History Lessons

The Setting: Three tables in the back room of a small  cafe. There are violently abstract paintings on the walls and, mixed among them, some rusting and antique farm implements. Scattered around  the room are a number of remarkably robust plants. An arch upstage opens onto a hall. On the back wall is an undefined arrow pointing off left. Nothing matches.

Before the first sample, Grace runs into (literally) Michael, a nice-looking young man who works at the cafe, and his girlfriend Barbara.  Michael is too attractive for Grace to feel comfortable around him, and Michael and Barbara kiss a lot on public.  When her husband, Howard -- a professor of history older than Grace by about 20 years -- comes in, he's in a bad mood.  Grace usually takes care of getting his coffee and sandwich, but today Grace has been distracted.  They ritually quarrel, something Grace is apparently more tired of than Howard.  Howard is due for a sabbatical, and Grace can hardly wait to get away.

Sample One of Three

HOWARD: (looking around) Grace. Grace, dear, why didn't you bring my double espresso just now?

GRACE: I didn't...

HOWARD: And my croissant?

GRACE: You were in a hurry.

HOWARD: Really, I'm about ready to go fetch it myself.

GRACE: Well, why don't you?

HOWARD: ... ah. I'm at it again. I do apologize for my mood. Headache.

GRACE: Is that all?

HOWARD: Nothing important, nothing to worry about...

GRACE: Is it school?

HOWARD: It is only that I am a grouch and the world's a hellish place without that old black magic in my cup.

GRACE: Is it something I should know?

HOWARD: One would expect to have had a replacement espresso before me in compensatory double time for having subjected me to this ... out of ordinary respect for the suffering... (He takes a deep breath) Very well. The thing is, you see... It's difficult to speak of. You see, quite unexpectedly... I... have begun... to wonder... well, for example... I know I am an effective lecturer, and yet how much of what I present as fact is interpretation, chosen, not from a desire for truth, but rather because it lends excitement... to my lectures. I've come to rely on style. It is so easy to do once one has sunk into tenure. In a similar vein... (he gulps for air) Perhaps some little adjustment in my life would freshen things up... (trailing off) ...you know? I mean, I publish regularly... which is... the usual criteria.... for...

GRACE: For?

HOWARD: (pause) I didn't want to tell you. I don't suppose there is any avoiding it. You can take a bit of bad news, can't you? So to  speak. Not "bad" news. Not in so many words. A disappointment, perhaps. And yet, as much as it may disappoint...

GRACE: Howard.

HOWARD: They've postponed my sabbatical.

GRACE: Oh no.

HOWARD: Indefinitely.

GRACE: Oh no.

HOWARD: The down side of belonging to a small liberal arts institution.

GRACE: Postponed?

HOWARD: Cancelled, actually. I will appeal, of course.

GRACE: Why?

HOWARD: Well, I do have that right. However... Oh. You mean... Well, old Phelps died yesterday. That means that Dan Nordstrom is being shuffled into Phelps' classes instead of mine. And they refuse to hire an adjunct. Budgetary considerations.

GRACE: He died?

HOWARD: Coronary. Right in the middle of "Sodomy in the  Middle Ages."

GRACE: Nordstrom is picking up at "Sodomy in the Middle Ages"?

HOWARD: Awkward, at best.

GRACE: He's certainly qualified to teach it.

HOWARD: I'm sure he'll spend the weekend in research.

GRACE: (A pause. Howard starts to speak, but doesn't) So, there it goes.

HOWARD: Oh my, yes, well...

GRACE: My last chance.

HOWARD: It's just as well, really...

GRACE: I'll never get that reading done staying at home.

HOWARD: We'll have a lot more work done, however. Certainly more than we would have trekking about the wilds of Britain.

GRACE: So. We don't get to explore the little villages untouched by the "wicked industrialists..."

HOWARD: We'll "get" to explore them. I'll be retiring in three years, after all, I don't understand the emergency.

GRACE: They might not be there in three years. Still untouched, that is.

HOWARD: The Dean was so gracious about it, what could I say? And desperate. Very desperate. He said that I was the only one remotely qualified to take old Phelp's place. Poor man.

He catches Grace staring at Michael and Barbara who are avidly kissing by now.

