ACT II

by Susan Glaspell

　　Late afternoon of the following day. CLAIREis alone in the tower—a tower which is thought to be roundbut does not complete the circle. The back is curved, then jaggedlines break from that, and the front is a queer bulgingwindow—in a curve that leans. The whole structure is as ifgiven a twist by some terrific force—like something wrong. Itis lighted by an old-fashioned watchman's lantern hanging from theceiling; the innumerable pricks and slits in the metal throw amarvellous pattern on the curved wall—like some masonry thathasn't been.

　　There are no windows at back, and there is no doorsave an opening in the floor. The delicately distorted rail of aspiral staircase winds up from below. CLAIRE is seen through thehuge ominous window as if shut into the tower. She is lying on aseat at the back looking at a book of drawings. To do this she hasleft the door of her lantern a little open—and her own faceis clearly seen.

　　A door is heard opening below; laughing voices,CLAIRE listens, not pleased.

　　ADELAIDE: (voice coming up) Dear—dear, why do theymake such twisting steps.

　　HARRY: Take your time, most up now. (HARRY's head appears, helooks back.) Making it all right?

　　ADELAIDE: I can't tell yet. (laughingly) No, I don'tthink so.

　　HARRY: (reaching back a hand for her) The lastlap—is the bad lap. (ADELAIDE is up, and occupied withgetting her breath.)

　　HARRY: Since you wouldn't come down, Claire, we thought we'dcome up.

　　ADELAIDE: (as CLAIRE does not greet her) I'm sorryto intrude, but I have to see you, Claire. There are things to bearranged. (CLAIRE volunteering nothing about arrangements,ADELAIDE surveys the tower. An unsympathetic eye goes from thecurves to the lines which diverge. Then she looks from thewindow) Well, at least you have a view.

　　HARRY: This is the first time you've been up here?

　　ADELAIDE: Yes, in the five years you've had the house I wasnever asked up here before.

　　CLAIRE: (amiably enough) You weren't asked up herenow.

　　ADELAIDE: Harry asked me.

　　CLAIRE: It isn't Harry's tower. But never mind—since youdon't like it—it's all right.

　　ADELAIDE: (her eyes again rebuking the irregularities of thetower) No, I confess I do not care for it. A round tower shouldgo on being round.

　　HARRY: Claire calls this the thwarted tower. She bought thehouse because of it. (going over and sitting by her, his hand onher ankle) Didn't you, old girl? She says she'd like to haveknown the architect.

　　ADELAIDE: Probably a tiresome person too incompetent to make aperfect tower.

　　CLAIRE: Well, now he's disposed of, what next?

　　ADELAIDE: (sitting down in a manner of capably opening aconference) Next, Elizabeth, and you, Claire. Just what is thematter with Elizabeth?

　　CLAIRE: (whose voice is cool, even, as if herself is notreally engaged by this) Nothing is the matter with her. She isa tower that is a tower.

　　ADELAIDE: Well, is that anything against her?

　　CLAIRE: She's just like one of her father's portraits. Theynever interested me. Nor does she. (looks at the drawings whichdo interest her)

　　ADELAIDE: A mother cannot cast off her own child simply becauseshe does not interest her!

　　CLAIRE: (an instant raising cool eyes to ADELAIDE) Whycan't she?

　　ADELAIDE: Because it would be monstrous!

　　CLAIRE: And why can't she be monstrous—if she has tobe?

　　ADELAIDE: You don't have to be. That's where I'm out of patiencewith you Claire. You are really a particularly intelligent,competent person, and it's time for you to call a halt to thisnonsense and be the woman you were meant to be!

　　CLAIRE: (holding the book up to see another way) Whatinside dope have you on what I was meant to be?

　　ADELAIDE: I know what you came from.

　　CLAIRE: Well, isn't it about time somebody got loose from that?What I came from made you, so—

　　ADELAIDE: (stiffly) I see.

　　CLAIRE: So—you being such a tower of strength, why need Itoo be imprisoned in what I came from?

　　ADELAIDE: It isn't being imprisoned. Right there is where youmake your mistake, Claire. Who's in a tower—in anunsuccessful tower? Not I. I go about in the world—free,busy, happy. Among people, I have no time to think of myself.

　　CLAIRE: No.

　　ADELAIDE: No. My family. The things that interest them; frommorning till night it's—

　　CLAIRE: Yes, I know you have a large family, Adelaide; five andElizabeth makes six.

