTINA: What do we do?

CINDY: Nothing, she’ll be all right in a moment. (She takes the gun from Julia. Julia comes to.)

JULIA: It’s a blank . . .

CINDY: It is.

JULIA: She’s hurting herself. (Julia lets out a strange whimper. She goes to the coffee table, takes a piece of chocolate, puts it in her mouth and goes toward her room. After she crosses the threshold, she stops.) I must lie down.

FEFU: […] I am in constant pain. I don’t want to give in to it. If I do I am afraid I will never recover. . . . It’s not physical, and it’s not sorrow. It’s very strange Emma, I can’t describe it, and it’s very frightening. . . . It is as if normally there is a lubricant . . . not in the body . . . a spiritual lubricant . . . it’s hard to describe . . . and without it, life is a nightmare, and everything is distorted.

CHRISTINA: […] I think she is an adventurer in a way. Her mind is adventurous. I don’t know if there is dishonesty in that. But in adventure there is taking chances and risks, and then one has to, somehow, have less regard or respect for things as they are. That is, regard for a kind of convention, I suppose. I am probably ultimately a conformist, I think. And I suppose I do hold back for fear for being disrespectful or destroying something—and I admire those who are not. But I also feel they are dangerous to me. I don’t think they are dangerous to the world; they are more useful than I am, more important, but I feel some of my life is endangered by their way of thinking.

JULIA: […] Why do you have to kill Fefu, for she’s only a joker? (With a gravelly voice.) “Not kill, cure. Cure her.” Will it hurt?

(She whimpers.)

Oh, dear, dear, my dear, they want your light. Your light my dear. Your precious light. Oh dear, my dear.

The human being is of the masculine gender. The human being is a boy as a child and a grown up he is a man. Everything on earth is for the human being, which is man. To nourish him. […] Woman is not a human being. She is: 1—A mystery. 2—Another species. 3—As yet undefined. 4—Unpredictable; therefore wicked and gentle and evil and good which is evil.

PAULA: I felt small in your presence . . . I haven’t done all that I could have. All I wanted to do. Our lives have gone in such different directions I cannot help but review what those years have been for me. I gave up, almost gave up. I have missed you in my life. . . . I became lazy. I lost the drive. You abandoned me and I kept going. But after a while I didn’t know how to. I didn’t know how to go on. I knew why when I was with you. To give you pleasure. So we could laugh together. So we could rejoice together. To bring beauty to the world. . . . Now we look at each other like strangers. We are guarded. I speak and you don’t understand my words. I remember every day.

JULIA: […] My hallucinations are madness, of course, but I wish I could be with others who hallucinate also. I would still know I am mad but I would not feel so isolated.—Hallucinations are real, you know. They are not like dreams. They are as real as all of you here. I have actually asked to be hospitalized so I could be with other nuts. But the doctors don’t want to. They can’t diagnose me. That makes me even more isolated. (There is a moment’s silence.) You see, right now, it’s an awful moment because you don’t know what to say or do. If I were with others who hallucinate, they would say, “Oh yeah. Sure. It’s awful. Those dummies, they don’t see anything.” (The others begin to relax.) It’s not so bad, really. I can laugh at it. . . .

EMMA: After a few visits the psychiatrist said: Don’t you think you know me well enough now that you can tell me the truth about the paper? He almost drove her crazy. They just couldn’t believe she was so smart.

JULIA: He loves you.

FEFU: He can’t stand me.

JULIA: He loves you.

FEFU: He’s left me. His body is here but the rest is gone. I exhaust him. I torment him and I torment myself. I need him, Julia.

JULIA: I know you do.

FEFU: I need his touch. I need his kiss. I need the person he is. I can’t give him up. […]