The Nightwatchman by Daniel Keene

Author:Daniel Keene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Currency Press

END OF ACT TWO

ACT THREE

Evening.

The garden is suffused in pale, yellowish light.

Birds call from the trees.

A basket of dark, red cherries lies on the small garden table.

Long pause.

MICHEL comes out of the house carrying a camera and a tripod.

He sets the camera up on the lawn, focusing on the basket of cherries.

HÉLÈNE comes out of the house.

HÉLÈNE: That man! What’s his name?

MICHEL: Mr Clément.

HÉLÈNE: Mr Clément is counting the spoons.

MICHEL: That’s his job.

HÉLÈNE: When he’s finished counting them, I’m going to take one. ‘There’s a spoon missing!’, Mr Hervé will shout. ‘But how could that be, sir? I don’t understand. I never make a mistake. Especially with spoons!’

MICHEL: Stop it, Hélène. He’ll hear you.

HÉLÈNE: I don’t care if he does.

MICHEL: He’s here to make an inventory and that’s what he’s doing.

HÉLÈNE: What time did he arrive?

MICHEL: Nine this morning, exactly.

HÉLÈNE: It’s past six, and he’s still here.

HÉLÈNE sighs and flops down in one of the garden chairs.

MICHEL: I don’t want you in this picture.

She looks from MICHEL to the basket of cherries.

HÉLÈNE: Isn’t it a little ‘picturesque’ for you?

MICHEL: It’s a still life. I’ll take your picture later.

HÉLÈNE: I don’t want my picture taken.

MICHEL: Then move.

Reluctantly, HÉLÈNE stands and moves away from the chair.

HÉLÈNE: I feel so tired today.

MICHEL: You slept until almost noon.

HÉLÈNE: I hardly ever get to sleep late. The children are always up at dawn. ‘Mama, Mama, Mama!’ [Pause.] I need a holiday. On my own.

MICHEL: Then have one.

HÉLÈNE: I have to work, you know that.

MICHEL: You can afford to take a week off, can’t you?

MICHEL takes a photograph of the cherries.

He moves the camera to take them from another angle.

HÉLÈNE: I need a month.

MICHEL: Then take a month.

HÉLÈNE: Dr Bouchard would have to find a replacement. He wouldn’t like that. He’s very … extremely … how can I put it? He’s set in his ways. He won’t even let me put fresh flowers in the waiting room. He says they ‘disturb’ him. He always arrives at exactly nine, he leaves at exactly five. He has his hair cut every four weeks, on a Tuesday. He always has two pens in the breast pocket of his shirt, one red and one blue. He has two suits, both black, and they’re both exactly the same.

MICHEL: Then how can you tell he has two?

HÉLÈNE: One is slightly older than the other. It’s worn a little, just here near the pocket, where he always keeps his stethoscope.

MICHEL: You’re very observant.

HÉLÈNE: I’ve been looking at him for eight years.

MICHEL takes another photograph of the cherries.

Can I sit down now?

MICHEL: Yes. [He moves the camera and focuses on the house.] There’s the money from the sale of the house. That would pay for a holiday. Dr Bouchard will have to put up with it. It will do him good.

Pause.

HÉLÈNE: I don’t think I want the money.

MICHEL looks up from the camera.

I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.

MICHEL: What have you been thinking?

HÉLÈNE: The money belongs to Papa. Giving us our ‘share’ makes it seem as if he’s written his last will and testament … and now he’s dead.

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