It could be like this:
He: Where are the mashed potatoes again, and is the salad ready yet, and where did the lacy panty liners go, is it that time of year again?
She: My word this is the worst day you've had in a long while. Look, go bring in the children from the garage, we need to air them out.
He: It's your turn.
She: No, it's never my turn, that's your goddam job.
(He brings in the children from the garage. They are all painted dolls, painted without faces except for the eyes, but not even dolls, they look like they wish they were dolls but really there are people in there, painted without faces, except with eyes,* in children's clothes. The first time he brings them in, there are two.)
(*It might be better to say, painted without noses or mouths.)
He: That's it, now I'm reading the paper and no one can interrupt me, because we all remember what happened last time.
(Although it sounds like a threat...actually, it is kind of a threat.)
She (talks to the children, even though they don't move. Their eyes do follow her, though.): If you care about anything that's just happened please raise one hand. (Pause.) Just wave your fingers. (Pause.) Just wave one finger. (Pause.) Just wave something, please give me a sign.
(Noseless mouthless child on video screen, speaking through the gauze or whatever it is on her face that is covering her mouth.)
Child: Sometimes it's three in the morning and sometimes it's four, but it's never very much variation beyond that, it's always around that time. The time when the snakes come back. They cross oceans to be with us again, and they tell us their stories, they tell us that they are very hungry and we are the only ones who can save them. We don't understand why it has to be us, but we're done arguing about that, we just don't know. They tell us that there are things that we know, things that we remember, things that happened here long before we were born, things that happened there even longer before that, long before we were all crossing ships on our way from there to here. They tell us that there are some of us in this world who are in a permanent state of exile. And this gives us the ability to do things that the others won't ever know how to do. And it's not our job to teach them, it's our job to remember how to do them, and then to do them.
He: Where are the mashed potatoes again, and is the salad ready yet, and where did the lacy panty liners go, is it that time of year again?
She: My word this is the worst day you've had in a long while. Look, go bring in the children from the garage, we need to air them out.
He: It's your turn.
She: No, it's never my turn, that's your goddam job.
(He brings in the children from the garage. They are all painted dolls, painted without faces except for the eyes, but not even dolls, they look like they wish they were dolls but really there are people in there, painted without faces, except with eyes,* in children's clothes. The first time he brings them in, there are two.)
(*It might be better to say, painted without noses or mouths.)
He: That's it, now I'm reading the paper and no one can interrupt me, because we all remember what happened last time.
(Although it sounds like a threat...actually, it is kind of a threat.)
She (talks to the children, even though they don't move. Their eyes do follow her, though.): If you care about anything that's just happened please raise one hand. (Pause.) Just wave your fingers. (Pause.) Just wave one finger. (Pause.) Just wave something, please give me a sign.
(Noseless mouthless child on video screen, speaking through the gauze or whatever it is on her face that is covering her mouth.)
Child: Sometimes it's three in the morning and sometimes it's four, but it's never very much variation beyond that, it's always around that time. The time when the snakes come back. They cross oceans to be with us again, and they tell us their stories, they tell us that they are very hungry and we are the only ones who can save them. We don't understand why it has to be us, but we're done arguing about that, we just don't know. They tell us that there are things that we know, things that we remember, things that happened here long before we were born, things that happened there even longer before that, long before we were all crossing ships on our way from there to here. They tell us that there are some of us in this world who are in a permanent state of exile. And this gives us the ability to do things that the others won't ever know how to do. And it's not our job to teach them, it's our job to remember how to do them, and then to do them.
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