We open on Freyda and Kurt, a married couple, in the living room of their home. There is a door,  a staircase, some furniture. A few moments pass in silence.  

Freyda: 
Did you see the new people across the street? 

Kurt: 
What new people? 

Freyda: 
Across the street. Some new people moved in. 

Kurt: 
Oh, they sold that house finally? 

Freyda: 
What do you mean, finally? 

Kurt: 
They've been trying to sell that house for a long time, I thought. 

Freyda: 
No. Have they? I don't know. Not so long. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
Hmm. 

Freyda: 
Anyway some new people moved in. I saw them today, moving some of their stuff in. I talked to the woman. 

Kurt: 
The woman? 

Freyda: 
There's a woman and a man. 

Kurt: 
What's she like? 

Freyda: 
She's pretty. About forty. Sort of small, and she does this thing with her hands when she talks. It bothered me. I don't see how someone could be attracted to a woman who does that with her hands. It really bothered me. But she's very pretty. 

Kurt: 
And the man? 

Freyda: 
I only saw him momentarily. He was mostly in and out of the house with boxes. They're one of those old-fashioned couples, you know. The man does all the carrying, the woman gets acquainted with the neighbours. 

Kurt: 
But what's the man like? 

Freyda: 
I don't really know. He glanced at me. He seemed handsome, but old-fashioned. Do you know Melvyn Douglas? From the old movies? 

Kurt: 
Sort of tall and rugged? 

Freyda: 
No...slight...with a moustache. 

Kurt: 
Was he in that one with...that blonde girl I like? 

Freyda: 
Who? Eva Marie Sainte? 

Kurt: 
No... 

Freyda: 
Mary Pickford? 

Kurt: 
No... 

Freyda: 
Jane Mansfield? Margaret Sullavan? Jean Arthur? 

Kurt: 
Yes, yes, one of those. 

Freyda: 
No, I think you're thinking of William Powell. 

Kurt: 
Oh. 

Freyda: 
But he's a bit like William Powell, too. 

Kurt: 
Melvyn Douglas is? 

Freyda: 
The man across the street is. In fact, now that I think about it, I think he's a bit more like William Powell than he is like Melvyn Douglas. But only a bit. 

Kurt: 
He seemed nice enough? 

Freyda: 
Just nice enough, yes. But barely. 

Kurt: 
Okay. All right. I'm visualising the couple now. 

Freyda: 
He's taller, and they're both slender, they're both dark, she's pretty, nicer than he is, but they're both nice enough...and old-fashioned, and good neighbours, or so it would appear. 

Kurt: 
Got it. 

Freyda: 
They've brought a koi pond. 

Kurt: 
A what? 

Freyda: 
A koi pond. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
A what? 

Freyda: 
Koi pond. K-O-I pond. Do you know what koi is? 

Kurt: 
Ah, yes. But what do you mean they've brought a pond? 

Freyda: 
It's a portable one. No, not portable. That's not the word. It's a large steel tub which you bury in the dirt. I guess they had it buried at their other place, but they dug it up and brought it with them. So they'd have a place for the koi. 

Kurt: 
So the koi goes in the pond? 

Freyda: 
Yes. Otherwise how would they live? 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
How would who live? 

Freyda: 
The koi. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
How big is the pond? 

Freyda: 
About ten by ten, I suppose. 

Kurt: 
Feet? 

Freyda: 
Ten by ten, or so. I didn't get a good look. The man was carrying it by, with another man helping, a younger man who looked sort of like...oh, maybe a bit like Donald O'Connor. Or maybe like Eddie Bracken. Somewhere about halfway between the two, I'd say. I think he was a nephew or some other relative. Maybe even a son, though I'd say there was very little resemblance. Perhaps an adopted son. Or a son-in-law. Anyway, he left before long. 

Kurt: 
Ten feet by ten feet? 

Freyda: 
Yes, or so. 

Kurt: 
And this pond goes in the yard, somewhere? 

Freyda: 
Yes. 

Kurt: 
I don't see how they'll get it in there. There's hardly any room in that yard. 

Freyda: 
There's plenty of room. 

Kurt: 
Are you sure? 

