Counting the Ways
(A Vaudeville)

by

Edward Albee

1976

THE SET

I see a fairly short rear wall, and two side walls angling from it to the proscenium. In each of the side walls I see an archway cut, for entrances and exits. Beyond these archways we see black. On stage, there should be a round, or oval table, three feet diameter, dining-table height. To either side of the table there should be a straightback armless chair. The walls bare. On the table: a magazine, a pipe, and whatever else may be needed. No clutter, though!

LIGHTS

Clear, white light, the only shift is the fade at the end of the play. (See BLACKOUTS for further notes.)

COSTUMES AND MAKEUP

Both of these simple and naturalistic.

BLACKOUTS

This is more a term than a method, though I would like the lights to go out at once, and come on as suddenly, when called for. If need be, a curtain could be swiftly drawn and as swiftly opened.

THE SIGNS

Exactly as described. If coming from above is a problem, they may appear on a signboard, far stage right, in the old vaudeville manner -- placed there by a disembodied hand.

COUNTING THE WAYS received its first American performance at The Hartford Stage Co., January 28, 1977

SHE		Angela Lansbury
HE		William Prince

Directed by Edward Albee

COUNTING THE WAYS was presented initially by the national Theatre, in London in the Olivier Theatre, on December 6, 1976. It was directed by Bill Bryden; and the setting was designed by John Bury.

SHE		Beryl Reid
HE		Michael Gough

Counting the ways

AVANT SCENE

The stage empty.

A sign drops:
COUNTING THE WAYS.
Stays four seconds, rises.

BLACKOUT

SCENE 1

The two reading. A table C., two upright chairs to either side.

SHE. (Puts her magazine down, looks at him for a little while, He reads, closes book and crosses U.R. Objective curiosity.) Do you love me?
HE. (At R. exit. Takes a while to register that He has been asked a question.) Hm? Pardon?
SHE. (Even more emphasis on the word "love.") Do you love me?
HE. (Considers it for quite a while; suspicious.) Why do you ask?
SHE. (Considers that.) Well: because I want to know.
HE. (Pause; puzzled.) Right now?
SHE. (Suddenly uncertain.) Well… yes. Or… no, no, not really. (Short pause.) Yes.
HE. (Considers it, finds the question silly, shows it.) Of course.
SHE. ("Good for you!") Well… good. (She smiles, goes back to her book. He exits R.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 2

She L. of C. alone.

SHE. (Bright, but not idiotic.) Walnuts! (This is a list; small expectant pauses.)
Parsley!
Bone marrow!
(He enters R.)
Celery root!
Crème brulée!
(Pause; enthusiastic.)
Do you love me!?
HE. (Hungry and delighted.) Of course!
SHE. ("Right on!") I knew you did! (He exits R. She sits.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 3

She, standing behind L chair.

SHE. Do you suppose stuffing it in me for you fat and flabby is something I enjoy? Do you? Putting it in me like a wad of dough… hoping it'll "rise" to the occasion? do you think that fills me with a sense of… what? Fills me with anything but itself? There are deserts, you know! And think about hence!! (Pause.) There are two things: cease and corruption. And that's all there is to say about hence! (Pause.) Except, perhaps, that predetermination is even more awful than… what do they call it? -- "the sudden void"? There's that, too. (Pause; grim assurance.) One day… one day stuffing it in me for you -- fat and flabby, yes, fat and flabby -- it will not, in its own ood time, "rise" to the occasion, and nevermore, as the bird said. When that day comes… well, that day comes. (Short pause.) And knowing all that, what do you call it now!? (Short pause.) You call it love! (Longer pause; more determined.) You call it love! Remember it! (She exits, L.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 4

Stage empty; He enters, holding a newspaper open to where He has been reading; He has his reading glasses on; He assumes She is in the room.

