A Dark Comedy Sketch for Two Actors About Death, Memory and Hypocrisy
They stand side by side facing the audience. He is slightly in front, she slightly behind. They wear tense smiles and appropriately solemn expressions. He clears his throat and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, glancing at it occasionally.
Him – Dear friends, dear colleagues… We are gathered here today to honour the memory of Jean-Claude, who sadly left us quite suddenly a few days ago. To all of us, Jean-Claude was more than just a colleague, he was a friend. I would even say, almost a member of the family… Jean-Claude was a man…
She discreetly tries to get his attention by coughing. Seeing he doesn’t understand, she leans in and whispers something to him.
Him – Forgive me for getting our dear departed’s name wrong. It’s the emotion, no doubt… Jean-Jacques was a man… discreet, but appreciated by all. Throughout his career in the Roads Department… (She gives him another awkward look and coughs. He glances again at his paper and corrects himself.) Throughout his career in the Land Registry Office, I should say, and in the service of his fellow citizens, and thus of France itself, Jean-Paul never once drew attention for bad behaviour, a temper tantrum, or even a raised voice. No, Jean-Paul was not one to seek the spotlight. Always willing in the canteen to give up his place in the queue to someone in a hurry. Always ready to fill in for a sick colleague. Always happy to take his summer leave in January so others could enjoy their holidays in the sun with their families.
Yes, more than just discreet, one could say that Jean-Jacques, even in life, had already chosen to fade quietly into the background. But it was so that those he loved could flourish all the more. Yes, Jean-Charles, considering how little space you took up in this world, it’s fair to say that your absence leaves a great void behind you. Just before retirement, you leave us as you lived—without wanting to cause a fuss. At least you died peacefully. It was the heart that gave out—probably because it was too big… (She again whispers something to him.) The heart… and also, I’m told, the tram that hit you just outside your home.
That same tram that was meant to take you here, on what should have been your last day at work, and which instead took you straight to the end of the line. You depart, nevertheless, surrounded by the love of those close to you, especially your devoted wife… (She signals to him again, and he corrects himself.) That is, the wife from whom you divorced many years ago…
They say it’s hardest for those left behind. Fortunately, you leave no widow, and no children. But your family mourns you nonetheless, Jean-Philippe. Because your family was us.
Thank you all for being here today to honour one last time the memory of our dearly missed Jean-Bernard. May he rest in peace. And may he now, at last, enjoy the eternal retirement he so richly deserves—one which, at least, won’t cost a penny to the pension fund.
Farewell, Jean-Christophe. Your colleagues will never forget you…
Moment of transition, as the audience is presumed to disperse. They remain alone.
Him (putting away the paper) – Bloody hell, what a nightmare. Who the hell wrote this rubbish? Was it you?
Her – Your deputy mayor. To be fair, he didn’t seem terribly close to the deceased.
Him – Neither was I… Did you know the bloke?
Her – No, not personally. Apparently, he was very discreet.
Him – Are we even sure he’s dead?
Her – Oh yes, I think so… I’ll double-check.
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A sketch from the collection Blackouts
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