Do you plan to get up today Max?

No Marge, you?

I am up.

You plan on staying up?

No, just wanted a spot of tea.

That’s very British of you.

What is?

A spot of tea . . . a spot.

I heard it on a TV program the other night.

Which one?

It was . . . something on B.B.C.

No I meant . . . which night.

Oh, umm . . . I can’t recall.

Very well.

Would you like a spot of tea?  I think it was Tuesday.  Or Wednesday. 

Yes those two are easy to confuse.  Yes I’ll have a spot.

(Marge leaves the room and comes back carrying two cups of tea.)

Thank you Marge.

 I hope you like cream.  I put cream in it Max. 

Yes Marge I love cream, you know I love cream. 

Oh yes.  It’s like Tuesday or Wednesday . . . sometimes it’s hard to tell.  Well? 

There was a raven perched on that skinny branch.  That really really skinny one. 

Point to it.

(Max points to the really really skinny branch.)

I don’t see a raven. 

No, he’s gone . . . he was there, was.  That’s the branch.

Oh I see.

It was lovely, his sleek blackness, his cool opaqueness, against that branch so skinny and sort of long. 

 (Sigh!)  That’s why I hate to get up.  Even for a spot of tea.

(Max and Marge laugh.)

So was it really lovely Max? 

It was . . . quite lovely.  But don’t worry Marge, I don’t want you to start worrying now.      

I won’t Max.

You promise?

I promise.  How’s your tea?

Quite lovely.

Like the raven? 

Different sort of lovely.   

Oh I know, just . . . you used that same phrase. 

Which one? 

Quite lovely.  You used it for the raven and for the tea. 

You’re a remarkable woman Marge. 

Thank you Max.

 (Marge and Max kiss. Slobbery, smacking. Unlock lips. Stare for a long while in silence.)

Did you see that leaf fall? 

Ummm. 

It fell and there it is, the fetal one.

You sure that’s it?

I followed it all the way down.

Extraordinary.  And fetal yes, that’s just the right word. 

For? 

What it is. 

Ummm.

(Marge sips her tea.)

Max? 

Yes? 

If I need to go out to the bathroom….

Yes? 

In a few minutes—which I’m certain I will . . . is it okay….

Yes, darling? 

If my tea is finished, is it okay . . . can I pee into the teacup? 

My darling, we’ve been married 44 years, of course, if you’d like. 

It’s just . . . I don’t want to get up again . . . maybe miss a raven or something else . . . quite lovely. 

No need to get up Marge, you’ve got a teacup to pee in. 

Yes, I do, don’t I?  You’re a wonderful husband Max. 

You’re an extraordinary wife Marge.

(Marge sips her tea. Max sips his tea.

They look at each other then out the window, unfinished.)