(A misty, sally garden. Everything is grey and vaguely discernible. A young
LADY rushes on, flummoxed by troubles, overwhelmed by care. She holds a
tattered newspaper before her, a broken umbrella behind. Her trench-coat tails
whip. Her mascara runs rivulets. She collapses, a tearful heap, on an old worn
bench.)
(A small drab TOAD, crouched nearby, croaks up at her.)
TOAD
You are flummoxed by troubles? overwhelmed by care?
LADY
Yes. My ---
TOAD
Please don’t. Nothing comes of cataloguing.
(The LADY weeps anew.)
TOAD (Continued)
I am a woman like you, you know, ground by the molten drips of the world. O, the stories . . . But I am done cataloguing. Now, I only remember at large. So many sorrows and sins. How often I suffered that which, before, had been unthinkable---only to wake up the morning, the bad thought thunk. Worse than sufferings caused by others, though, were those brought on myself. O, what I thought I never would do, yet did! How stony cold, how like a closed door, are punishments deserved. More times than I can count, I have been set apart---as a creature, as another---with no one to blame but me.
(The LADY weeps afresh.)
TOAD (Continued)
But, when one has withstood all one can dream to withstand---O, only then---one realizes that happiness is just a creature of the happy mind. Yes, I could swim to the bottom of the lake, without leaving time to rise---but to what end? I am happy enough, no longer cataloguing, just watching the world and its flies.
(The LADY dabs her face and considers a moment. Then her eyes narrow on the
TOAD. She stands quickly and moves to stomp it dead. The TOAD, used to
attacks, jumps aside, losing only a little to the heavy foot.)
TOAD (Continued)
Ah, my long, slender fingers! Gone! Ah, but who is to blame? You? myself? Who cares?
(The TOAD hops away behind the bench. The LADY . . . well, the LADY . . .
Who cares?)
THE END
(She is sitting in a booth.)
WAITRESS
When I saw you last, I was telling you of the troubles. But, now, I am having the more happy times---or so I was thinking. I am . . . on vacation, if you can believe.
It was a strange thing. This man came often to the coffee shop---his name was Weston or Wesley---and he told me that he wanted to do something wonderful for me. I doubted him, you know. But he kept to it. He asked me when I was happy, truly. I told him something silly. I don’t know why, but I told him: I remember, just before Coelacanth was married, we all went away for the weekend. I don’t remember what for---maybe for Coelacanth. Or maybe Father got a moneyprize. But we went to Hamilton, Ontario, and we had supper at a fine seafood restaurant. It was my first time to have salmon. Now, I have salmon many times since, but I never like it. Sometimes---as usual---there is something not good: skin too like a mirror and it peels from the flesh wrong. But this salmon in Hamilton---it was like heaven.
I told this to Weston or Wesley and he told me that he was getting a ticket and taking me. I doubted it. But here I am. It’s not the same restaurant, I don’t think. That one must have closed. And the salmon, it is not good. Like a dirty river. But it is nice to . . . to . . . have something.
But now I worry. I have not seen Weston or Wesley in a long time. Twenty minutes? He took me here. He took me, and I think he left me at this restaurant. I am wondering why I came. I think it was a mistake. But why would he play the game and take me here to leave me here? And where is he? A mistake. I should not have took time from work, even if he paid. And I don’t know how I will get back.
Oh, but here he is. They were in the restroom. That is all. And they are back now. Back now.
(The WAITRESS smiles a return greeting.)
THE END.
(MRS. HO is putting together a diorama. WESTWARD confronts her.)
WESTWARD
Mother, the last pottery play . . . I think it was just a receipt.
MRS. HO
(Not looking up)
I think you’re a receipt.
WESTWARD
We have to be more careful if we---
MRS. HO
You’re the one who does the posts.
(She makes the final adjustments. It’s a beautiful diorama---a garden scene like
the ones Sunny saw in the provinces.)
THE END.
(Found on a pot by Mrs. Ho. Faded blue type on yellowed paper.)
[---]OUSEL OF FOOD
C 23, 1975
[---]DUCE[:] 0.19
[---]ODUCE[:] 0.19
[---]ODUCE[:] 1.19
[---]EASONAL[:] 0.59
DELI[:] 0.29
SUBTOTAL[:] 2.45
SALES TAX[:] 0.03
TOTAL[:] 2.48
AMT TENDERED[:] 3.02
CHANGE [. . .]
THANK YOU FOR [. . .]