HOWARD: So. Grace? Are you...? Oh. I see. They are, I presume, once more at it.

GRACE: Oh yes.

HOWARD: Did they include the customary gazing ritual, or did they launch into oral testament straight-away?

GRACE: What am I, a sportscaster? Look for yourself?

HOWARD: I will not.

GRACE: Fine. They are so beautiful. Both of them. And so young.

HOWARD: They're rude.

 

GRACE: They're romantic.

HOWARD: They go at it with all the romance of rabbits.

GRACE: They're courtly.

HOWARD: Courtly, was it? He was clearing tables with that loathsome grey plastic bus-box in one hand, and three filthy glasses in the other. He slithered over to her table, young lust personified, their eyes locked, he flushed violently -- magenta, nearly purple -- and the next day they began mauling one another. In broad, public view, no less. Rude.

GRACE: It wasn't the next day, and he spoke to her first.

HOWARD: Spoke. Something gracious like "you, like, done with your muffin?"

GRACE: Whatever he said, she didn't hear him, so he put down his things,  and gently brushing her hair away from her ears, lifted her headphones and murmured something in her ear. Then he blushed, not flushed, a gentle cerise, not magenta, and a spark passed between them as their eyes met, not locked, for the first time.

HOWARD: Have you been reading in line at the supermarket?

GRACE: "Hubby had young wife frozen at home for a dozen years!"

HOWARD: It's all glandular.

GRACE: Not all.

HOWARD: Most. Don't you see, Grace? We have been forced to share the most intimate moments of their young lives, and yet we would have no more idea of who they are were they on television! An industrial relationship, you see? Yesterday's prototype becomes today's stereotype. Nothing in between like a coming to be or a coming together. And after what...? Eleven days?

GRACE: (rapidly, not a real argument, a quibble) Ten...

HOWARD: No, no, this is eleven...

GRACE: This is ten.

HOWARD: Nonsense. They met a week ago Monday.

GRACE: Tuesday.

HOWARD: They met on a Monday, they commenced performing on Tuesday.

GRACE: They met Tuesday, they began courtship on Friday.

HOWARD: On Friday? No, the next day, the very next day.

GRACE: No they didn't! They just sat there Wednesday and Thursday and stared at each other.

HOWARD: Fine, ten if it ends the argument, now... what was I getting at?

GRACE: Something about stereotypes.

HOWARD: Yes, yes, and isolation. The display of intimacy before strangers, and the complete disengagement from the people who must witness their display. This is the manifest...

GRACE: I'm sorry they bother you.

HOWARD: They don't. I find them amusing.

GRACE: (muttered ) Amusement for the aging.

HOWARD: What?

GRACE: Nothing.

HOWARD: It's life on automatic, don't you see? Stimulus, response. That's it. No reflection, pause, introduction, nothing. This is not spontaneity, this is license. This is not courtship, as you would have it, this is nothing but allowing full rein to whatever desires happen to be aroused by the first attractive object to cross your field of perception.

GRACE: (sighing heavily) Oh, Howard.

HOWARD: Well? Am I right?

Michael approaches their table. Grace immediately buries herself  in the notes.

MICHAEL: (to Grace) Excuse me, would you mind if I borrowed your cream for a sec?

Grace suddenly seems to be too involved in her cards to have noticed him. Howard performs her social duties.

HOWARD: Certainly, of course, borrow it. Grace, where'd you put the cream, dear?

GRACE: (without looking up) On the chair.

HOWARD: I'm sorry?

GRACE: (to Michael without looking at him) On the chair, over there.

MICHAEL: Oh yeah, right. Thanks. (he returns to his table with the cream.)

HOWARD: He couldn't have gone to the counter for cream?

GRACE: We weren't using it.

HOWARD: When -- or rather, if -- I eventually am brought my coffee, suppose I wish it con panna macchiato? Then our cream will have to be got from the counter. Thoughtless, automatic behavior. Well it is! In the end someone goes to the counter.

MICHAEL: (returning the cream on his way out.) I'll get some from the  counter, this one's rancid. Thanks anyway.

HOWARD: Really should keep it fresh. Service, eh?

MICHAEL: Well. We try.