HE. (Reads form his paper, crossing U.C.) "Love in the afternoon." (Sees He is alone; calls.) "Love in the afternoon." What does that mean? (Pause.) Where are you?
SHE. (Enters, carrying dishcloth; drying her hands.) What? Love in the what?
HE. "Love in the afternoon," it says; that's a title. What does it mean?
SHE. (Reads it.) "Love in the afternoon"? It means sex in the afternoon, I should imagine.
HE. (Puts down paper. Mildly incredulous.) Really? That's what they mean? Sex in the afternoon? Love means sex? I mean, to them?
SHE. Sure: love means sex; eyes are thights; lips means hips. I kiss your lips means…
HE. (The incredulity less mild.) … I kiss your hips? I kiss your lips means I kiss your hips?
SHE. Sure.
HE. (Puts down the paper.) No.
SHE. (Shrugs.) I don't care.
HE. (Move emphasis.) I kiss your hips!? Nobody ever said that: "Hello, I want to kiss your hips."
SHE. (Laughs.) I rather like it!
HE. (Dogmatic.) Nobody ever said that.
SHE: Still… it's what it means.
HE. And the limpid pools of your eyes? Is that meant to be thighs? The limpid pools of your thighs?
SHE. (Some distaste.) Don't be literal.
HE. The limpid pools of yout thighs? (Offhand.) I don't believe it.
SHE. (Also.) Call 'em up; find out.
HE. (Taking the dare. Picking up the paper.) I will! "Love in the afternoon." I'll just do that. (Exits R.)
SHE. (A chuckle.) Good! You do that! (She remains.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 5

Stage empty. She enters, still carrying her towel. She comes center stage, looks at the audience.

SHE. (Objective; maybe a bit too bright, crosses D.S.) Here's a thought; I think it was my grandmother's: love doesn't die; we pass through it. (She stares at the audience for a little, exits U.L.C.)

SCENE 6

He enters.

HE. (Crossing to R.C.) You're right.
SHE. (Entering with rose and vase.) Hm? Pardon?
HE. You're right. I went there and I asked them. "Love in the afternoon" means sex. Sex in the afternoon.
SHE. (U.C. table; fixing rose.) Well, of course; I told you.
HE. (A little hurt.) I was surprised.
SHE. (Busy.) Did you ask about eyes and thighs and lips and hips?
HE. No; I was embarrassed. (Pause.) Love in the morning means sex in the morning, too.
SHE. Oh, you asked about that.
HE. Yes; they smiled; smirked.
SHE. (A little tart.) And love at night?
HE. I didn't ask.
SHE (Starts slow, offhand, builds.) Love at night? After all the drinks? And too much food? The old arguments hashed over for the guests? The car? That week in Bermuda? the nursing home? All that? The bile and the regrets and half numb and better off straight to sleep but no, fumbling and a little hatred with each thrust -- both ways? (Laughs.) Oh my; love in the afternoon may be one thing, and love in the morning very much the same, they may both be dirty games, but love at night… oh, that has to be love. (Long pause.)
HE. (Embarrassed.) They smirked.
SHE. (Right at hime, crossing to L. exit.) Did they. (Pause; a little too offhand.) What time is it?

BLACKOUT

SCENE 7

She has exited; He is alone with the rose in the vase. He circles it, looks to see if She is coming, looks at the rose, takes it from the vase and begins to depetal it.

HE.
She loves me.
She loves me not.
(Etc., for maybe 25-30 petals, varying in speed, varying in mood, but with no imposed psychological progression.)
She loves me.
She loves me not.
(He becomes aware of the audience and cups the remainder of the rose from view; now He feels conspicuous.)
She loves me.
She loves me not.
(He peers into his hand at the cupped rose, looks very seriously at the audience, and then suddenly pops the remainder of the flower into his mouth, chews, pretends to swallow. He holds up the stem; He smiles.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 8

He is sitting; the stem is in the vase; She enters.

SHE. (Comes to the table for something, sees the stem.) What's this!? (She picks up the stem.)
HE. (Looking up.) What?
SHE. This. What happened?
HE. I ate it.
SHE. The rose?
HE. The flower.
SHE. What for?
HE. (Calm; a trifle confused.) Well…I took the rose and I was doing the petals for she-loves-me-she-loves-me-not…
SHE. (Points to the table top.) Yes, I can see.
HE. (Looks.) Oh; there they are. And I was counting away -- very interested -- and I was nearing a decision -- she-loves-me-she-loves-me-not…
SHE. Who?
HE. You, of course. And I was near a verdict…
SHE. (None too friendly.) Why didn't you ask me?
HE. (Slow and determined.) Well, I had already begun with the rose, and it was here and you were not…
SHE. (Sniffs.) You should have asked me.
HE. … and it was going along quite nicely…
SHE. I would have told you.
HE. … one way, then the other, when all at once I saw I was being watched… (Waits to see if She will react; She doesn't.) … out there. (Ibid.) … out there! (Points; She looks, accepts, turns back to him, nods.) … and so…
SHE. … so?
HE. (Deflated.) … and so I ate it -- what was left.
SHE. (Triumphant.) You just didn't want to know!
HE. (Holding his own.) They were watching!
SHE. Ask me! I'll tell you!
HE. I'll get another one. (Exits.)
SHE. (Pause; calls after him.) You'll get sick. You can't eat roses! You'll get sick!

