Scene 4

J carries in H’s body, places H on the floor. H lies down, eyes
closed, facing the audience. J exits.

Occasionally H opens her eyes, with a soft focus, but not looking at anyone in particular. She then closes her eyes, opens them, closes, etc., as the moments seem fitting.

Y enters.

Y
The vanished have left us something.
An Atlantic wave, gathering.
A shift downward, from Africa.
From Portugal.
From Spain.
North of Inverness.
A raw wind.
The North Sea.
Crossing the Atlantic.
An Atlantic wave, gathering.
Scratching the ocean surface.
Or a body breathing.
But moving. Gathering.
Collecting.
The detritus.
Of voices.
Long lived.
Long dead. Strange. Dislocated voices.
Gathering, rising, falling.
Falling.
Falling.
(sings one flat note, as long as she can
hold it)
Falling.
(coughing)
Falling.
Building a wave is thankless.

J enters. Lifts H and takes her to a new place on the floor, places
her facing the audience. J exits. H remains on floor, opening her
eyes, closing them, as before, opening and closing, as the moments fit her.

(H sings a flat note, as long as she can
hold it.)

H
I know you.

Y
That would not be surprising.

H
No.

Y
Have you tasted ash?

H
During that old self-destructive phase, yes. Purposely
burning the meat, until it was hard, desiccated, black. I’d
put it on a plate. Choke it down with an American beer. It
was when I hated sex, hated the bleeding, hated being coded,
set-up, read. Hated my hair. Hated my mother. Hated the
pregnancies of old age. All that begetting.

Y
But real ash. What comes out of a volcano.

H
Oh, that ash. No.

Y
Yes, that ash.

H
No. Never.

Y
Something on the other side of time.

H
You’re talking about the ash of ghosts.

Y
Maybe.

H
Did you know it’s always good to leave a little silver for
the dead? Place it beneath their tongues. A little money no
matter where you are is always helpful.

Y
I’ve heard that.

H
The ash of yourself.

H places a coin in W’s mouth.

They kiss.

H (cont’d)
Something that’s never what you think it is.

J enters. Picks up H. All exit.