Freyda: 
I think so. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
Will it go behind the garage? 

Freyda: 
What garage? 

Kurt: 
The garage in back. 

Freyda: 
There's no garage. 

Kurt: 
Yes there is. I've seen it from the alley. Or else maybe it's a toolshed. 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Oh! Ha ha, you've got the wrong house. 

Kurt: 
What? 

Freyda: 
You're thinking of the house across the street and down two. I'm talking about the one across the street and up four. 

Kurt: 
Which one? 

Freyda: 
The white one with pink trim. 

Kurt: 
Oh. How many down? 

Freyda: 
Up four. 

Kurt: 
Toward 8th Street. 

Freyda: 
Yes. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
I didn't know that was even for sale. 

Freyda: 
Well, it must have been. 

Kurt: 
There was no sign. 

Freyda: 
Maybe they sold the house...what's the word...independently. 

Kurt: 
Who lived there before? 

Freyda: 
The tall Chinese man who looked sort of like Victor Mature. 

Kurt: 
Which one was he again? 

Freyda: 
The one with the tiny little Chinese wife and all the little children. 

Kurt: 
And you're saying they sold their house independently. 

Freyda: 
I'm speculating. I didn't know them well. 

Kurt: 
Had you talked to them? 

Freyda: 
I talked to her. They were another old-fashioned couple. 

Kurt: 
I didn't even see them move out. 

Freyda: 
Perhaps they moved out in the dead of night. 

Kurt: 
I still would have seen them. 

Freyda: 
Perhaps they're still living there. 

Kurt: 
You mean... 

Freyda: 
Yes, they could be swingers of some kind. Maybe they made some sort of wife-swapping arrangement. 

Kurt: 
Who did? 

Freyda: 
The Victor Matures. Maybe they made some sort of wife-swapping arrangement with the William Powells and they're all living in the same house sleeping with a different spouse every night! 

Kurt: 
But they're all so old-fashioned. 

Freyda: 
It's always the people you least suspect. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
You'd think if it were always the people we least suspect, we'd begin to suspect them. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
What about the other house? 

Freyda: 
Which house? 

Kurt: 
The one two up. 

Freyda: 
Oh, the one down two. 

Kurt: 
The one that's still for sale. 

Freyda: 
The black one with violet trim. 

Kurt: 
Has anyone moved in there? 

Freyda: 
No, it's the same old horrible man and his horrible wife. 

Kurt: 
Which and whom? 

Freyda: 
The evil old man. With the pointed beard. It points straight down. And his evil wife. I hate that slut. With her purse that she swings so. 

Kurt: 
How so? 

Freyda: 
Like so. Always swinging her purse. When she talks to you, she swings her purse like she's holding her nose. 

Kurt: 
How does she do that? 

Freyda: 
You can see it in the way she swings her purse. She has a glossy helmet of hair like...ah... 

Kurt: 
Grace Kelly? 

Freyda: 
Neil Armstrong. 

Kurt: 
The astronaut or the other fellow? 

Freyda: 
Which other fellow? 

Kurt: 
The one who lives up the block. 

Freyda: 
That's Neil Armbruster. 

Kurt: 
Oh. 

Freyda: 
Neil Armbruster, now there's a gentleman. Not like that evil old man and his evil grasping trollop of a wife. 

Kurt: 
I honestly can't visualise him. I must never have seen him. 

Freyda: 
Oh, you've seen him. I think you've even talked to him. 

Kurt: 
Me? 

Freyda: 
I think you yelled at him, once, from the upstairs window. 

Kurt: 
What did I yell? 

Freyda: 
You cursed him. You cursed him to hell. 

Kurt: 
Did I? 

Freyda: 
Wasn't it you? I think it was you. 

Kurt: 
I've honestly forgotten. 

Freyda: 
Maybe it wasn't you. It could have been somebody else. 

Kurt: 
Pointy beard, hmm. 

Freyda: 
It points straight down. Sometimes it points down and to the right. Mostly though straight down. 

Kurt: 
Straight down to the devil. 

Freyda: 
I wish you could visualise him. It would give you a scare. Ghastly fellow. I wonder how he and the William Powells will get along. 