　　ADELAIDE: We'll speak of Elizabeth later. But if you would justget out of yourself and enter into other people's lives—

　　CLAIRE: Then I would become just like you. And we should all bejust alike in order to assure one another that we're all justright. But since you and Harry and Elizabeth and ten million otherpeople bolster each other up, why do you especially need me?

　　ADELAIDE: (not unkindly) We don't need you as much as youneed us.

　　CLAIRE: (a wry face) I never liked what I needed.

　　HARRY: I am convinced I am the worst thing in the world for you,Claire.

　　CLAIRE: (with a smile for his tactics, but shaking herhead) I'm afraid you're not. I don't know—perhaps youare.

　　ADELAIDE: Well, what is it you want, Claire?

　　CLAIRE: (simply) You wouldn't know if I told you.

　　ADELAIDE: That's rather arrogant.

　　HARRY: Yes, take a chance, Claire. I have been known to get anidea—and Adelaide quite frequently gets one.

　　CLAIRE: (the first resentment she has shown) You two feelvery superior, don't you?

　　ADELAIDE: I don't think we are the ones who are feelingsuperior.

　　CLAIRE: Oh, yes, you are. Very superior to what you think is myfeeling of superiority, comparing my—isolation with your'heart of humanity'. Soon we will speak of the beauty of commonexperiences, of the—Oh, I could say it all before we come toit.

　　HARRY: Adelaide came up here to help you, Claire.

　　CLAIRE: Adelaide came up here to lock me in. Well, she can't doit.

　　ADELAIDE: (gently) But can't you see that one may do thatto one's self?

　　CLAIRE: (thinks of this, looks suddenly tired—thensmiles) Well, at least I've changed the keys.

　　HARRY: 'Locked in.' Bunkum. Get that our of your head, Claire.Who's locked in? Nobody that I know of, we're all free Americans.Free as air.

　　ADELAIDE: I wish you'd come and hear one of Mr Morley's sermons,Claire. You're very old-fashioned if you think sermons are whatthey used to be.

　　CLAIRE: (with interest) And do they still sing 'Nearer,my God, to Thee'?

　　ADELAIDE: They do, and a noble old hymn it is. It would do youno harm at all to sing it.

　　CLAIRE: (eagerly) Sing it to me, Adelaide. I'd like tohear you sing it.

　　ADELAIDE: It would be sacrilege to sing it to you in thismood.

　　CLAIRE: (falling back) Oh, I don't know. I'm not so sureGod would agree with you. That would be one on you, wouldn'tit?

　　ADELAIDE: It's easy to feel one's self set apart!

　　CLAIRE: No, it isn't.

　　ADELAIDE: (beginning anew) It's a new age, Claire.Spiritual values—

　　CLAIRE: Spiritual values! (in her brooding way) So youhave pulled that up. (with cunning) Don't think I don't knowwhat it is you do.

　　ADELAIDE: Well, what do I do? I'm sure I have no idea whatyou're talking about.

　　HARRY: (affectionately, as CLAIRE is looking withintentness at what he does not see) What does she do,Claire?

　　CLAIRE: It's rather clever, what she does. Snatching thephrase—(a movement as if pulling something up)standing it up between her and—the life that's there. And bysaying it enough—'We have life! We have life! We have life!'Very good come-back at one who would really be—'Just so!We are that. Right this way, please—'That, I supposeis what we mean by needing each other. All join in the chorus,'This is it! This is it! This is it!' And anyone who won't join isto be—visited by relatives, (regarding ADELAIDEwith curiosity) Do you really think that anything is goingon in you?

　　ADELAIDE: (stiffly) I am not one to hold myself up as aperfect example of what the human race may be.

　　CLAIRE: (brightly) Well, that's good.

　　HARRY: Claire!

　　CLAIRE: Humility's a real thing—not just a finename for laziness.

　　HARRY: Well, Lord A'mighty, you can't call Adelaide lazy.

　　CLAIRE: She stays in one place because she hasn't the energy togo anywhere else.

　　ADELAIDE: (as if the last word in absurdity has been said)I haven't energy?

　　CLAIRE: (mildly) You haven't any energy at all, Adelaide.That's why you keep so busy.

　　ADELAIDE: Well—Claire's nerves are in a worse statethan I had realized.

　　CLAIRE: So perhaps we'd better look at Blake's drawings,(takes up the book)

　　ADELAIDE: It would be all right for me to look at Blake'sdrawings. You'd better look at the Sistine Madonna,(affectionately, after she has watched CLAIRE's face amoment) What is it, Claire? Why do you shut yourself out fromus?