HOWARD: Oh, my boy, don't take it like that...

In his hurry to get out of an awkward encounter Michael forgets to leave the cream, trips and spills it on Grace.

HOWARD: (simultaneously) Oh, good God.

MICHAEL: (simultaneously) Oh no, I'm sorry! I didn't get any on...? Oh no, it's all over... (he moves to wipe her chest.)

GRACE: No! No problem.

MICHAEL: (trying to joke) At least it was fresh... oh, no, it wasn't. (while swabbing off Grace's book ) wow... What's that? (good tactic, Michael)

GRACE: (still scrubbing her sweater) Hm?

MICHAEL: The book.

GRACE: Oh. Navaho. Sand painting.

MICHAEL: That's magnificent. I mean, look at the composition, so direct, so bold, almost schematic in its presentation. And those colors again, perfectly balanced. Amazing. (wedging himself between  Grace and Howard and getting down on one knee, he reads the caption) "The Stage of Forgetfulness." What's it about?

GRACE: I barely... well, what it says is... "the Old One has warned them that when they follow her path they should stay just off to the right of it, but the heroes have forgotten this, and so they grow stiff and old." (Howard grunts a humorless laugh)

MICHAEL: Wow. Profound stuff. (Howard grunts again)

GRACE: The next picture is the Old One coming back to remind them.

HOWARD: Of what?

GRACE: Of their youth, I guess.

MICHAEL: You know, our whole viewpoint really is so stuck on Europe...

HOWARD: Whence has sprung our culture and civilization...

MICHAEL: But here's a whole other world right under our noses... (leaning in closer to Grace and turning to face her) Beautiful, just beautiful.

HOWARD: Hadn't you best be getting your cream?

MICHAEL: I'd like to look at this more closely sometime. (to Howard) Cream..

He goes off towards the counter for fresh cream.

HOWARD: Over supply of testosterone.

GRACE: He tries to be nice.

HOWARD: (he smells the returned pitcher) Awfully "nice" of him to return the cream.

GRACE: (examining her book) So, I'm stuck with note cards and sandwiches, the industrial revolution and adult education.

HOWARD: Why fret about it? Nothing to be done, is there?

GRACE: Isn't there? (she lingers over the picture MIchael just described. Suddenly) That's it, harmony of color, no color is dominant. (showing it to Howard) And native American myths are all about regaining balance and memory, while European myths are all about regaining power. Which color  dominates.

HOWARD: Balance, indeed. Heed the source of that insightful remark. Put it away, I find it jarring.

GRACE: (slapping the book shut)  Balance.

HOWARD: Coffee.

GRACE: Okay. Coffee. (but she doesn't move)

HOWARD: Well?

GRACE: I'm thinking about it.

HOWARD: Don't strain yourself.

GRACE: (jumping up, then turning on Howard) Labor unrest.

HOWARD: I beg your pardon?

GRACE: (rising and beginning to pace)  Labor unrest, social upheaval,  reevaluation! Give me a minute. Okay. Okay. Coffee is the drug of choice for the industrial age, right professor? The drug of choice for keeping up with the machine-determined pace of life? Did I get that part right? And what a mistake that was, 'cause it keeps everyone on edge all the time, leads to labor unrest and rebellion.

HOWARD: What are you talking about?

GRACE: Labor unrest. Me labor. You unrest. Furthermore, division of labor. You're afraid of the Gorgon, aren't you?

HOWARD: You must be joking.

GRACE: Terrified. I thought so. No trip. They were gracious, so we are stuck here for all eternity. Fine. I can deal with that. Let's redefine the social order.

HOWARD: I'm sorry, I don't follow...

GRACE: In writing. A contract. A contract for the miserable. Here, on this napkin.

HOWARD: What are you..?

GRACE: The workers' rebellion revisited. Living history. Write: "I, Howard Combellick, Professor of History, Doctor of Philosophy, world famous lecturer,  scholar and composer of historical tomes..."

HOWARD: I will do no such...

GRACE: You want coffee today, you'll do exactly as I say. Power is shifting into the hands of labor. Here I stand, united. "...do hereby swear that thenceforth from tomorrow,  will I buy coffee and order sandwiches, and in all ways interact with the woman at the counter, known to us as The Gorgon."