BLACKOUT

SCENE 9

She is alone on stage. She looks at the stem in her hand, looks down at the petals on the table, looks toward his exit, back. Taking the opportunity of being along -- but still furtively -- She picks up the petals one by one and relates them to the stem.

SHE.
He loves me?
He loves me not?
No; that's not right; that's when you take them off. (To audience.)
Not me loves he?
Me loves he?
Not me loves he?
Me loves he? (Etc.)
(She does this for not more than 30 seconds, as little as 10, at the discretion of the director. She will vary in mood and intensity -- enthusiasm, dismay, surety, uncertainty, anger, pleasure -- but by the end of the mood will be some confusion and bitterness.)
Not me loves he?
Me loves he?
(He enters, carrying a new rose, the other one behind his back.)
HE. (Puzzled and faintly superior.) What are you doing? Aren't you silly! Here's a new one. What were you doing? (She looks at him, then at his rose, then at her stem. She puts her stem down on the table, takes his rose with a swipe of her hand, exits L. He stands for a moment, looking after her.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 10

As at the end of the previous scene. He turns toward the audience, brings his hand from behind his back, He is holding another rose. He smiles gently, looks at it, smells it.

HE. (To himself, more or less.) Maybe it was the daisies. (Now to the audience, crossing D.S.R.) Maybe it was the daisies. (Pause.) After all, I mean. Maybe you can't do it with roses. Well… maybe you can't do it with daisies, either. Daisies tell? Daisies do what? What did we do with dandelions? In the fall, when we were young, when the yellow was gone and they were ready to blow… so… fragile, regular showoffs. (French pronunciation of the next word.) Dandelion? Lion's tooth? For all that fluff? Must have been the leaves. All that fluff. One blew them for a reason. What was it? In the fall, when we were young. Was it for love? I mean, was it a way of telling? (Pause.) I could look it up. I could, I probably will, but not knowing anymore -- having known, of course, aware of that, and longer -- there's a kind of shivery thing there. There's something thrilling to the mind going. As with deafness -- all the encroachments. Or can less encroach? (Small pause.) Slow falling apart; it's interesting. Well, it had better be! (Pause.) What did we use them for? We blew them for a reason when we were young. What was it? Was it for love? (Louder, so She will hear, offstage.) Was it for love?
SHE. (Offstage.) Hm? Pardon?
HE. (A little louder; over his shoulder.) Was it for love? Did we blow them for love? (She enters.) Was it for love?
SHE. I'm sorry I grabbed it like that. (Hands it.) Do you want it back?
HE. (Doesn't take it.) I mean dandelions, after all, I think; not roses.
SHE. What?
HE. Not roses any longer; probably never; dandelions. I don't mean roses anymore.
SHE. (Pauses; thinks for a bit.) We shouldn't each have a rose like this; they should be together; one of us should have both of them.
HE. (Pause; a slight, superior laugh.) What will you do, make an arrangement?
SHE. (Pauses momentarily; snaps.) Never mind. (Exits with her rose, L.C.)
HE. (Looks after her, pause.) I think it was for love; it was a long time ago. (He looks at the rose, holds it at stiff arm's length toward her exit, closes his eyes tight.) Here.

BLACKOUT

SCENE 11

As at the end of the previous scene. Eyes still closed, He makes a grimace, extends, shakes his flower-held arm even further.

HE. (Between-the-teeth tone.) HERE! (Nothing happens.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 12

As before.