　　CLAIRE: I told you. Because I do not want to be shut in withyou.

　　ADELAIDE: All of this is not very pleasant for Harry.

　　HARRY: I want Claire to be gay.

　　CLAIRE: Funny—you should want that, (speaksunwillingly, a curious, wistful unwillingness) Did you ever saya preposterous thing, then go trailing after the thing you've saidand find it wasn't so preposterous? Here is the circle we arein.describes a big circle) Being gay. It shoots little dartsthrough the circle, and a minute later—gaiety all gone, andyou looking through that little hole the gaiety left.

　　ADELAIDE: (going to her, as she is still looking through thatlittle hole) Claire, dear, I wish I could make you feel howmuch I care for you. (simply, with real feeling) You cancall me all the names you like—dull, commonplace,lazy—that is a new idea, I confess, but the rest of ourfamily's gone now, and the love that used to be there between usall—the only place for it now is between you and me. You wereso much loved, Claire. You oughtn't to try and get away from aworld in which you are so much loved, (to HARRY)Mother—father—all of us, always loved Claire best. Wealways loved Claire's queer gaiety. Now you've got to hand it to usfor that, as the children say.

　　CLAIRE: (moved, but eyes shining with a queer brightloneliness) But never one of you—once—looked withme through the little pricks the gaiety made—never one ofyou—once, looked with me at the queer light that came inthrough the pricks.

　　ADELAIDE: And can't you see, dear, that it's better for us wedidn't? And that it would be better for you now if you would justresolutely look somewhere else? You must see yourself that youhaven't the poise of people who are held—well, within thecircle, if you choose to put it that way. There's something aboutbeing in that main body, having one's roots in the big commonexperiences, gives a calm which you have missed. That's whyI want you to take Elizabeth, forget yourself, and—

　　CLAIRE: I do want calm. But mine would have to be a calmI—worked my way to. A calm all prepared for me—wouldstink.

　　ADELAIDE: (less sympathetically) I know you have to beyourself, Claire. But I don't admit you have a right to hurt otherpeople.

　　HARRY: I think Claire and I had better take a nice longtrip.

　　ADELAIDE: Now why don't you?

　　CLAIRE: I am taking a trip.

　　ADELAIDE: Well, Harry isn't, and he'd like to go and wants youto go with him. Go to Paris and get yourself some awfullygood-looking clothes—and have one grand fling at the gayworld. You really love that, Claire, and you've been awfully dulllately. I think that's the whole trouble.

　　HARRY: I think so too.

　　ADELAIDE: This sober business of growing plants—

　　CLAIRE: Not sober—it's mad.

　　ADELAIDE: All the more reason for quitting it.

　　CLAIRE: But madness that is the only chance for sanity.

　　ADELAIDE: Come, come, now—let's not juggle words.

　　CLAIRE: (springing up) How dare you say that to me,Adelaide. You who are such a liar and thief and whore withwords!

　　ADELAIDE: (facing her, furious) How dareyou—

　　HARRY: Of course not, Claire. You have the most preposterous wayof using words.

　　CLAIRE: I respect words.

　　ADELAIDE: Well, you'll please respect me enough not to dare usecertain words to me!

　　CLAIRE: Yes, I do dare. I'm tired of what you do—you andall of you.Life—experience—values—calm—sensitive wordswhich raise their heads as indications. And you pull themup—to decorate your stagnant little minds—and thinkthat makes you—And because you have pulled that word from thelife that grew it you won't let one who's honest, and aware, andtroubled, try to reach through to—to what she doesn't know isthere, (she is moved, excited, as if a cruel thing has beendone) Why did you come here?

　　ADELAIDE: To try and help you. But I begin to fear I can't doit. It's pretty egotistical to claim that what so many people are,is wrong.

　　(CLAIRE, after looking intently at ADELAIDE,slowly, smiling a little, describes a circle. With deftly usedhands makes a quick vicious break in the circle which is there inthe air.)

　　HARRY: (going to her, taking her hands) It's gettingclose to dinner-time. You were thinking of something else, Claire,when I told you Charlie Emmons was coming to dinner to-night,(answering her look) Sure—he is a neurologist, and Iwant him to see you. I'm perfectly honest with you—cards allon the table, you know that. I'm hoping if you like him—andhe's the best scout in the world, that he can help you. (talkinghurriedly against the stillness which follows her look from him toADELAIDE, where she sees between them an 'understanding' abouther) Sure you need help, Claire. Your nerves are a little onthe blink—from all you've been doing. No use making a mysteryof it—or a tragedy. Emmons is a cracker-jack, and naturally Iwant you to get a move on yourself and be happy again.

