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