HE. Here! (She enters, with rose, pauses, sighs, takes the rose.) I mean!... really! (He exits.)
SHE: (After him.) Well, you see… (Stops, considers the roses, speaks to the audience now; begins brightly.) There was another time I had them like this -- two of them; two flowers! Not in my hand, though, but two. I was what!? I was seventeen and seventeen was younger, then. (A confidence.) Some of us -- believe it; try to believe it -- some of us at seventeen were, oh, shame, I suppose, to present eyes, still maidens, still maidens, head and hood. (Considers that.) Hm! And I was at a dance, and we all wore satin then and looked very much alike -- not from the satin, not only that, but our hair was of a style, and our skin -- what was it? Was it something we used, or was it seventeen? -- our skin was glistening and palest pink -- save when we blushed, which was deep and often -- the palest pink, and we all had a bit of… pudge. That's a nice way to put it, I think: a bit of pudge. I had come, I think, with the boy my mother and I should, and that didn't matter, for one was like another. I think I was sixteen. One was like another: one bit his nails; one wore brown shoes, dirty brown shoes with his tux; another… these roses will wilt. Ah, well.
	One was like another and it didn't matter. The music was… well, it was a prom.
	The boy had brought me a gardenia, a flower I have always, perhaps irrationally, loathed -- nowadays their scent makes me faintly ill; the gardenia; a corsage; not a wristlet, alas, for I could have kept it some distance from me, but a corsage which, he asked, could he place on me.
	Well, it was a chance for a feel, though God knows what they got, those bras our mothers had us wear, but the boys I knew weren't too adventuresome -- lots of blowing in the ear, nibbles, a creeping hand in the dark once or twice; nothing much. I must have been sixteen.
HE. (Appearing R.) Where are my shirts?
SHE. (Hears, pays no attention; still to the audience.) Well, he put it on me -- placed, as he said -- above my left breast, and a little low, sort of… on it rather than above it. (Demonstrates with the flower in her left hand; keeps it in place.)
HE. (Moving R. of C.) I want my shirts!
SHE. (As before.) I kept my head to the right a lot, but there's no avoiding a gardenia once it gets the body heat. Suddenly… suddenly there was another boy at our table, standing there, lookin down at me with a sort of… puzzled hurt.
HE. (Moving L. of C.; a whine.) Where are my shirts?
SHE. (As before.) I couldn't place him at once. He was from school; I couldn't place that, and then the water cooler sprang to my mind!
HE. (L. of C.; louder.) I want my shirts!
SHE. (Vague intimation of having heard him but still to the audience; some wonder.) The water cooler, and the image of that boy… he was a loner, or new, or no one liked him: a cabal, perhaps -- a week or so previous, I had stopped by the cooler -- though tepid as often as not -- and coming back up from my drink, I sensed him… or, who he proved to be, rather as I suddenly sensed him at our table. I remember, he said…
HE. Why don't I have any shirts?
SHE. (Right on.) … are you going to the prom? Not inviting me, it is important to remember, but… asking. Sure, I said, nodding my head, swallowing; quiet smile; you? He nodded. I walked away. See you! I said. Maybe that was it! "See you!" Could he have?... he must have!
HE. Everyone has shirts. Why don't I have any?
SHE. (Pays no attention.) Does "See you" mean something more? Does "See you" mean "I suspect you're inviting me, subtly, of course, and naturally I accept." Does "See you" mean that? It must!
HE. I must have shirt. Where are my shirts?
SHE. (As just before.) He was so shy. "I'm late," he said; "here." And from behind his back he brought a gardenia corsage, twin to the one I already had. Everyone sensed the error, the gaffe, the poor boy's… the misunderstanding. There was no need for my date, whoever he was, to be so rude, so… cruel and… "Well, hey, can I pin 'er?" "Sure; sure! Pin 'er. Pin 'er and scram!"
HE. Thousands have lived without love, but none without shirts.
SHE. (Teacherlike.) The numbing inevitability of dream! (Back to chatty tone.) There was only one breast left, of course, and the right one at that, and he sought it out! He stood off, measured the mark, and pinned me on the right, twin to the left. (Let her demonstrate this.) "Now, scram!" And scram he did, if one can do it slowly; well, he went, with a little smile and a wink which touches me deeply as I think of it now. It did not, then, for there I was, both breasts aflower and no direction to turn my head. (Pause; She gazes at the roses.) These will wilt! (An afterthought; a smile.) No, I didn't marry him -- the shy boy -- either one, for that matter. (Offhand.) I never saw the shy boy again. I have thought about him, though, from time to time, during love.

BLACKOUT

SCENE 13

He alone on stage, holding the flowers.