　　CLAIRE: (who has gone over to the window) And thisneurologist can make me happy?

　　HARRY: Can make you well—and then you'll be happy.

　　ADELAIDE: (in the voice of now fixing it all up) And Ihad just an idea about Elizabeth. Instead of working with mereplants, why not think of Elizabeth as a plant and—

　　(CLAIRE, who has been looking out of the window,now throws open one of the panes that swings out—or seems to,and calls down in great excitement.)

　　CLAIRE: Tom! Tom! Quick! Up here! I'm in trouble!

　　HARRY: (going to the window) That's a rotten thing to do,Claire! You've frightened him.

　　CLAIRE: Yes, how fast he can run. He was deep in thought and Istabbed right through.

　　HARRY: Well, he'll be none too pleased when he gets up here andfinds there was no reason for the stabbing!

　　(They wait for his footsteps, HARRYannoyed, ADELAIDE offended, but stealing worried looksat CLAIRE, who is looking fixedly at the place in the floorwhere TOM will appear.—Running footsteps.)

　　TOM: (his voice getting there before he does) Yes,Claire—yes—yes—(as his head appears) Whatis it?

　　CLAIRE: (at once presenting him and answering hisquestion) My sister.

　　TOM: (gasping) Oh,—why—is that all? Imean—how do you do? Pardon, I (panting) cameup—rather hurriedly.

　　HARRY: If you want to slap Claire, Tom, I for one have noobjection.

　　CLAIRE: Adelaide has the most interesting idea, Tom. Sheproposes that I take Elizabeth and roll her in the gutter. Just lether lie there until she breaks up into—

　　ADELAIDE: Claire! I don't see how—even infun—pretty vulgar fun—you can speak in those terms of apure young girl. I'm beginning to think I had better takeElizabeth.

　　CLAIRE: Oh, I've thought that all along.

　　ADELAIDE: And I'm also beginning to suspect that—odditymay be just a way of shifting responsibility.

　　CLAIRE: (cordially interested in this possibility) Nowyou know—that might be.

　　ADELAIDE: A mother who does not love her own child! You are anunnatural woman, Claire.

　　CLAIRE: Well, at least it saves me from being a natural one.

　　ADELAIDE: Oh—I know, you think you have a great deal! Butlet me tell you, you've missed a great deal! You've never known thefaintest stirring of a mother's love.

　　CLAIRE: That's not true.

　　HARRY: No. Claire loved our boy.

　　CLAIRE: I'm glad he didn't live.

　　HARRY: (low) Claire!

　　CLAIRE: I loved him. Why should I want him to live?

　　HARRY: Come, dear, I'm sorry I spoke of him—when you'renot feeling well.

　　CLAIRE: I'm feeling all right. Just because I'm seeingsomething, it doesn't mean I'm sick.

　　HARRY: Well, let's go down now. About dinner-time. I shouldn'twonder if Emmons were here. (as ADELAIDE is starting downstairs) Coming, Claire?

　　CLAIRE: No.

　　HARRY: But it's time to go down for dinner.

　　CLAIRE: I'm not hungry.

　　HARRY: But we have a guest. Two guests—Adelaide's stayingtoo.

　　CLAIRE: Then you're not alone.

　　HARRY: But I invited Dr Emmons to meet you.

　　CLAIRE: (her smile flashing) Tell him I am violentto-night.

　　HARRY: Dearest—how can you joke about such things!

　　CLAIRE: So you do think they're serious?

　　HARRY: (irritated) No, I do not! But I want you to comedown for dinner!

　　ADELAIDE: Come, come, Claire; you know quite well this is notthe sort of thing one does.

　　CLAIRE: Why go on saying one doesn't, when you are seeing onedoes (to TOM) Will you stay with me a while? I want topurify the tower.

　　(ADELAIDE begins to disappear)

　　HARRY: Fine time to choose for atête-à-tête. (as he is leaving) I'd thinkmore of you, Edgeworthy, if you refused to humour Claire in herill-breeding.

　　ADELAIDE: (her severe voice coming from below) It is notwhat she was taught.

　　CLAIRE: No, it's not what I was taught, (laughing rathertimidly) And perhaps you'd rather have your dinner?

　　TOM: No.

