I don’t take your meaning. Besides which, I must confess, I
would still like to know.
JACK
Are you so sure?
(Tired)
Go on, then. Please. Don’t concern yourself about me.
MRS. BENTHAM
But I do, Stephen; knowing your true name won’t stop me
from continuing to do so. Until supper.
JACK
Until then—goodbye.
She leaves. He starts humming again. It begins as a snatch of the MUSIC BOX tune, but soon trails off into the barest beat of a rhyme: A, B, A, B, A . . . JACK begins to sound it out aloud, hesitantly.
JACK
I’m not . . . a butcher, not a Yid, nor . . . yet some foreign skipper . . .
But I’m your own dear loving friend, yours truly . . .
He stops, puzzled. Then repeats, over and over—
JACK
Yours truly. Truly yours. Yours truly, truly, truly . . .
SILENCE.
TABLEAU NINE: LESSON THE SECOND—NAKED, YET IN RAGS
A CLICK: the watch’s lid, opening. The MUSIC BOX theme starts yet once more, warped at first, then gradually purifying. It echoes slightly, as though being played in a large, bare room.
FOOTSTEPS hurry down the corridor, then enter; a door SHUTS behind them, with a hollow sound. The watch SNAPS SHUT as well, music cutting off in mid-note.
JACK’S FATHER
Late again, I see.
JACK
Yes. The traffic was—
FATHER
Don’t give excuses; patients brook none. Bear in mind that
yours would be dead by now.
JACK