A Sketch by Jean-Pierre Martinez
A woman is on stage, looking bored. In the background, “Für Elise” may be playing. The doorbell rings twice. She goes to open the door. A postman enters.
Denise – I knew it was you.
Postman – The postman always rings twice!
Denise – I don’t open the door to just anyone, you know. With everything going on these days…
Postman – I have a little letter for you, Denise. (He rummages through his satchel and pulls out a letter, which he hands to her.) There you go! A letter for Denise…
Denise (taking the letter) – For once, it’s not a bill… A glass of wine, as usual?
She places a bottle and a glass in front of him.
Denise – Help yourself. You know the place.
While he serves himself, she glances at the address and becomes upset.
Denise – It’s my mother’s handwriting…
Postman – Well, if she’s writing to you… It means she’s not dead, right?
Denise opens the letter anxiously and reads it.
Denise – Oh, my God…!
Postman – Is she dead?
Denise – It’s more serious than that…
Postman – More serious?
Denise – She forbids me from attending her funeral!
Postman – But… she’s not dead, then?
Denise – I guess she wants to tell me beforehand…
Postman – Ah yes, I see. That way, she won’t be the one writing the obituary. That would be unusual.
Denise (distracted) – Unusual?
Postman (laughing and already a little tipsy) – Can you imagine? My funeral will take place at the village cemetery, sharp at ten o’clock. No flowers, no wreaths. And please don’t come.
Denise gives him a fiery look.
Denise – Do you find that funny?
Postman (recovering) – But… are you on bad terms with your mother?
Denise – Why do you think she forbids me from attending her funeral?
Postman – I don’t know… Maybe she wants to spare you the chore… Funerals, in general…
Denise – No, it’s the last thing she found to upset me… When I was a child, she would forbid me from everything… Don’t do this… Don’t do that… Don’t put your fingers in your nose… Don’t say bad words… Don’t put the cat in the washing machine… I wasn’t allowed to do anything…
Postman – Ah, I see…
Denise – So, at eighteen, I left home… I haven’t seen her since…
Postman – Home…?
Denise – My mother!
Postman – Well, that’s not very cheerful… Here, I’ll pour myself another… So what are you going to do?
Denise – I swore I wouldn’t go to her funeral anyway.
Postman – So everything ends well. I mean… In the end, you’re not going, and at the same time, you’re respecting her last wishes…
Denise – Are you kidding? My mother forbids me from attending her funeral, and I would obey her? Can you imagine? Even in death she’d still be bossing me around?
Postman – So, are you going to go?
Denise – I don’t know… Then again, maybe that’s exactly what she had in mind…
Postman – What…?
Denise – She knows that the best way to get me to attend her funeral is to forbid me from going…
Postman – Ah, yes, obviously.
Denise – What would you do in my shoes?
Postman – Well, let’s see… I get along quite well with my mother… Especially since she’s dead….. But yours is still alive. You have time to think about it…
Denise – Yes…
Postman – How old is your mother?
Denise – 48 years old.
Postman – Well then… You have your whole life to think about it…
Denise – Yes… Actually, I wonder if that’s what she had in mind…
Postman – Well, I better get going. I have other letters to deliver. I hope they’re bills, it’s less complicated…
Denise – One last glass for the road?
Postman – Okay, but the last one then…
Black.
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A sketch from the collection Stories to die for
Link to the collection for free download (PDF)
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