　　CLAIRE: We'll get something later. I want to talk to you.(but she does not—laughs) Absurd that I should feelbashful with you. Why am I so awkward with words when I go to talkto you?

　　TOM: The words know they're not needed.

　　CLAIRE: No, they're not needed. There's somethingunderneath—an open way—down below the way that wordscan go. (rather desperately) It is there, isn't it?

　　TOM: Oh, yes, it is there.

　　CLAIRE: Then why do we never—go it?

　　TOM: If we went it, it would not be there.

　　CLAIRE: Is that true? How terrible, if that is true.

　　TOM: Not terrible, wonderful—that it should—ofitself—be there.

　　CLAIRE: (with the simplicity that can say anything) Iwant to go it, Tom, I'm lonely up on top here. Is it that I havemore faith than you, or is it only that I'm greedier? You see, youdon't know (her reckless laugh) what you're missing. Youdon't know how I could love you.

　　TOM: Don't, Claire; that isn't—how it is—between youand me.

　　CLAIRE: But why can't it be—every way—between youand me?

　　TOM: Because we'd lose—the open way. (the quality ofhis denial shows how strong is his feeling for her) With anyoneelse—not with you.

　　CLAIRE: But you are the only one I want. The only one—allof me wants.

　　TOM: I know; but that's the way it is.

　　CLAIRE: You're cruel.

　　TOM: Oh, Claire, I'm trying so hard to—save it for us.Isn't it our beauty and our safeguard that underneath our separatelives, no matter where we may be, with what other, there is thisopen way between us? That's so much more than anything we couldbring to being.

　　CLAIRE: Perhaps. But—it's different with me. I'mnot—all spirit.

　　TOM: (his hand on her) Dear!

　　CLAIRE: No, don't touch me—since (moving) you'regoing away to-morrow? (he nods) For—always? (hishead just moves assent) India is just another country. Butthere are undiscovered countries.

　　TOM: Yes, but we are so feeble we have to reach our countrythrough the actual country lying nearest. Don't you do thatyourself, Claire? Reach your country through the plants'country?

　　CLAIRE: My country? You mean—outside?

　　TOM: No, I don't think it that way.

　　CLAIRE: Oh, yes, you do.

　　TOM: Your country is the inside, Claire. The innermost. You aredisturbed because you lie too close upon the heart of life.

　　CLAIRE: (restlessly) I don't know; you can think it oneway—or another. No way says it, and that's good—atleast it's not shut up in saying. (she is looking at herenclosing hand, as if something is shut up there)

　　TOM: But also, you know, things may be freed by expression. Comefrom the unrealized into the fabric of life.

　　CLAIRE: Yes, but why does the fabric of life haveto—freeze into its pattern? It should (doing it with herhands) flow, (then turning like an unsatisfied child tohim) But I wanted to talk to you.

　　TOM: You are talking to me. Tell me about your flower that neverwas before—your Breath of Life.

　　CLAIRE: I'll know to-morrow. You'll not go until I know?

　　TOM: I'll try to stay.

　　CLAIRE: It seems to me, if it has—then I have, integrityin—(smiles, it is as if the smile lets her say it)otherness. I don't want to die on the edge!

　　TOM: Not you!

　　CLAIRE: Many do. It's what makes them too smug inallness—those dead things on the edge, died,distorted—trying to get through. Oh—don't think I don'tsee—The Edge Vine! (a pause, then swiftly) Do you knowwhat I mean? Or do you think I'm just a fool, or crazy?

　　TOM: I think I know what you mean, and you know I don't thinkyou are a fool, or crazy.

　　CLAIRE: Stabbed to awareness—no matter where it takes you,isn't that more than a safe place to stay? (telling him verysimply despite the pattern of pain in her voice) Anguish may bea thread—making patterns that haven't been. Athread—blue and burning.

　　TOM: (to take her from what even he fears for her) Butyou were telling me about the flower you breathed to life. What isyour Breath of Life?

　　CLAIRE: (an instant playing) It's a secret. Asecret?—it's a trick. Distilled from the most fragile flowersthere are. It's only air—pausing—playing; except, farin, one stab of red, its quivering heart—that asks aquestion. But here's the trick—I bred the air-form tostrength. The strength shut up behind us I've sent—far out.(troubled) I'll know tomorrow. And I have another gift forBreath of Life; some day—though days of work lie inbetween—some day I'll give it reminiscence. Fragrance thatis—no one thing in here but—reminiscent. (silence,she raises wet eyes) We need the haunting beauty from the lifewe've left. I need that, (he takes her hands and breathes hername) Let me reach my country with you. I'm not a plant. Afterall, they don't—accept me. Who does—accept me? Willyou?

