characters (in order of appearance):
1) a dead man, Gordon
2) a woman, Jean
3) the Other Woman/also plays the stranger. Has an accent.
4) Gordon’s widow, Hermia
5) Gordon’s mother, Mrs. Gottlieb
6) Gordon’s brother, Dwight
set:
1) a moveable dining room table
2) a moveable cafe table
3) a cell phone
4) light
notes:
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all…It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page...My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love, the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end. In any of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality, to me, or than I am to them?...The messenger on horseback had exactly the same possessions as the King, the first Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London. So with the three passengers shut up in the narrow compass of one lumbering old mail-coach; they were mysteries to one another, as complete as if each had been in his own coach and six, or his own coach and sixty, with the breadth of a county between him and the next.
--Charles Dickens, Tale of Two Cities, the passage Hermia tries to paraphrase
scene one
An almost empty cafe.
A dead man, Gordon, sits on a chair with his back to us.
He doesn’t look all that dead.
He looks—still.
At another table, a woman—Jean—sits, drinking coffee, and writing a thank-you letter.
She has an insular quality, as though she doesn’t want to take up space.
She looks over at the man.
She stares back at her coffee.
She sips.
A cell phone rings.
It is coming from the dead man’s table.
It rings and rings.
The caller hangs up and calls again.
Jean looks over at him.
She sighs.
The phone keeps ringing.
JEAN:
Excuse me—are you going to get that?
No answer from the man.
Would you mind answering that?
JEAN:
I’m sorry to bother you.
If you could just—turn your phone off.
The cell phone rings again.
Jean gets out of her chair and walks over to the man.
JEAN:
Are you ill?
No answer.
JEAN:
Are you deaf?
No answer.
JEAN:
Oh, I’m sorry—
Jean signs in sign language:
Are you deaf?
No response.
The phone rings again.
JEAN:
All right.
Excuse me.
She reaches for the cell phone. She answers it.
JEAN:
Hello? No. This is—you don’t know me.
To the dead man:
Are you Gordon?
No answer.
I don’t know. Can I take a message?
Hold on—I don’t have anything to write with.
She sees a pen on the dead man’s table.
(To the dead man)
Thank you.
(To the phone)
Go ahead.
She writes on a napkin.
How late can he call you?
The voice on the phone begins to sob.
I’m sorry. You sound upset. I’m not--
The caller hangs up.
Gordon?
She touches his shoulder.
Oh--
She feels his pulse.
The phone rings again.
She answers it.
Hello? No, he’s not. Can I take a message?
A pause as the person on the other end makes a very long offer.
No, he doesn’t want one. He already has one.
No, I don’t want one.
I already have one.
Thank you, good-bye.
She hangs up.
She looks around for help.
Help.
She dials 911.
Hello?
I think that there is a dead man sitting next to me.
I don’t know how he died.
I’m at a cafe.
I don’t know.
Hold on.
She exits with the cell phone to look at the name of the cafe and the address.
We just see the dead man and an empty stage.
She returns.
JEAN:
It’s on the corner of Green and Goethe. (pronounced Go-thee)
Should I stay with him?
There seems to be no one working at this cafe.
How long?
Thank you.
She hangs up.
She holds the dead man’s hand.
A pause.
His cell phone rings again.
Hello? No, he’s not.
I’m—answering his phone.
Does he have your phone number?
(Pause while the woman on the phone says: of course he has my phone number. I am his mother. The enormity of her loss registers for Jean.)
Oh…Yes, of course.
He’ll—I’ll leave him the message.
Have a—hope you have a—good day.
Good-bye.
She hangs up.
She breathes, to Gordon: It was your mother.
She sits by Gordon.
She strokes his forehead.
scene two
A church.
A Mass is being sung in Latin.
Jean kneels down, wearing a dark blue rain-coat.
Her cell phone rings.
She looks at it.
She hesitates.
She answers it.
She whispers.
JEAN:
Hello?
No, he can’t come to the phone right now.
(On the line, inaudible to us,
a woman says, I know he’s dead.)
Oh, you do?
I’m sorry.
Then—why?
Okay, I’ll meet you.
What will you be wearing?
(A pause while the woman says: I will be wearing a blue rain coat.)
Really? That’s strange.
I’ll be wearing a blue rain-coat too.
I’ll see you then. Good-bye.
Mass continues to be sung.
Jean prays.
A spot-light on Jean.
JEAN:
Help me, God.
Help me to comfort his loved ones.
Help me to help the memory of Gordon live on in the minds and hearts of his loved ones.
I only knew him for a short, time, God.
But I think that I loved him, in a way.
Dear God. I hope that Gordon is peaceful now.
The music stops.
A woman comes to a podium.
Mrs. Gottlieb begins her eulogy.
MRS. GOTTLIEB:
I’m not sure what to say. There is, thank God, a vaulted ceiling here. I am relieved to find that there is stained glass and the sensation of height. Even though I am not a religious woman I am glad there are still churches. Thank God there are still people who build churches for the rest of us so that when someone dies or gets married we have a place to----. I could not put all of this—(she thinks the word grief)-- in a low-ceilinged room—no—it requires height.
Jean’s cell phone rings.
Could some one please turn their fucking cell phone off. There are only one or two sacred places left in the world today. Where there is no ringing. The theater, the church, and the toilet. But some people actually answer their phones in the shitter these days. Some people really do so. How many of you do? Raise your hand if you’ve answered your cell phone while you were quietly urinating. Yes, I thought so. My God.
Where was I? Look at this great big sea of people wearing dark colors. It used to be you saw someone wearing black and you knew their beloved had died. Now everyone wears black all the time. We are in a state of perpetual mourning. But for what.
Where was I? Gordon.
Well. I’ve forgotten my point. Let’s have a hymn. Father?
A hymn.
“You’ll never walk alone.”
The singing begins.
Jean’s cell phone rings again.
Jean sneaks out, covering the phone.
You’ll never walk alone. That’s right. Because you’ll always have a machine in your pants that might ring. Oh, Gordon.
She sings too.
«
Page 1 of 6
»
