Jesse Ball - The Curfew

— Yes, says William. It is farther than it seems.

They pass along a way through elms and with leaping on the roots of enormous maples — such and soon they are in another place.

Yes, Molly and her father are sitting in a dell, surrounded by pale brown stones.

— This is your mother’s family, says William.

The stones are all in a different language.

*What do they mean?

— I don’t know, says William. I never learned her parents’ language. She didn’t either.

*Strange for her to be here, surrounded by unknown sentiments.

— Well,

*I know, she isn’t really here.

— Not really.

They walk to the last grave on the right. This is the finest one of all. It is as simple as a stone could be, almost rough, but with lovely texture. The letters in it are thin. Even fifty years will be enough to efface them.

Louisa Drysdale

Waiting in the hills, I believe .

Molly is coughing. She is coughing and coughing and making a peculiar sound. It must be the noise of her crying. Mrs. Gibbons wakes and comes up the aisle, kneels next to her, holding one of her hands.

William and his daughter leave the stage.

CURTAIN

Molly and William are asleep. The window to the street is open. There is a gunshot. They sleep on. Time passes. They wake. Molly dresses. The two go out.

William walks Molly along the street. The theater seems actually to be paved with stone. Each stone so heavy ten workmen couldn’t lift it. He says goodbye to her at the school and goes and sits in the park. He is sitting there the entire day, staring into the water. There are figures in the water, but he cannot see them. He can only sense them. It is the same at the cemetery with all the bodies in the earth. One can feel them, but not see them. It is not that they are ghosts. It is not that impression. Simply that the centers of so many worlds rest in one another’s context.

William fetches Molly from school. They return to the park. He reads to her from the newspaper. He tells her a story from his childhood. He says:

— There was a very old very rich man who said that anyone who could do what he had done would earn his entire fortune.

*What did the person have to do?

— The bet was for children only. The child would have to run away from home, leave for a distant city, make it there alive, free all the animals from the zoo, evade pursuit, and return to its home. That was the first of the tasks. There were eight in all.

*Which was the hardest one?

— Learn to actually sleep with one eye open.

*And actually be seeing from the eye, or …?

— Well, otherwise it’s worthless.

*I see. Did anyone actually do it?

— I think one kid got seven of them done. But he was grown up by then, so he forfeited the prize.

*Is the contest still open?

— I would imagine so. But don’t run away, now. You’re much too young. Just practice the sleeping with one eye open. If you can get that one, the others should follow.

Molly stands up.

*Shall we?

— Yes, let’s.

They thread a path in a homeward direction, he murmuring, she gesturing, he peering at her hands in the dim evening.

There are puppets running wildly across the stage dressed as mimes. They are shot to death by other puppets who stand over them shooting and shooting down and a great ring of smoke billows out into the audience.

Molly and William are on the other side of the stage, standing very still.

The smoke billows out. When it draws back, the stage is empty once more but for William and Molly.

Molly tugs on William’s sleeve.

*Do you think that the world can be saved?

— The world saved?

William smiles.

— From what?

*Those people. That, and, and Mother dying.

— That is part of our world, and can’t be changed. I don’t know that I would want to live in a world where things had become better, but your mother was gone. She always dreamed about that place, and I don’t think I could go there without her.

Molly looks at her feet. Then she looks out into the audience. She appears to be looking right at them, one by one.

William draws in a deep breath. He continues.

— But, for you, I want it to change. One day you will be the only one of us three remaining, and then the world that includes us will be inside of you and nowhere else.

It is getting late in the evening. William tells Molly that he has to leave the house. He can’t really explain why. She tries to get him to, but he won’t. He has put on clothes that he rarely wears, clothes he used to wear. He looks extremely nervous. All this worries Molly immensely.

*But isn’t it dangerous? We never go out this late. Oh, don’t go. Don’t go.

— You mustn’t worry. I am the last of the great musicians.

(Does a flourish before the audience and bows.)

— All the rest have died. The government knows that. They can’t harm or kill me. It would mean the end for them. Although I have not performed now in years, people know me and what I stand for. Overnight, the people would rise up. Were I to die, the revolution would rise like a second sun and everything would be burned away. The police would never take me. They know what would happen. They’re too afraid. That’s why they didn’t kill us when they, when they killed your mother.

Molly blinks and holds the side of her dress very tight. She has always known how important her family is.

Nonetheless, she feels very proud right then and stands extremely straight.

*I am still worried, she says with her hands.

She follows him to the door. He opens it. Deep in the theater, through the door, the hallway can be seen and a door beyond. William is standing in front of that door and knocking. The wind blows the curtain of the room that Molly is standing in. She feels that she can hear a record player and a single violin, although she herself has never heard a violin, has never even seen a record player.

Now the stage is the hallway, and the door is opening. Molly comes onto the stage, beside her father. Her tail is twitching back and forth. She looks extremely small. Her father puts his arm around her. Mrs. Gibbons is on the other side of the door. Mrs. Gibbons welcomes Molly into her home. Mr. Gibbons is there also. They are an extremely kind old couple. Anyone can see that. Their house is warm and comfortable in a way that is impossible these days. It is a holdover from another time and when it disappears, even the knowledge of it will be gone.

Mrs. Gibbons is speaking to William:

— I will do this for you, said Mrs. Gibbons. You are a good father and I will do this for you and your daughter because she is very wonderful, a very wonderful young woman and I am always glad to have her here. There is always a place here in the house for a wonderful young woman who goes around with the name of Molly. But you must be careful, Mr. Drysdale, if you are going out at night, because I will tell you that Mr. Gibbons, who has just come home now this very moment, he told me that he saw a man dead not four streets over, and right in a crowd. So, you have a care.

— Is that really how I speak? Mrs. Gibbons asks Molly.

They are still beside each other in the first row.

Molly nods.

Onstage, the mouse stamps her foot.

*Be careful, she says to her father.

— Here is a key, says William, so you can put her to bed.

Mrs. Gibbons nods and closes the door. William is on the other side. He is now gone from the room. His footsteps can be heard and then they cannot.