HOWARD: I'm not afraid of her. She's a bit distasteful, true...

GRACE: Distasteful!? A woman with snakes growing out of  her head is more than distasteful!

HOWARD: That's a Medusa.

GRACE: Medusa was a Gorgon.

HOWARD: I don't believe that's correct...

GRACE: Gorgon is their family, Mary Gorgon, Susan Gorgon, Medusa Gorgon. The Gorgon sisters. Three-part disharmony.

HOWARD: One of them turns you to stone unless you observe her in a reflective surface, correct?

GRACE: They all do, family trait.

HOWARD: No, no, the stone trick was Medusa's. Gorgons on the other hand...

GRACE: You know nothing about it, Howard, actually something you know nothing about.

HOWARD: I still think...

GRACE: Take my word for it?

HOWARD: Wasn't Medusa...?

GRACE: Once?

HOWARD: As you say.

GRACE: The woman at the counter not only has snakes growing out of her head, but you have to look at her in a polished teaspoon to keep from turning into used coffee grounds. She's qualifies as a Gorgon. I know this stuff. It's my field. And my daily experience.

Michael returns with another pitcher of cream. Barbara removes her walkman and they resume their kissing.

GRACE: (about the napkin) Now, had you actually taken me seriously, for once, and written something on that napkin as I so reasonably requested you to, we would now come to the part of our ceremony where we bless the contract. Every agreement needs sanctification. And what more appropriate than coffee. (she dips a spoon in the cup and sprinkles Howard and the napkin)

HOWARD: Grace, my shirt.

GRACE: I'm still the one who washes them, don't worry about it. Now, this is become a holy site, we have to build a temple. Circle the table three times...

HOWARD: Circle...?

GRACE: I've left the labor movement behind, you're not in familiar territory anymore. I'm staking out my own ground. I'm into mythology. Get up.

HOWARD: Grace...!

GRACE: What?

HOWARD: This is silly.

GRACE: Good for you.

HOWARD: Don't be ridiculous.

GRACE: Why not? According to you they've shared their most intimate moments with us, we owe them some. Get up.

HOWARD: I never asked for their intimacy.

GRACE: When do you ever. Get up.

HOWARD: I will not move from this spot.

GRACE: Repeat after me: "I will get my own coffee, I will get my own coffee."

HOWARD: Grace! (she glares at him, he mumbles) I will get my own coffee, I will get my own coffee. (she motions for him to stand. He does) Now what?

GRACE: You have to circle something, it's a part of all holy rites.

HOWARD: Oh for chrissakes.

GRACE: Close your eyes.

HOWARD: Why, what are going to do?

GRACE: Trust me.

HOWARD: Why?

GRACE: For the novelty. Trust is beyond reason.

HOWARD: I can trust you with my eyes open.

GRACE: We're working on myths here. Balance and memory. Closing your eyes is part of the ritual.

HOWARD: What ritual?

GRACE: The one I'm making up! The initiate is uncooperative.

She clamps her hands tightly over his eyes, Howard struggles, but she prevails. Suddenly, she lets go.

HOWARD: Are you finished?

GRACE: Regaining power. That's all I'm doing is regaining power. Can't escape your own culture, I guess. It's a disease. (she sits again, gives up) Nothing to be done.

HOWARD: Have you gone mad?

GRACE: I suppose.

Michael and Barbara giggle at a shared secret. Grace sees them and angrily moves to another chair.

HOWARD: What are you doing?

GRACE: The light's bad.

HOWARD: The light?

GRACE: Six feet, six thousand miles, it's a change at least.

HOWARD: There is absolutely no difference at all in light.

GRACE: So, I made it up.

HOWARD: And how would you know, anyway, you never sit anywhere else, so even if the light were better here, you would never know for lack of anything with which to compare it.

GRACE: You never sit anywhere else either!

HOWARD: (moving left to give her room) Oh this is just wonderful, wasting away the afternoon with children's games.

