Nestor sits alone and rambles. On and on. He's alone onstage sitting in a chair. The set is otherwise barren. There's a spotlight on him.

Nestor: I was a fine soldier in my day. Perhaps you, too, remember these affairs of men and their desktop fantasies. Fantasies of flying, mainly. Oh, I was a one for flying, I was. Flying all the way through Sparta's fire department. Now, I, too have a son, and I treasure him just as much. After all, isn't it the soul that counts? Well, all I can say is that's my advice. And sound as a rock it was, too. I didn't just beat Scylla with a chin strapped to my rock, I ate her afterwards with some fine Cyclopes chaps. It's a shame, those transportation laws. Used to be you could ride from here to Athens without leaving the tavern. So says I.

Enter Menelaus

Menelaus: Hail, Nestor.

Nestor: Why, it's Menelaus the fair-haired. How's your silver studded sword?

Menelaus: I was hoping you could give me advice.

Nestor: Yes sir. I wasn't called "Glory of the Greeks" without due reason in my due season.

Menelaus: I can't sleep at night.

Nestor: Is it the baby? Oh, I bet she retches like a girl at a chariot race. Those were the days, through the bottom of a glass.

Menelaus: Nestor, I don't have a baby.

Nestor: Well, I'm not about to give you advice on that! You're old enough to know!

Menelaus: What I mean is... I can't shake this feeling of sadness.

Nestor: It happens, I hear. It all starts with a few knocks to the elbow.

Menelaus: Maybe I'll talk to Agamemnon.

Nestor: Now, there was a man you could look at and say, "He was, indeed."

Menelaus: Goodbye, Nestor. Watch your step, now.

Nestor: That is to say, in my day, they were called flippers.

Exit Nestor.

Menelaus: I feel like a dreamer suddenly shot into reality; things that once made sense now seem undeniably silly. I remember the ocean being warm; I played in it as a boy. Agamemnon would play at drowning me, but he'd always let me up in time, and besides, the waters were full of sun. But the sea is cold. Things keep changing on me like that. I remember the sky being blue—oh, blue as the eyes of my father before his grief. But when I look again I see the clouds are slate, and beneath it lies the cold flinted Heavens. Smiles weakly. I even remember when I thought Helen loved me. I should have known.

In a different part of the stage and clearly somewhere else, enter Paris and Helen.

Helen: Paris, please. I'm sorry for being angry with you. It wasn't my place. I know, I'm a horrible person, and you're so good to tolerate me.

Paris: You always say you're sorry. What does "sorry" mean?

Helen: I wish I hadn't raised my voice. You were right to leave me on the battlefield. I shouldn't have come, anyway. Paris, don't leave me now. Please take care of me.

Paris: Well... if I won't, nobody else will.

Helen: I know.

Paris: Nobody cares about you anymore. All of Troy blames you. They hate you, Helen.

Helen:(Softly) I know.

Paris: Except me. I'm the only one you've got.

Helen: Oh, thank you so much.

Paris: And since I'm the only one you've got, you'd better listen to me.

Helen: I will. I promise. I love you.