HE. (Chuckling. Crosses R.C.) Did you hear what I said? I thought it was rather ood. "Thousands have lived without love…"
SHE. (Swats him with the roses; urgently, vaguely accusatory.) These will wilt! (She exits.)
HE. (Looks at the flowers; accepting but uninvolved.) Wilt they will. (Puts his arm down; the heads of the flowers face the floor. To the audience) I thought that was rather good, there, before, what I said: "Thousands have lived without love, but none without shirts." I did; I thought it was quite good. (Tosses it off.) What does she know? (As before.) It's a parody, of course. You knew that; some of you knew that. It's W.H. Auden. "Thousands have lived without love, but none without water"… is the line. What's it from?... "In Praise of Limestone"? Probably. Something in the middle there. You can do it with most anything:
Walnuts.
Parsley.
Bone marrow.
Celery root.
Crème brulée.
"Thousands have lived without love, but none without crème brulée."
You see? It works.
It lacks… well, it doesn't… there's not as much resonance that way… crème brulée for water, or shirts for water, for that matter, but if parody isn't a diminishment… well, then, was it worth it in the first place? (Thinks.) Auden was one of the ones I cried when he died. Did I cry? Well, something. Something… left me, at any rate.
	If you can get away, if you can watch your emotions, you know that pain is a misunderstanding: it's really loss; loss is what it's really about. (Looks at the flowers; objective tone.) Oh… there is the breathtaker, that sudden sharp sense, but that's the brain… panicking, sending out contradictory impulses: not enough oxygen, and the host can faint, you know? And that heart attack at shocking news? It's just the head saying, "That's enough! I've had enough; I don't want any more; let's quit all this… what do you call it? Life?" But most of it's not that way. Most of it's slow and after the fact and has to do with goin on without something, something we thought was necessary -- essential -- but then discovered it merely made all the difference: one could go on if one really wanted to. (Considers.) Three times, I think, in long pants; crying: Auden; a cat, a very old cat; and something to do with civilization. (Pause.) I suppose one selects. (Pause.)
SHE. (Stepping in L.; curiously excited.)
They're going to wilt!
They're going to wilt!
HE. (Preoccupied; at a loss.) Yes; well, bring a vase.
SHE. (Eager.) No, they should be on the table… between our beds! (She exits whence She entered.)
HE. (Long pause as that sinks in. Exits after her, bewildered.)
When did that happen?
When did that happen!? (Exits L.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 14

Stage empty; They re-enter, She first, He urgently following after.

SHE. (Entering R.C.) I don't want to discuss it!
HE. (Persisting. Following her.) When did it happen!?
SHE. I do not wish to discuss it!
HE. Well, I do.
SHE. (Smiles a small, superior smile.) Then, we are at an impasse. (Fr. pronunciation.)
HE. No, we are not; we will discuss it.
SHE. (Didactic.) If I will not, and only you will, that is not a discussion.
HE. (He, too.) Silence is a reply.
SHE. (Snorts.) Of sorts. For some, I suppose. Matyrs in the desert? Old people at the post office?
HE. (Stern.) When did it happen?
SHE. (Transparent.) What? I have no idea what.
HE. Two beds.
SHE. (Ibid.) So?
HE. (Voice rising.) There are two beds!
SHE. (Straining to remain clam.) Yes; there are two beds.
HE. (Suddenly; loud, hysterical.) WHY!!?
SHE. (Overly calm.) Well; let us sit down and discuss it. (She sits.) With calm and reason.
HE. (Bolts into the other chair; urgent if softer.) OK! Right! OK!
SHE. Greater calm.
HE. (Softer, but still urgent.) OK. Right. OK.
SHE. And reason.
HE. (Some reason, but still aquiver.) Reason? Sure! All of a sudden there are two beds. Once upon a time there was one.
SHE. (Grudgingly.) I… I noticed that.
HE. I wake up this morning… in our king-size bed…
SHE. You've moved into the historical present, I hope you realize.
HE. (Tries to ignore her; voice tenser.) I wake up this morning in our king-size bed…
SHE. (To the audience.) It's an odd tense, isn't it -- sort of common, if you know what I mean. It's useful, I know, but… still.
HE. I won't be put off.
SHE. (Back to him, reassuring, not patronizing.) No, no; of course not!
HE. I wake up this morning in our king-size bed, the one I've waked in every day for seven years…
SHE. … six…
HE. … and so have you -- save trips and hospitals -- the bed I can reach across and touch you in the dark… in the night…
SHE. (The slightest tinge of impatience.) I know the bed.
HE. I wake up there; I find you gone.
SHE. To the kitchen; for your tea, for my coffee.
HE. It's the same as every day. (Tiny pause.) Is it not?
SHE. Yes; yes it is.
HE. This morning I wake in the king-size bed; I find you gone; I find you in the kitchen; I find nothing amiss.
SHE. No; nothing. I understand you.
HE. It's a day like every other day.
SHE. And I sympathize with you. I understand you, and I sympathize with you.
HE. We are each other's rod?
SHE. (Agreeing after a pause.) So to speak.
HE. Nothing is amiss -- except perhaps the coffee.
SHE. (Patient.) Now, now. (Afterthought.) You should taste the tea.
HE. It's a day like every other day -- except!
SHE. (Vaguely embarrassed.) Yes; I know.
HE. Except!
SHE. I said: I know.
HE. This afternoon you come to me and say you want the flowers for a vase between our beds.
SHE. (Sort of sad.) Yes.
HE. Between… our beds.
SHE. (Glum and impatient.) Yes; yes!
HE. (Overly calm.) When did it happen?
SHE. (Pretending not to comprehend.) Hm?
HE. When did it happen? When did our lovely bed… split and become two? When did a table appear where there had been no space, in the center of our lovely bed?
SHE. (Very reasonable.) Well, I suspect it's been coming.
HE. Pardon?
SHE. (Closes her eyes momentarily.) I suspect it's been coming.
HE. And those beds! They're not wide, those beds; they're single; they're for a solitary, or for a corpse!
SHE. These things sneak up on you.
HE. Did you have someone in? Hm? (She shakes her head.) Did the bed people come and take our lovely bed away and leave these… these pallets? Hm?
SHE. (Apologetic.) No one came: these things happen. We've been lucky.
HE. (Quietly authoritarian.) I want an answer for this! (She sighs, smiles, shrugs.) I want an ANSWER for this!!
SHE. (A trifle strident.) Well, it happens sooner or later; look around you; look at our friends. Sooner or later it happens. Maybe we'll be lucky and it won't go any further.
HE. (After a second.) Further? Further!?
SHE. (Quietly; shrugs.) Of course: separate rooms.
HE. (Pause; quietly.) Separate… oh, God. (Pause.)