Kurt: 
Why would it matter? 

Freyda: 
Doesn't matter. I just wonder. William Powell seemed a hard fellow. Nice enough, but only by scratches, you understand. Only by scratches was he nice enough. 

Kurt: 
You think he'd get along with this bearded man? 

Freyda: 
I think they might. I'm trying to picture them together. Try and visualise them together for me. 

Kurt: 
But I can't even visualise him alone. 

Freyda: 
I've given you an adequate verbal description. You should be able to put it together. A composite. You should be able to put a composite together. 

A pause. 

Kurt: 
Okay. I've got the beard and a little black bowler hat... 

Freyda: 
Make it a red beret. 

Kurt: 
And I've got the cane and the waistcoat... 

Freyda: 
Make it an umbrella. And put him in a slicker. A bright blue slicker. 

Kurt: 
A what? 

Freyda: 
A slicker. Like a raincoat. 

Kurt: 
Oh, him! I know him. 

Freyda: 
You know who I'm talking about now? 

Kurt: 
I did curse him to hell, I remember now! 

Freyda: 
Lovely. 

Kurt: 
I cursed him and his slatternly whore of a wife straight to hell with their tongues cut out. 

Freyda: 
I told you. 

Kurt: 
Now. Whom did you want me to visualise him with? 

Freyda: 
William Powell. 

Kurt: 
William Powell exactly? 

Freyda: 
Make it William Powell with a little Melvyn Douglas thrown in. 

Kurt: 
But I don't know what Melvyn Douglas looks like. 

Freyda: 
He's a little like William Powell, only less so. 

Kurt: 
I think I've got him. 

Freyda: 
You've got the two of them together? 

Kurt: 
No, I've got them separate. I'm bringing them together now. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
They're together now. 

Freyda: 
How do they look? 

Kurt: 
They're getting on like old chums. 

Freyda: 
As I suspected they would. 

Kurt: 
They're clapping each other on the back like old school chums. 

Freyda: 
Are they smiling? 

Kurt: 
They are. The evil old man has an evil old smile on. 

Freyda: 
And William Powell? 

Kurt: 
Umm...he has rather a nice smile on, actually. 

Freyda: 
Oh. 

Kurt: 
He doesn't look like anybody one ought to fear. 

Freyda: 
But then, they never do. 

Kurt: 
Who? 

Freyda: 
The ones we ought to fear. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
Do you think we should be suspicious of him? 

Freyda: 
I didn't say that. 

Kurt: 
I know. I'm just asking. 

Freyda: 
Do you think we should be suspicious of them? 

Kurt: 
Them? 

Freyda: 
William Powell and the evil old man. 

Kurt: 
Do you think they're...conspiring? 

Freyda: 
That's what I'm asking you. 

Kurt: 
How would I know? What do I have to go on? Nothing. Nothing but a hazy visualisation. 

Freyda: 
I've learned to place a great deal of confidence in your visualisations. 

Kurt: 
Yes, you've learned that the hard way. 

Freyda: 
The Michigan Galleria, you mean. 

Kurt: 
It was to that dire event which I referred. 

Freyda: 
Yes, I've learned the hard way. I want you to close your eyes. 

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
Visualise them together again. 

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
Have you? 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
Look at them very closely. Look at William Powell's smile. Look at the evil old man's smile. Look at the way they clap each other on the back. What does it bespeak? 

Kurt: 
Yes, what does it bespeak? 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
I'm asking you. 

Kurt: 
Wait...it's coming clearer... 

Freyda: 
What is? 

Kurt: 
The visualisation...it's crystallising...the haze is retreating to the edges...the colours are coming in better now...his slicker is green, not blue. 

Freyda: 
No, it's blue. 

Kurt: 
It's green. It may have been blue, but now it's green. 

Freyda: 
Are you quite certain it's not turqoise or aquamarine? 

Kurt: 
It's quite green. And William Powell is wearing...khaki trousers. 

Freyda: 
That's what he was wearing today! 

Kurt: 
And...a polo shirt. 

Freyda: 
That too! 

Kurt: 
A white polo shirt. 

Freyda: 
You're certain it's not more of a taupe? 