Grace and Howard have met Michael and Barbara, introduced themselves and acted civilly towards one another, and all are emboldened by this.  The second act takes place the next afternoon.  Grace is dressed in a loud sweater, Howard is convinced that a conversation with Barbara about grades (that opens the act) is really her offering sexual favors, and it boosts his confidence.  They fall to their usual quibbling, but today it begins to delve into more sensitive areas.  In a burst of defiance, Grace smashes her glasses.  Howard, disturbed by such emotion, leaves her to piece them back together.  Michael offers to help.

Sample Two of Three

GRACE: (on the floor searching for her glasses) What a stupid thing to do. I've learned more from him than ever I wanted to. Than I ever wanted to? Ever than I wanted to. More than I wanted to. Drop the "ever." It doesn't stop. Oh, hell.

MICHAEL: What are you doing?

GRACE: I'm trying to find my glasses.

MICHAEL: They broke.

GRACE: I know that.

MICHAEL: Here's your sandwiches. It took me awhile 'cause she burnt your croissant, so I was waiting for another one, but she burnt that one too. Want me to help?

GRACE: I don't seem to have a choice. I'm very near-sighted.

Michael gets under the table with Grace and looks too. Grace stops for a moment and stares at Michael. He catches her doing it.

GRACE: (immediately uncomfortable) I was just trying to see your face. Even like this you're blurry. I am extremely near-sighted.

MICHAEL: (moving closer) How about now?

GRACE: (after a tense moment) Found anything yet?

MICHAEL: Yes.

GRACE: What?

MICHAEL: The two halves, but the bridge is missing.

GRACE: Hmm? (pulling away) Show them to me.

MICHAEL: Right over here. (he moves away to pick up the pieces)

GRACE: Are they busted, the lenses?

MICHAEL: One of them is cracked. The things that go over your ears are bent.

GRACE: Oh, that'll be cute, crooked glasses with one cracked lens and a taped up nose-piece. What I won't do for attention. There will be one drawback with having contacts.

MICHAEL: What's that?

GRACE: You can't throw them on the floor and step on them to any good effect.

MICHAEL: (he laughs) You're cute.

For a moment their eyes meet and they really look at one another. They break and Grace searches for a new topic, not wanting to end the conversation.

GRACE: So, when's the wedding?

MICHAEL: What wedding?

GRACE: Yours.

MICHAEL: Do you know something I don't?

GRACE: Do I?

MICHAEL: ...oh, Barb you mean.

GRACE: Well, you do seem... fond of each other.

MICHAEL: It's fun.

GRACE: Oh.

MICHAEL: I didn't mean it that way. I'm older than her by about six years, and I've got different ambitions and a different view of things. You know?

GRACE: I do. What's her view of things?

MICHAEL: That we're deeply in love, or ... like that. We're really not. It's just lots of fun.

GRACE: Speaking for yourself.

MICHAEL: She'll figure it out.

GRACE: I think you should ask her.

MICHAEL: About...?

GRACE: How she feels.

MICHAEL: She'll tell me... here it is! This it?

GRACE: That's it. Thanks. (looking at the piece as if it were a rare jewel) She'll tell you..?

MICHAEL: She'll tell me we're destined for each other.

GRACE: What if she tells you that you're just an easy make.

MICHAEL: Huh?

GRACE: How would that make you feel?

MICHAEL: She wouldn't...

GRACE: ...maybe she will. Maybe that's why you don't ask. Because you know she will.

MICHAEL: Well I am. An easy make, if I know what it is you mean. I think if she did tell me, it might be the start of a real relationship.

GRACE: You're putting me on.

MICHAEL: Honesty is where it begins, yes? But she's still more romantically inclined than that. You know how it is when you're nineteen.

GRACE: I dimly remember.

MICHAEL: Go on. How old're you?

GRACE: Old enough.

MICHAEL: Don't be...

GRACE: (closing the subject) ...I'm old enough. How old do you think?

MICHAEL: Well, you look younger without your glasses.

GRACE: Younger than what?

MICHAEL: About my age.

GRACE: Hah! You flatterer.

MICHAEL: No, really, aren't you?

GRACE: Not any more. You're... twenty-five?

MICHAEL: Almost twenty-six. My last year in grad school..

GRACE: (a clue) I was a grad student when I met Howard, and we've been married for twelve years.

MICHAEL: That would make you... no! Thirty-four?

