Plays Part 8

ANTHONY: Can you be sure yet, Miss Claire?

CLAIRE: Oh yes-it's had its chance. It doesn't want to be-what hasn't been.

HARRY: (who has turned at this note in her voice. Speaks kindly) Don't take it so seriously, Claire. (CLAIRE laughs)

CLAIRE: No, I suppose not. But it does matter-and why should I pretend it doesn't, just because I've failed with it?

HARRY: Well, I don't want to see it get you-it's not important enough for that.

CLAIRE: (in her brooding way) Anything is important enough for that-if it's important at all. (to the vine) I thought you were out, but you're-going back home.

ANTHONY: But you're doing it this time, Miss Claire. When Breath of Life opens-and we see its heart-

(CLAIRE looks toward the inner room. Because of intervening plants they do not see what is seen from the front-a plant like caught motion, and of a greater transparency than plants have had. Its leaves, like waves that curl, close around a heart that is not seen. This plant stands by itself in what, because of the arrangement of things about it, is a hidden place. But nothing is between it and the light.)

CLAIRE: Yes, if the heart has (a little laugh) held its own, then Breath of Life is alive in its otherness. But Edge Vine is running back to what it broke out of.

HARRY: Come, have some coffee, Claire.

(ANTHONY returns to the inner room, the outer door opens. d.i.c.k is hurled in.)

CLAIRE: (going to the door, as he gasps for breath before closing it) How dare you make my temperature uneven! (she shuts the door and leans against it)

d.i.c.k: Is that what I do?

(A laugh, a look between them, which is held into significance.)

HARRY: (who is not facing them) Where's the salt?

d.i.c.k: Oh, I fell down in the snow. I must have left the salt where I fell. I'll go back and look for it.

CLAIRE: And change the temperature? We don't need salt.

HARRY: You don't need salt, Claire. But we eat eggs.

CLAIRE: I must tell you I don't like the idea of any food being eaten here, where things have their own way to go. Please eat as little as possible, and as quickly.

HARRY: A hostess calculated to put one at one's ease.

CLAIRE: (with no ill-nature) I care nothing about your ease. Or about d.i.c.k's ease.

d.i.c.k: And no doubt that's what makes you so fascinating a hostess.

CLAIRE: Was I a fascinating hostess last night, d.i.c.k? (softly sings) 'Oh, night of love-' (from the Barcorole of 'Tales of Hoffman')

HARRY: We've got to have salt.

(He starts for the door. CLAIRE slips in ahead of him, locks it, takes the key. He marches off, right.)

CLAIRE: (calling after him) That end's always locked.

d.i.c.k: Claire darling, I wish you wouldn't say those startling things. You do get away with it, but I confess it gives me a shock-and really, it's unwise.

CLAIRE: Haven't you learned that the best place to hide is in the truth? (as HARRY returns) Why won't you believe me, Harry, when I tell you the truth-about doors being locked?

HARRY: Claire, it's selfish of you to keep us from eating salt just because you don't eat salt.

CLAIRE: (with one of her swift changes) Oh, Harry! Try your egg without salt. Please-please try it without salt! (an intensity which seems all out of proportion to the subject)

HARRY: An egg demands salt.

CLAIRE: 'An egg demands salt.' Do you know, Harry, why you are such an unseasoned person? 'An egg demands salt.'

HARRY: Well, it doesn't always get it.

CLAIRE: But your spirit gets no lift from the salt withheld.

HARRY: Not an inch of lift. (going back to his breakfast)

CLAIRE: And pleased-so pleased with itself, for getting no lift. Sure, it is just the right kind of spirit-because it gets no lift. (more brightly) But, d.i.c.k, you must have tried your egg without salt.

d.i.c.k: I'll try it now. (he goes to the breakfast table)

CLAIRE: You must have tried and tried things. Isn't that the way one leaves the normal and gets into the byways of perversion?

HARRY: Claire.

d.i.c.k: (pus.h.i.+ng back his egg) If so, I prefer to wait for the salt.

HARRY: Claire, there is a limit.

CLAIRE: Precisely what I had in mind. To perversion too there is a limit. So-the fortifications are una.s.sailable. If one ever does get out, I suppose it is-quite unexpectedly, and perhaps-a bit terribly.

HARRY: Get out where?

CLAIRE: (with a bright smile) Where you, darling, will never go.

HARRY: And from which you, darling, had better beat it.

CLAIRE: I wish I could. (to herself) No-no I don't either

(Again this troubled thing turns her to the plant. She puts by themselves the two which ANTHONY covered with paper bags. Is about to remove these papers. HARRY strikes a match.)

CLAIRE: (turning sharply) You can't smoke here. The plants are not used to it.

HARRY: Then I should think smoking would be just the thing for them.

CLAIRE: There is design.