Kurt: 
And his wife is there. 

Freyda: 
Whose? William Powell's? 

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
Whom does she look like? 

Kurt: 
Like Liza Minelli. 

Freyda: 
That's not his wife. His wife doesn't look anything like Liza Minelli. His wife looks more like...Madame Chiang Kai-shek. Could it be the evil old man's wife? 

Kurt: 
No. Liza Minelli is standing next to William Powell. Madame Chiang Kai-shek is nowhere to be seen. They're all laughing together. 

Freyda: 
The three of them? 

Kurt: 
They've all got evil smiles. And they're getting eviler. 

Freyda: 
Is that all you're getting? 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Well? Is that all? 

Kurt: 
Yes, that's it. It won't come any clearer. 

Freyda: 
What could it mean? 

Kurt: 
You're asking me? 

Freyda: 
Who is Liza Minelli? 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
Could it be... 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Well? 

Kurt: 
No. 

Freyda: 
Who? Who who who? 

Kurt: 
Well...could it be...Liza Minelli? 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Do you mean, could Liza Minelli actually be Liza Minelli? 

Kurt: 
It was just a thought. 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Let's say for the sake of argument that it is. What does it mean? 

Kurt: 
Well, it means that William Powell... 

Freyda: 
...But not his wife... 

Kurt: 
...And the evil old man... 

Freyda: 
...But not his wife... 

Kurt: 
...And possibly, but not necessarily, Liza Minelli... 

Freyda: 
...Are...? 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
...Are conspiring against us. 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Against us? 

Kurt: 
Did I say that? 

Freyda: 
You did. You didn't just say they were conspiring in a general sort of way. You specifically said they were conspiring against us. 

Kurt: 
That just slipped out. 

Freyda: 
Does that mean it's not true? 

Kurt: 
Hmm. It might mean it's not true, or it might mean it's especially true. 

Freyda: 
That's what I thought. 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Let's assume it is true. Why would they conspire? 

Kurt: 
Yes, why? 

Freyda: 
What have they to gain? 

Kurt: 
Not riches. 

Freyda: 
No, not riches, not from us. What else? 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
Not revenge. 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Revenge? 

Kurt: 
They have no reason to revenge themselves upon us. 

Freyda: 
...No... 

Kurt: 
Have they? 

Freyda: 
I said, no. 

Kurt: 
No you didn't. You said: "...no..." 

Freyda: 
So what if I did? 

Kurt: 
They...they don't have a reason to revenge themselves upon us, do they? 

Freyda: 
They...they... 

Kurt: 
They have, haven't they!? You've done something. 

Freyda: 
I...I... 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
I may have insulted the koi pond. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
How? 

Freyda: 
I said I thought the koi would freeze to death. 

Kurt: 
Does koi freeze? 

Freyda: 
Are you sure you know what koi are? 

Kurt: 
Yes, I'm quite sure I know what koi are! 

Freyda: 
Well, they do freeze, and I may have insulted William Powell's wife by suggesting that she and her husband were indifferent to the fate of their koi. 

Kurt: 
But you meant no harm. 

Freyda: 
I meant only the best for them and for the koi. 

Kurt: 
Would Mrs. William Powell tell Mr. William Powell that you had insulted them? 

Freyda: 
I don't know...I can't know...but yes. Yes, I think she would. I think she would mention it in passing, as a joke, and laugh it off, and he too would laugh it off. But deep down he would simmer. He would simmer. 

Kurt: 
But why would he simmer? 

Freyda: 
You've seen him. He's a hard man. Nice enough, but hard. And she's no fainting daisy. 

Kurt: 
No. 

Freyda: 
You haven't seen her, but if you did, you'd see by the way she moves her hands. Like she's cutting ribbons at the state fair. 

Kurt: 
Cutting ribbons? 

Freyda: 
And slashing and hacking like a crab. The very picture of a fiddler crab, claws waving, tongue waving, hair waving in the wind. 

Kurt: 
A hard woman? 

Freyda: 
Not hard. But cold. Nice enough, soft enough, but icy as an arctic wind. And her husband! Well, you've seen him. 