GRACE: Thirty...! Oh, Michael. People pay good money for conversations like this. (finally) Forty in November.

MICHAEL: Are you pulling my leg?

GRACE: Don't I wish. (he takes this as an invitation and moves closer) Uh... we better get off the floor before we arouse the Gorgon.

MICHAEL: I can see it if I look real close right around your eyes, but otherwise, I'd have never guessed.

GRACE: (without thinking) I could kiss you.

MICHAEL: Why don't you?

GRACE: What?

MICHAEL: Why don't you?

GRACE: Here?

MICHAEL: We've each done it before. Now, how about together?

Very tentatively she does, and immediately returns to business. The music stops.

GRACE: Now help me find my books so I can get home and tape these things together.

MICHAEL: Electrical tape?

GRACE: That would work.

MICHAEL: I'll get some. Don't want you to get run over...

GRACE: Or bump into buildings and cliffs.

MICHAEL: This was nice...

GRACE: Electrical tape'll hold for a long time. Won't need contacts. They're expensive anyway.

MICHAEL: Ever come here on your own?

GRACE: So, where's Barbara off to?

MICHAEL: She's a waitress, works 'til three in the morning.

GRACE: Three... oh, well, you can do those things when you're young...

MICHAEL: ...I'm off at five. In the afternoon.

GRACE: Even that, by five I'm worn out...

MICHAEL: ...I live alone.

GRACE: That must be nice.

Michael tries to kiss her again. Grace tries to be shocked but fails. She begins to soften just as Millie storms in with Howard in tow.

When Howard accuses Grace of something that was clearly his own doing, Grace finally has had enough and leaves.  This puts Howard into a tail spin, which Millie, the owner of the cafe, decides to stop.  She teases him, gives him some careful prodding and tells him a long story about rain.  The sheer illogic of her expression loosens something in him, and an old love for Shakespeare comes resurfaces.  This is just after she has finished her story.

Sample Three of Three

MICHAEL: Wow. Is that true?

MILLIE: Not a word. (she laughs)

HOWARD: Really?

MILLIE: Who knows? It's history. Okay, Howie, your turn. We both told our rain tales.

HOWARD: Yes. Rain. (he takes a deep breath) "And then as we have taken the sacrament..." it goes on after that.

MILLIE: Huh?

HOWARD: Just something I remembered. Because of the rain.

MILLIE: (to Michael) That was twenty-five years ago.

HOWARD: No, no, only twelve. I was still fairly young, then.

BARBARA: (who has entered during the story) Old music is like that. It's as if... a piece of life preserved for thousands of years and... If you listen to it carefully, or sing it... anyway, with feeling, you can know everything about the people who it belonged to... anyway. Folk songs do that, you know. Some of them. The real ones.

MILLIE: Ooops, we got some customers. (she starts to go then stops and turns back)

BARBARA: Michael. I decided to do it. Now, before work.

MICHAEL: Come over tonight, okay? And tell me about it. Right after work. (he kisses her and exits)

MILLIE: You know what, Howie? I like you.

HOWARD: Ah. Well, that's kind of you to say. And I you. Uh... Millie.

MILLIE: Yeah. I really do.

She slaps her right fist to her heart area, winks at him and leaves. Howard settles into a reverie on the rain. Barbara, somewhat warmed to him now, holds up her Walkman.

BARBARA: I won't bother you, will I?

He absently shakes his head. She puts on her headset. She looks at Howard nervously, smoothes things down again, then takes off the headset. She is working up to something momentous.

BARBARA: I want to talk to you about class. I... (suddenly without quite knowing why she speaks easily) You know how I cried when the "Canon" was playing? It's funny... I do. My parents died in an accident. I was with them. They had the "Canon" on the tape player when it happened. I was trapped in there too, but it kept playing, right through the gentle, stirring, crescendo. I used to think I knew God when I heard that, but now I... you know... cry. That's why I wear these in here, cause... well, you know. Maybe you should get a Walkman, too. Want to try mine? I'll get over it... it's only been... you know. Eight months.

HOWARD: (accepting the walkman) Thanks. Oh, yes. Bach, isn't it. Lovely.