BLACKOUT

ENTRE SCENE

As at the end of the previous scene.

HE. (As before.) Oh God.
SHE. (Tentative.) Yes; well. (A sign descends: IDENTIFY YOURSELVES. They notice it simultaneously.)
HE. Oh. Of course; yes, of course. You want to go first?
SHE. No; you go.
HE. (Smiles.) Please.
SHE. (Smiles.) All right. (She stands. Improvisation: She tells a bit about herself [the actress], her career -- training, roles, etc., then a bit about herself [kids, husband, etc.; finishes with:]) There's more there in the program; you can read it -- after the play. I think the director would rather. (To him.) Now you; you go. (Sits.)
HE. All right. (Stands. Similar improvisation. Finishes with:) Well, I think that's most of it. (Sits. Then sign rises, disappears. He, as before.) Separate rooms… oh, God. (She begins exiting, L.C.) Where are you going?
SHE. Off. (She exits L.C., leavin him sittin. Pause.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 15

At the end of the previous entre scene. He alone on stage, except standing.

HE. (Clears his throat, speaks to the audience.) Which brings us, then, to a discussion of this thing called… "premature grief." (She rushes in.)
SHE. (To He.)
Not yet!
Not yet!
(To the audience; friendly.) "Premature grief!" Well, yes; but not yet! I wish to discuss protocol. (To him, privately.) Do you want to… you know, go off?
HE.
Not yet!
Not yet!
SHE. (Slightly offended.) I beg your pardon?
HE. The subject of grief may be premature -- though I wonder -- but not premature grief; that is not premature; that is of an urgency which…
SHE. Protocol! Protocol supersedes all things -- grief, joy, all… things. We would be nowhere without it. Everything hangs on it.
HE. (Not friendly.) On protocol.
SHE. (Chatty.) Of course! There is nothing without order; we know that… except chaos, I suppose, if anyone wants it.
HE. (Rather vague.) I had a friend once, called his country place Chaos.
SHE. (On with the lecture.) And, well, you no longer have him! All is order: mathematics, freedom, cooking.
HE. (Turns to leave.) I will go.
SHE. (Stops him.) No! You stay and hear this!
HE. My bed is gone; I may not discuss grief…
SHE. It is; yes! And you will! All in time!
HE. (Rue.) I don't have it.
SHE. Time? That's all you have. Who said it?
HE. Time? Too much and too little. I don't know.
SHE. (Vague.) Someone.
HE. (Pause; snorts.) Protocol!
SHE. (The teacher again.) It is the coding of order: precedence, etiquette formality.
HE. Fiddlesticks! It's a table of contents!
SHE. (Arguing.) It used to be, back in the Greek days. Don't argue!
HE. (Moves to exit.) I'm going.
SHE. (Superior smile.) All tight-lipped and clenched and ready to start muttering? Go on; go ahead.
HE. (Sort of a dare.) Flip the coin of love and what do you find?
SHE. (Sighs, dismisses him.) Hatred; yes; I know; we all know.
HE. (Exiting; high-pitched imitation of her. Crosses to R. exit.) "Protocol is the coding of order." Hunh! (Exits.)
SHE. (Pause; calm; to herself.) Well, it is. (To the audience; very chatty; crossing D.L.) Look here! This is the problem! My sister and her husband are giving a dinner party -- to which we are invited, of course, it being a close-knit family… closely knitted? -- and she has presented me with a dilemma, not the first she has set in my lap, by a long shot, but the first in ages which I've found intellectually stimulating.
	Two of the guests are dying -- well, we all are, but these two are closer to it -- and both are of equal importance, rank, one would have said at one time, both men and both fit to sit to my sister's right. The question is: which to put there.
	The tricky part is this: One of the men knows he is dying; the other man does not -- as far as can be gathered, or has been gathered.
	You would think -- one would think, might think -- the man who knows he is dying must be put to my sister's right, since everyone knows that he is dying, and he knows that everyone knows. The honor is deserved and transparent. Protocol is served.
On the other hand, everyone also knows that the other man is dying, while we suspect that he does not, and isn't there, then, an honor due him based on the sympathy stemming from our special knowledge, plus the fact that he is of equal rank?