Kurt: 
And how does the evil old man fit into all this? 

Freyda: 
Well, you remember how you insulted him. 

Kurt: 
How again? 

Freyda: 
You cursed him and you cursed his harlot wife to hell with double-edged knives gouging out their eyes. 

Kurt: 
Right, that. 

Freyda: 
And he's the kind of man who'll hold a grudge. He has it on a t-shirt. I've seen it. 

Kurt: 
Underneath the slicker. 

Freyda: 
No, on sunny days. 

Kurt: 
This is terrible. 

Freyda: 
The question is, what can we do? 

Kurt: 
We can lock the doors and climb together into our old cast-iron bathtub. 

Freyda: 
That's only a stopgap. We must find some way to fight back. 

Kurt: 
But what? 

Freyda: 
Indeed. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
Would...would you mind...? 

Freyda: 
What what? 

Kurt: 
Would you mind if I sang a song to take our mind off this catastrophe? 

Freyda: 
Would I mind? My husband! I would love it! I'll sing along all the parts I know. What song will you sing? 

Kurt: 
"I Will Simplify Our Finances." 

Freyda: 
I know the second chorus and the part at the end where you whistle. 

Kurt: 
For the rest, I'll sing alone. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
Okay. Here I go. 

 "I will simplify our finances 
 By giving all our money to the poor 
 When they gather at the window 
 Like insects to a flame 
 I will call them all together to the door! 

 "I will simplify our finances 
 By throwing our possessions in the sea 
 When the sea cries "more!" 
 I will take us far away 
 And we will live together in simplicity! 

 "In simplicity! 
 Without electricity!" 

Kurt and Freyda: 
 "In simplicity! 
 Without electricity!" 

They whistle together.  

A pause.  

Freyda: 
That's a lovely song. Who wrote that? 

Kurt: 
Do you know my Aunt Simone? 

Freyda: 
No. 

Kurt: 
It was her brother, Uncle Albert. 

Freyda: 
Oh, I know him. 

Kurt: 
The two of you had a meaningless affair, as I recall. 

Freyda: 
That's what you like to think. It pains you, doesn't it, that I was a virgin when we met? 

Kurt: 
So you say. 

Freyda: 
I was a virgin. I was. I had only done certain things, certain things as I've said to you before, many of which taken individually reduced my virginity by degrees. But I never did them all at once, and even if I had, it still wouldn't have been enough. 

Kurt: 
You'll die a virgin, I suppose. 

Freyda: 
You'd laugh yourself silly then, wouldn't you? My loving cretin. 

Kurt: 
Go fuck yourself, whore. 

Freyda: 
Stop joking. What are we going to do about this situation we're in, that's what I'd like to know. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
I suppose certain things must take precedence. 

Freyda: 
So let's start thinking together. With our brains together we can't miss. 

Kurt: 
I'm willing. I'm all set up. 

Freyda: 
Are you ready to visualise some more? 

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
Now that the slate has been wiped clean, so to speak, the air cleared by your very lovely song. 

Kurt: 
I'm all ready. 

Freyda: 
Close your eyes then. 

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
All right. What do you see? 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
I see a stone. 

Freyda: 
What's it up to? 

Kurt: 
It's just sitting there. 

Freyda: 
Gathering moss? 

Kurt: 
Exactly. 

Freyda: 
Describe it. In detail. 

Kurt: 
It's about three inches in diameter by one-and-one-half inches deep. It's egg-shaped, approximately. It's a nondescript grey colour. 

Freyda: 
A nondescript grey colour? 

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
Well, make up your mind. Is it nondescript or is it grey? 

Kurt: 
More nondescript than grey, but grey enough, I'd say. It's resting in the dirt, among many smaller stones. 

Freyda: 
They're all just sitting there, too? 

Kurt: 
Every one. 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
What could it mean? 

Kurt: 
Wait!...There's more. 

Freyda: 
What? 

Kurt: 
It's coming clearer. It's coming clearer. The static is resolving itself into shapes, the shapes into forms, the forms into objects. I see it all so clearly now. Clearer than before. 

Freyda: 
What? What? Tell me! 

Kurt: 
It's not a stone at all! 