He listens for awhile, then begins to sing. It is Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring and he takes the first theme. When it is time Barbara joins in with the counter theme, and they sing together, waving their arms in time to the music. Howard hands the player back.

HOWARD: Thank you. That was lovely. Perhaps I will get one of my own. No, I will, definitely. (She smiles and puts the headset back on, he looks at the rain. Then suddenly...) Brenda. Brenda? Brenda! Brenda, I'm sorry, but could I speak to you a moment?

BARBARA: (whispering) It's Barbara.

HOWARD: Barbara. What did I say?

BARBARA: Brenda.

HOWARD: Did I? Listen. I don't know if I can... well, let me put it another way. Should it prove possible... no... Listen. Were you to have the opportunity to perform a final examination for my class rather than to write one, would you? I mean, could you?

BARBARA: Perform?

HOWARD: A concert, something of that sort.

BARBARA: Yes, but I thought I was.. and that you thought that...

HOWARD: But really, why not? It smacks of progressivism for its own sake, but you and I would know otherwise, wouldn't we? Could you, would you be able to, express musically what it is you've learned in my class?

BARBARA: Oh, sure, no problem, it'd be... you know.

HOWARD: Be quite exciting, don't you think?

BARBARA: (emphatically) Uh-huh!

She shakes his hand and dances out. Howard sits for awhile, drumming his fingers, exhilarated by his little breakthroughs. He jumps to his feet and runs out to the counter. Grace comes in carrying an umbrella. She is soaking wet and wearing her crooked, cracked and taped up glasses. She stands awkwardly looking at the empty table, wondering what to do next. Millie laughs. Howard laughs. Grace squares her shoulders. "Pachelbel Canon" is heard from the beginning. Howard comes in breathing carefully. He walks to his chair as if he might burst, and sits gently down, breathing all the while. He doesn't see Grace. After awhile he relaxes a little and he begins to smile. A little longer, he begins to sway with the music. Grace watches this.

GRACE: I remember, you used to love that piece.

HOWARD: Grace!

He turns to look at her, and is suddenly, inexplicably, in love.

HOWARD: I hardly expected... my dear, you're drenched.

GRACE: I came back to tell you that I'm taking a trip at the end of my term at night school. And I brought you this. (handing him his umbrella)

HOWARD: Why didn't you use it?

GRACE: (with great determination and from a safe distance in all respects) I have money in the bank, and they'll hire me back in the fall, I called them from a pay phone. I want to find out more about Native culture. All of it, the balance, the torture, the whole thing. My curiosity is hungry for something in three-dimensions. I won't be able to continue copying your notes. The polite thing to say is that I'm sorry, but I'm not. I'm jazzed.

HOWARD: We have to get you dry!

GRACE: Are you listening?

HOWARD: Yes, yes, that's a wonderful idea, I'll hire a student to do the copying.

GRACE: That was easy. Well. I'll see you around three. (makes to leave)

HOWARD: (humming with the music) It's a glorious song... the gentle, stirring crescendo! You're not going back out there are you? And you know what else? I remembered it! The Shakespeare! Want to hear?

GRACE: About the roses?

HOWARD: Yes, yes, it just came to me. I was sniffing these and watching the rain and listening to a lovely, rambling story, and there it was, complete, almost miraculous. Bollingbrook from the end of Richard III. "And then as we have taken the sacrament, we will unite the white rose and the red, smile heavens upon this fair conjunction that long have frowned upon their enmity."

He takes Grace's hand and leads her to a chair and repeats it with more feeling, and less of an accent.

"And then as we have taken the sacrament, we will unite the white rose and the red, smile heavens upon this fair conjunction that long have frowned upon their enmity."

Grace has begun to cry. She removes her glasses.

HOWARD: My dear, is there something wrong? Did I upset you? Is there anything I can do for you?

GRACE: No. Nothing to be done. (she looks at him) Hold my hand. (pause) I'm going, you know.

HOWARD: (he stares at her for awhile) Good thing you brought an umbrella. Look at that rain.

Grace smiles at this, drenched as she is. Their eyes meet and they very delicately embrace. Howard nestles his cheek in her hair, breathing in the fragrance of it. She rests her head on his chest and gazes at the rain. She does not lose her determination, but she does begin to relax.

The lights fade.