January 23 Play: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 2

23: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 2 - by Ed Valentine
© January 23, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS UP: A spa. Two small round pools. Nervously, ST. HIERONYMOUS OF EAST SARJEVO stands at the edge of one pool. Dips a toe in.

HIERONYMOUS: Ow!
(His toe smokes.)

(ST. OPHELIA OF THE WATERS enters, hurriedly. With each step:)

OPHELIA: Ow ow ow ow ow!!!
(She gets in the other pool, robe and all.)
Ahhhhh.
(Looks at HIERONYMOUS.)
St. Hieronymous of East Sarajevo.

HIERONYMOUS: St. Ophelia of the Waters.

OPHELIA: Your feet are filthy.

HIERONYMOUS: Pardon?

OPHELIA: Your feet. They’re filthy.

HIERONYMOUS: That was somewhat rude.

OPHELIA: It isn’t rude, it’s factual.

HIERONYMOUS: I wear sandals.

OPHELIA: Don’t be hurt.

HIERONYMOUS: I can’t really help it.

OPHELIA: Oh, yes you can. I mean, I wear sandals. And my feet are clean.

HIERONYMOUS: Well, bully for you.

OPHELIA: Don’t be hurt.

HIERONYMOUS: Don’t be hurtful and I won’t be hurt.

OPHELIA: ?

HIERONYMOUS: !

OPHELIA: -
-
You could just get in the water, you know.

HIERONYMOUS: Pardon me?

OPHELIA: I’m saying, you could just wash them. In the water.

HIERONYMOUS: You’re awfully concerned about my feet.

OPHELIA: Because they’re filthy!

HIERONYMOUS: You’ve said that.

OPHELIA: I know I’ve said that.

HIERONYMOUS: A number of times.

OPHELIA: And they’re still filthy. Just dip them in the water.

HIERONYMOUS: No.

OPHELIA: That’s what the water’s there for.

HIERONYMOUS: Water hurts my skin.

OPHELIA: ?

HIERONYMOUS: It hurts my skin. Like fire. I was martyred in fire. Now water crackles and crusts and makes my skin smoke.

OPHELIA: Well, air hurts my skin.

HIERONYMOUS: ?

OPHELIA: Because I was martyred by being flung off a cliff. Fell so fast the air itself burned me on the way down. Hawks and ravens swooped down as I fell and picked my skin off.

HIERONYMOUS: Extraordinary.

OPHELIA: The only thing that heals me is water in this spa.

HIERONYMOUS: Amazing.

OPHELIA: I agree. You know, we could be a great pair.

HIERONYMOUS: You think?

OPHELIA: If only you would wash your feet.

HIERONYMOUS: Oh.

(She sighs. He sighs. She sinks into the water and is entirely submerged.)

HIERONYMOUS: I love you, Saint Ophelia. From my head to my filthy toes.

(He watches her, both miserable and ecstatically lovestruck. Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.