Freyda: 
What is it!? 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
No...no, I guess it is a stone. 

Freyda: 
Oh. 

Kurt: 
But there's something happening. A hand descends. The hand grasps the stone. The hand lifts the stone from its resting place. The hand is raising the stone high, high into the air. 

Freyda: 
What's going to happen? Tell me! 

Kurt: 
It's hanging suspended there, the hand! It's poised to strike! 

Freyda: 
Who? Whom will it strike? 

Kurt: 
I can't quite see... 

Freyda: 
Is it me? Will it strike me? Is William Powell going to strike me dead? 

Kurt: 
The hand strikes! And strikes again! The blood...the crushing, gushing blood...stains the water crimson...but who? Let me see the face...at last! I see! It's William Powell! 

Freyda: 
He is! He is going to strike me dead! Oh, no! 

Kurt: 
No, no, he isn't! 

Freyda: 
He isn't? 

Kurt: 
You're going to strike him dead! 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
I am? 

Kurt: 
Yes, you've struck him quite dead. Blood everywhere. Quite horrible. And oh, I've finally seen what koi are. They're fish, aren't they. 

Freyda: 
Yes. 

Kurt: 
Well, you're going to kill him in his own koi pond. 

Freyda: 
How's that for irony. 

Kurt: 
How's what? 

Freyda: 
The very koi I accused him of permitting to freeze to death. 

Kurt: 
That is...slightly ironic... 

Freyda: 
So that's it, then. You're sure you've visualised correctly. 

Kurt: 
I can't be sure. I can never be sure. But you said yourself...remember... 

Freyda: 
The Michigan Galleria. How I wish I could forget. 

Kurt: 
That lifeless paw...reaching out from the shopping bag... 

Freyda: 
The angry crowd...the tall blonde man who told me to go back to Canada... 

Kurt: 
Why Canada? 

Freyda: 
He thought we were Canadians. It's because you're so soft-spoken and dim-witted. 

Kurt: 
Do other people think we're Canadians? 

Freyda: 
I'm not sure. I think so, probably. 

Kurt: 
That's horrible. 

Freyda: 
That's horrible? You've just told me I'll soon murder a man in his koi pond! 

Kurt: 
I've visualised it. I can't promise that my visualisation is a true one. 

Freyda: 
But it may be a true visualisation. And if it's true, then I'm a potential murderer. And you're a potential accomplice. 

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
And Liza Minelli and the evil old man? How do they figure into all this? 

Kurt: 
Perhaps you're going to murder them too. 

Freyda: 
How could I? Not Liza Minelli! 

Kurt: 
I'm only speculating. The visualisation didn't show you murdering Liza Minelli. She wasn't even there. 

Freyda: 
Just a stone, a hand, and William Powell's shattering skull. 

Kurt: 
And a few startled koi. 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
It's too little to go on. I can't believe that the visualisation is meant to be taken literally. 

Kurt: 
Perhaps it's a warning. 

Freyda: 
That's true. I don't have to kill him if I don't want to. 

Kurt: 
You're a free woman. Free to do as you like, with stones or without, with koi or without. 

Freyda: 
But poor Patches...her lifeless paw... 

Kurt: 
Her tongue lolling... 

Freyda: 
Her hair waving in the wind... 

Kurt: 
The angry crowd...the tall blonde Canadian... 

Freyda: 
I can't go through that all again! I think we should go upstairs to the bathtub right now. 

Kurt: 
And do what? 

Freyda: 
Wait for a more conclusive visualisation. You can sing and visualise, sing and visualise, until we know what's going on and to whom. Then I can murder or not murder as I see fit. 

Kurt: 
Don't I have a say? 

Freyda: 
All right, I'll murder or not murder as we see fit. 

Kurt: 
I love you, you whore. 

Freyda: 
So it's upstairs? 

Kurt: 
To the bathtub! I'll go get the Geiger counter. 

The doorbell rings.  

A pause.  

Kurt: 
The doorbell. 

Freyda: 
Just keep quiet, we won't answer it. 

Kurt: 
But who could it be? 

Freyda: 
Some travelling salesman, no doubt, trying to sell us a miracle hair tonic. Let's go up to the bathtub. 