　　TOM: My dear—dear, dear, Claire—you move me so! Youstand alone in a clearness that breaks my heart, (her hands moveup his arms. He takes them to hold them from where they wouldgo—though he can hardly do it) But you've asked what youyourself could answer best. We'd only stop in the country whereeveryone stops.

　　CLAIRE: We might come through—to radiance.

　　TOM: Radiance is an enclosing place.

　　CLAIRE: Perhaps radiance lighting forms undreamed, (herreckless laugh) I'd be willing to—take a chance, I'drather lose than never know.

　　TOM: No, Claire. Knowing you from underneath, I know youcouldn't bear to lose.

　　CLAIRE: Wouldn't men say you were a fool!

　　TOM: They would.

　　CLAIRE: And perhaps you are. (he smiles a little) I feelso desperate, because if only I could—show you what I am, youmight see I could have without losing. But I'm a stammering thingwith you.

　　TOM: You do show me what you are.

　　CLAIRE: I've known a few moments that were life. Why don't theyhelp me now? One was in the air. I was up withHarry—flying—high. It was about four months beforeDavid was born—the doctor was furious—pregnant womenare supposed to keep to earth. We were going fast—Iwas flying—I had left the earth. And then—withinme, movement, for the first time—stirred to life far inair—movement within. The man unborn, he too, would fly. Andso—I always loved him. He was movement—and wonder. Inhis short life were many flights. I never told anyone about thelast one. His little bed was by the window—he wasn't fouryears old. It was night, but him not asleep. He saw the morningstar—you know—the morning star.Brighter—stranger—reminiscent—and a promise. Hepointed—'Mother', he asked me, 'what is there—beyondthe stars?' A baby, a sick baby—the morning star. Nextnight—the finger that pointed was—(suddenly bitesher own finger) But, yes, I am glad. He would always have triedto move and too much would hold him. Wonder would die—andhe'd laugh at soaring, (looking down, sidewise) Though Iliked his voice. So I wish you'd stay near me—for I like yourvoice, too.

　　TOM: Claire! That's (choked) almost too much.

　　CLAIRE: (one of her swift glances—canny, almostpractical) Well, I'm glad if it is. How can I make it more?(but what she sees brings its own change) I know what it isyou're afraid of. It's because I have so much—yes, whyshouldn't I say it?—passion. You feel that in me, don't you?You think it would swamp everything. But that isn't all there is tome.

　　TOM: Oh, I know it! My dearest—why, it's because I knowit! You think I am—a fool?

　　CLAIRE: It's a thing that's—sometimes more than I am. Andyet I—I am more than it is.

　　TOM: I know. I know about you.

　　CLAIRE: I don't know that you do. Perhaps if you really knewabout me—you wouldn't go away.

　　TOM: You're making me suffer, Claire.

　　CLAIRE: I know I am. I want to. Why shouldn't you suffer?(now seeing it more clearly than she has ever seen it) Youknow what I think about you? You're afraid of suffering, and so youstop this side—in what you persuade yourself is suffering,(waits, then sends it straight) You know—how itis—with me and Dick? (as she sees him suffer) Oh, no,I don't want to hurt you! Let it be you! I'll teach you—youneedn't scorn it. It's rather wonderful.

　　TOM: Stop that, Claire! That isn't you.

　　CLAIRE: Why are you so afraid—of letting me below—if that is low? You see—(cannily) I believein beauty. I have the faith that can be bad as well as good. Andyou know why I have the faith? Because sometimes—from mylowest moments—beauty has opened as the sea. From a cave Isaw immensity.

　　My love, you're going away—

　　Let me tell you how it is with me;

　　I want to touch you—somehow touch you once before Idie—

　　Let me tell you how it is with me.I do not want to work,

　　I want to be;

　　Do not want to make a rose or make a poem—

　　Want to lie upon the earth and know. (closes hereyes)

　　Stop doing that!—words going into patterns;

　　They do it sometimes when I let come what's there.

　　Thoughts take pattern—then the pattern is the thing.

　　But let me tell you how it is with me. (it flowsagain)

　　All that I do or say—it is to what it comes from,

　　A drop lifted from the sea.

　　I want to lie upon the earth and know.

　　But—scratch a little dirt and make a flower;

　　Scratch a bit of brain—something like a poem. (coveringher face)

　　Stop doing that. Help me stop doing that!