	Were he, however, to be placed on my sister's right, might he not, assuming he did not, after all, know already, sense the reason he had been placed there… in place of the other? Might he, conceivably, gain his first inkling of his approaching death or, perhaps as unfortunate, might he not reason that the other man had been misdiagnosed, was not dying at all, and propose a toast in celebration of the faulty diagnosis?
	And think of the other man -- the one who knows he is dying: might he not succumb to the theory of misdiagnosis himself, and go so far as to propose a toast in his own behalf? Or, more likely, might he not think we no longer care, and have dropped him in rank in our cruelty -- in our haste to have him gone?
	I have begged my sister to consider alternatives: cancel the party; disinvite both gentlemen; make it a buffet! this last being a stroke of near genius, I thought -- and still do! But, no: it cannot be cancelled, for it is important to her husband, as are the two gentlemen, for a while, at any rate; and she does not like buffets -- will not have one in her house!
	I come to the conclusion that she is fond of the dilemma, which is not a kind conclusion, I grant; she, on the other hand, insists that protocol will give us the answer. And since protocol is -- as she puts it -- my "bag," it is for me to supply her with the solution.
I think what my sister has done -- unintentionally, I will say, out of great sibling generosity -- is: to fashion a test for protocol, so willful that protocol's function as the coding of order will be put into question. Civilization, in other words, will collapse.
	This is an unsisterly thing to do, an unfriendly one, and it brings up once again all those old questions about veneer.

BLACKOUT

SCENE 16

Same as the end of Scene 15; clearly a different scene, though. He enters R.C., comes a step or two in from an exitway.

HE. (Mildly curious tone; offhand.) How many children do we have?
SHE. (Smiles; cheerful.)
Three. (He just stands there. Her voice takes on a tiny edge.)
Three! (He just stands there. Not believing it.)
Four? (He just stands there. Reassuring herself.)
Three! (He just stands there. Quite incredulous.)
Four!? (She exits. He just stands there.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 17

As at the end of Scene 16.

HE. (Standing; smiles.) Which brings us, then, to a discussion of this things called… "premature grief." (Imitates her tone, but softer.)
"Not yet!
Not yet!"
(His own voice again; nods.)
Yes; yet.
And premature to what? To the incident properly to be grieved over, I believe. Properly? Incident? I grieve every day -- a little bit -- over my own death; not time to, for me, when it happens to me; and I grieve over her death, a little, every day, assuming it may happen before mine. I'll have enouh grief left when -- if! -- the time comes. Are those afraid of it who have so little? Afraid they might exhaust the supply -- those old theories about semen, or "spunk" as we used to call it? (Flat, midwestern accent.) "Ya only got a coupla thousand in ya; don't waste it in ya hand!" (His own voice again; scoffs.) Premature grief? I don't believe it for a minute! Auden used to say -- you see? I come back to him? -- Auden is reputed to have said that he would imagine a lover's death, to see how it felt -- for the sake of poetry, I wager. (Shrugs.) Maybe he didn't deeply care; I imagine he did. It's good to get in touch with the mind now and then. No harm. (Begins to exit; reconsiders.) Do you believe… do you believe the mind and the brain are separate entities? Some scientists are beginning to come back to that view. Scientists! (Pause.) Really! (Exits.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 18

Stage empty; She enters.

SHE. (Nodding, smiling, relieved.) Three! (She sees He is not there; exits. He enters.)
HE. Pardon? (He sees She is not there; stays. Pause.)
SHE. (Enters.) Three!
HE. (Pause; no great enthusiasm; accepting a fact.) Aha! (Pause; She exits L.; blank expression.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 19

As the end of Scene 18, except He is sitting. She enters, sucking a finger, a dishrag over one arm.

