Night is a Room (TCG Edition) by Wallace Naomi;

Author:Wallace, Naomi;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Theatre Communications Group
Published: 2016-11-23T00:00:00+00:00

ACT THREE

Six years later.

Lights up on a small bare room off the side of a church chapel. There is a plain rough-wood coffin. Doré is standing, calmly looking at the coffin. Strangely, Doré looks more youthful, even taller. She is elegant, fashionably though subtly dressed in black. And black becomes her. Doré lets her hand rest lightly on the coffin. She circles it, letting her hand run down its length. She winces when she gets a splinter. Doré tries to squeeze it out, then sucks on her finger to try and draw the splinter out. She gives up and just stares at the coffin again. Liana enters, but stays near the edge. She watches Doré’s back, which is to her. Liana looks to have aged beyond her years and has a slight limp. Her hair is tied back from her face. She is not dressed in black. Though her clothes are worn, they still retain a sense of flair. Liana carries an old leather suitcase. Doré senses someone enter. At first she does not turn around.

DORÉ: Hello Liana.

(A long pause. Liana sets down the suitcase. She glances at the coffin. She doesn’t want to give it attention but she can’t help the glancing.)

Not much of a crowd, was it? Six in total, if you count the priest. And I do.

LIANA: What happened?

(Doré turns around. She looks Liana in the eye. Doré’s shyness is gone, replaced by a calm steadfastness. Most of the time, Doré no longer speaks in unbroken sentences.)

DORÉ: He died.

LIANA: Cancer?

DORÉ: How are you?

LIANA (Hopeful): Testicular? Prostate?

(Doré doesn’t reply. Liana can’t help approaching the coffin. Liana reaches to touch the wood, but doesn’t. She withdraws her hand as though burned.)

DORÉ: Not much more than a crate, is it? Rough. Simple.

LIANA: Cheap.

DORÉ: It’s as he wished.

LIANA: He wanted to be cremated.

DORÉ: It’s a woodland burial for him now. Tomorrow we’ll put him in the ground. There are some lovely woods a few miles from here, with a wide range of wildflowers. Sorrel, bluebells. Squill. We used to walk there together on Satur /

LIANA: Trees.

DORÉ: Sorry?

LIANA: To be close to the trees.

DORÉ: Oh. Well. Neither of us ever thought much about trees again after we’d— Your feet are wet.

LIANA (Looking at her feet): I stood outside during the service.

DORÉ: In the rain? (Beat) You’ve gone grey.

(Liana touches her hair briefly.)

Once quite beautiful. Elegant too. We were sorry to hear you lost your job.

LIANA: That was a good while ago.

DORÉ: You were fired.

LIANA: Wrong. I quit. I didn’t give a damn what my insufferable colleagues thought but all that excited whispering trying to pass itself off as silent indifference killed my creative urge. (Beat) I never told anyone but news travels quick. Stink even quicker. My daughter discovered it from the internet, on some obscure Chicago social network site for young artists.

DORÉ: Where do you live now?

LIANA: Live?

DORÉ: Where do you sleep?

LIANA: Sleep I find a waste of time, but in small doses, I submit.

DORÉ: I haven’t slept properly for years. With Marcus in the /

LIANA: Marcus?

DORÉ: Yes.

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