This is the opening to Act 2 of my new play. The last thing we have seen is Harry Band being killed in France in 1915 by German soldiers, who crucified and shot him. 5 years on, his fiancee Alice who spent all of Act 1 trying to write a letter to him is still not coping with his loss.
Act Two
Toronto, 1920. The parlour in Alice’s house. It is modestly decorated and furnished with a three-seated sofa centre stage and armchair to the side, separated by a side table with flowers. In front, a coffee table. Upstage a writing desk and shelves with knick-knacks on display. Downstage right, a huge fireplace with a shallow iron grate.
ALICE sits in her armchair sipping her tea as MOLLY and SARA chatter inanely.
Sara: Of course it won’t last.
Molly: I don’t know, I hear a proposal may be on the cards.
Sara: Oh don’t be absurd! She’s only courting him for his money!
Molly: People have married for less.
Sara: Whore.
Molly: Sara!
Sara: What? She’s a woman selling herself to a man for his money. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a whore to me.
Molly: And of course, every woman marries for love.
Sara: Well of course not, but-
Molly: But nothing. It’s not like any of us would do any different. You’re just jealous.
Alice: Have you ever been in love, Sara?
Sara: Well, no, but—
Alice: Then you can’t possibly have any idea about what you are saying.
BAND enters, dressed in a decaying army uniform. His body is riddled with bullets, and the wounds from the bayonets are crusted with dried blood. He goes to the writing desk and pours himself a tumbler of whiskey.
Sara: I suppose not. I was just saying—
Alice: Well don’t just say. It’s a far more complicated business than you imagine.
An awkward pause. BAND sits himself between MOLLY and SARA on the sofa. Neither woman notices him. ALICE, however, watches him intently.
Molly: Alice, my dear, are you quite well? You’re as white as a sheet.
Alice: I’m fine, really I am. It’s just—
Molly: Oh Alice, you’re not still seeing—
Alice: It’s nothing. Just a headache.
Sara: It’s been five years, my dear, surely by now…
Alice: What would you know about it?
Sara: We all lost people. Why can’t you let it be like everyone else?
Silence again. The women are growing more and more uncomfortable.
Molly: Perhaps you should lie down? Maybe that might help?
Alice: (pulling an old telegram from her pocket) One sentence on a scrap of paper. That’s all he was to them. All he was worth. Here. Read it.
Molly: Alice—
Alice: Read it. In that one sentence, it was over. He was gone. Letting him go was harder.
BAND attempts to break the tension by pulling a bullet from his torso and throwing it at ALICE. It lands with a splash in her teacup. She stares at it, horrified.
So I thought, why couldn’t I keep him a bit longer. So I brought him back. But the war changed everything. Even him.
Molly: Alice! Alice – look at me. Look at me. It’s all right. What you did, I understand. But it’s too much. It’s gone on too long. This isn’t healthy.
Alice: How would you know?
Pause.
Sara: Well, thank you so much for the tea my dear, but we really must be going.
Molly: Lie down, my dear.
Sara: Will we see you next Thursday for cocktails?
Alice: We’ll see. Goodbye.
Sara: Goodbye, feel better.
Molly: Send for me if you need me.
Alice: I will.
SARA and MOLLY exit, leaving ALICE and BAND alone.
Why can’t you leave me alone? Let me be alone with my friends without making me seem like a lunatic?
Band: You brought me up.
Alice: I did not.
Band: Yes you did, you were thinking about me. I know.
Alice: Why won’t you get out of my head?
Band: It’s your head. Kick me out.
He stands over her chair, his face inches from hers, blocking her in with his arms.
Go on. Get rid of me. Forget me.
Alice: I can’t.
Band: Sure you can. The rest of the world forgot. I’m nothing. A sentence on a scrap of paper. You said it yourself.
Alice: I didn’t say that.
Band: I’m propaganda. A name to be forgotten. A name amongst many. So come on. Forget me.
Alice: Stop it.
Band: Make me.
Alice: Please! Stop!
Band: Make me!
Alice: You were never like this when you were…
Band: Alive. Yes. Well, that’s a temporary state. Death changes a man.
He releases her. She is visibly relieved.
Alice: You’re always so angry.
Band: So are you.
She goes to him and touches his wounds. The blood stains her fingers.
Alice: It’s like I’m still in the trenches.
Band: You were never in the trenches.
Alice: Didn’t you carry me with you?
Band: No.
Alice: Would you carry me now?
Band: I can’t.
Alice: Why not?
Band: I’m just a shadow of a war that’s over.
Alice: It isn’t over for me.
She takes his face in her hands and kisses him. The sofa explodes like it has been hit by a German shell. A whistle blows. BAND pulls away and runs offstage to his post. Soldiers shouting. The smoke clears. Silence. ALICE is left alone. Blood now stains her clothes.