SHE. (Quite businesslike, if a trifle preoccupied.)
Walnuts.
Parsley.
Bone marrow.
Celery root.
(Suspicious.)
Do you love me?
HE. (Pause; He, too, suspicious.) Crème brulée. What happened to the crème brulée?
SHE. (Flat.) There's no crème brulée.
HE. What do you mean there's no crème brulée?
SHE. (As before.) There's no crème brulée.
HE. (Pause.) There's always crème brulée.
SHE. Not today. (Pause; uncertain.) Do you love me?
HE. (Pause; shrugs; some distaste.) Sure. (Pause; not too friendly.) What happened?
SHE. (Sits; dispirited.) You know that lovely caramel that coats the crème brulée?
HE. Yes! Yum-yum!
SHE. You know it. You know how it's done: the sugar, the maple sugar is sprinkled over the lovely custards -- remember the lovely custards?
HE. Yes! Yum-yum!
SHE. And popped into the oven, so to caramelize.
HE. Yum-yum!
SHE. And then, at the end, into the broiler; under the broiler for a little, so the sugar crusts -- that lovely crust you love.
HE. Yes!
SHE. Under the broiler for just a moment, just enough. It is not the time to straighten up, look out the window, unfocus your eyes on some distant spot and daydream -- ruminate; think.
HE. Certainly not!
SHE. For if you do that, your caramel will scorch, or worse: will blacken, become hard, burned and awful!
HE. Ugh!
SHE. There is nothing for it then but to throw it all away…
HE. I should think so!
SHE. The pan as well.
HE. (Long pause; quiet tone.) I see. Well. Indeed.
SHE. (Sighs heavily.) So that is why…
HE. (A sad, soft truth.) … there is no crème brulée.
SHE. (Suspicious.) Do you love me?
HE. (Very grudging; coarse tone.) Yeah.
SHE. (Apologetic.) I can make you something else.
HE. (Rather cool.) Yeah? What?
SHE. (Straining for forgiveness.) What would you like?
HE. (Heavy.) We got any pans left?
SHE. (Soft.) Be nice.
HE. How about… how about that other thing you make… that, uh… whatever you call it, Idiot's Delight?
SHE. (Pause, till it comes to her.) Raspberry fool!! Oh! Yes; well, all right!
HE. (Brightening.) I like that.
SHE. (Stands; brightens.) Raspberry fool it is! (She starts toward the exit, pauses; tentative again.) Will you love me?
HE. (Looks up; big smile.) You bet! (Exits.)

BLACKOUT

SCENE 20

She enters; He as before.

SHE. There aren't any raspberries!

BLACKOUT

SCENE 21

Both sitting; He reading a pocket paperback; some silence.

SHE. (Quite straightforward.) If you love me… how do you know you love me?
HE. (Not looking up.)
"How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways?"
SHE. Be serious.
HE. I thought she was.
SHE. You be.
HE. (Looks up at her.) I thought I was.
SHE. How do you know?
HE. (Speculates a little.) Not enough I do?
SHE. Most of the time; not just now.
HE. What's with now?
SHE. (Putting his question aside.) I don't know. How do you know you love me?
HE. Right now? Seriously? (Indicates the audience.)
SHE. (No matter.) Yes; right now; seriously.
HE. (Tries to make light of it.) You mean: some fella with a machete comes at us, breaks into the house, all mad-eyed and frothing, what would I do? Would I protect you or try to save myself? Something like that?
SHE. Don't be silly; what would anyone be doing with a machete? Be reasonable. (Pause; eyes narrowing a little.) What would you do?
HE. (Quite open about it.) Damned if I know! Protect you, probably -- if the old animal instinct was working; give it a split-second of civilized thought, of course, and who's to say!? (More serious.) I do love you, you know. I mean, I'm young enough to make a change if I wanted -- start again, fully, without it being substitutive, or anything. I could do all that, but I'm not going to; I don't even want to.
SHE. (Bitter and hopeful simultaneously.) Do you cheat on me a lot?
HE. (Pause.) No; I don't. Good phrasing.
SHE. (Noncommital.) Hmmm.
HE. I do love you. Let well enough alone. If it's well enough… let it alone.
SHE. (Noncommital.) Hmmm.
HE. (Closin the subject.) I do… love you. (Long pause; a half-amused afterthought.) Do you love me?
SHE. (Pause; very open, rather wistful.) I don't know. (Pause; his mouth opens a little. She speaks as gently as the subject will allow; She smiles to reassure him.) I think I do. (Pause. Slow fade.)