Kurt: 
Fine. I'll go get the Geiger counter. 

The doorbell rings.  

Freyda: 
Damn! Why don't they leave us alone? 

Kurt: 
They must know we're here. 

Freyda: 
We must be quieter. 

Kurt: 
You don't think they can see us through the drapes, do you? 

Freyda: 
No. They're practically opaque. 

Kurt: 
Who could it be out there? 

Freyda: 
I don't know. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
What about the peephole? 

Freyda: 
We're safe, it's one-way. 

Kurt: 
But we could see them, couldn't we? 

Freyda: 
Yes. Yes, we could. 

She sneaks to the peephole and peers through. She gasps.  

Kurt: 
What? Who is it? 

She sneaks back.  

Freyda: 
It's Mr. and Mrs. William Powell... 

Kurt: 
Oh no. 

Freyda: 
...And the evil old man! 

Kurt: 
Oh no! 

Freyda: 
Mrs. William Powell has got a casserole dish. 

Kurt: 
Casserole? 

Freyda: 
They've only just unpacked, and they've already brought us a casserole. 

Kurt: 
Are they smiling? 

Freyda: 
Yes. 

Kurt: 
And the old man's slicker? 

Freyda: 
Quite green. 

Kurt: 
Oh, oh, it's all come true! 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
No it hasn't! 

Kurt: 
No? 

Freyda: 
No. After all, where's Liza Minelli? 

Kurt: 
Where? 

Freyda: 
Not here. So you see, I... 

A pause. Freyda thinks, then creeps back to the peephole. She peers through.  

Freyda: 
You know, now that I'm looking, Mrs. William Powell does sort of resemble... 

A pause. Freyda returns to the living room.  

Kurt: 
Oh dear, oh dear. 

Freyda: 
Well, that's it then. I'm off to murder. 

Kurt: 
I'm sorry, dear. I'm sorry that it's come to this. 

Freyda: 
As am I. 

Kurt: 
Are you going to invite them in first? 

Freyda: 
That will only make it harder. Here's what I'll do. I'll head back to the William Powells's house and tell Mrs. William Powell to go inside and dish out the casserole. Then I'll go outside with the men, and when the moment is right, I'll brain Mr. William Powell with an egg-shaped stone. Hopefully the evil old man will be too shocked to stop me. And I'll run straight home. No...perhaps I should run randomly around the neighbourhood for awhile, to throw them off my trail. 

Kurt: 
It's a good plan. What shall I do? 

Freyda: 
You'll be home, hiding in the bathtub. 

Kurt: 
But I want to be there! 

Freyda: 
Oh, my cretin. In your visualisation, wasn't I alone? 

Kurt: 
Yes. 

Freyda: 
So alone I must be. But darling, while I crush his skull I will be thinking only of you. 

Kurt: 
How sweet. 

Freyda: 
When I get back we'll wash the blood out of my clothes. Then we can lie on the floor and sing very beautiful songs and think of dear Patches until the police come to shoot me dead. 

Kurt: 
Oh, oh, oh. 

Freyda: 
Are you going to cry, love? 

Kurt: 
Yes. But I don't want you to see me cry. 

A pause.  

Kurt: 
I'll go get the Geiger counter. 

The doorbell rings.  

Freyda: 
Well, I'm off. 

Freyda turns for the door. Kurt starts to head up the stairs. He stops.  

Kurt: 
Wait! Do you think they've got the koi in the the koi pond already? 

Freyda: 
Why does it matter? 

Kurt: 
In my visualisation, there were koi in the koi pond. 

Freyda: 
Ah! 

Kurt: 
Do you see? 

Freyda: 
So I still have a chance! If the pond is empty... 

Kurt: 
No murder. 

Freyda: 
And if the pond is full... 

A pause.  

Freyda: 
Well, there it is. Off to read my fortune in a steel tub. 

They kiss.  

A pause.  

He heads upstairs. She goes to the front door. She opens the front door.  

Freyda: 
My dear friends! How lovely it is to see you. Now let's go back to your lovely new home and I'll tell you all about our late beloved Patches. 

She goes out.  

THE END.