DONNACHA DENNEHY

THE LAST HOTEL

THE LAST HOTEL
An opera by DONNACHA DENNEHY (composer)
and ENDA WALSH (librettist)
Claudia Boyle woman
Robin Adams husband
Katherine Manley wife
Mikel Murfi porter

Donnacha Dennehy composer

Enda Walsh writer & director
Alan Pierson conductor (recording)
André de Ridder conductor (premiere)
Sophie Motley associate director

Crash Ensemble
Alan Pierson conductor
Cora Venus Lunny violin
Courtney Orlando violin
Lisa Dowdall viola
Kate Ellis cello
Malachy Robinson double bass
Lina Andonovska flute, piccolo, tenor recorder
Deirdre O’Leary clarinet, bass clarinet
Roderick O’Keeffe trombone
Owen Gunnell percussion
Andrew Zolinsky piano
John Godfrey electric guitar, sampler
Dermot Dunne accordion

Commissioned and produced by Landmark Productions and Irish National Opera

01 Nice decorative features. Feels homely. 2:53
02 It was to celebrate these new houses 5:14
03 Each of our rooms 5:07
04 I respect the buffet 4:11
05 It’s me 0:48
06 Breathe deep 7:25
07 The kids said I would die fat 4:11
08 We’ll rehearse, right? 1:51
09 Man is nothing without dreams (part 1) 3:18
10 The rehearsal 2:31
11 She’s in a desperate state 2:07
12 To feel like the sun 4:30
13 And leave now, and change to another 3:59
14 Man is nothing without dreams (part 2) 3:31
15 Look at you two 1:18
16 It may pass 2:58
17 An afternoon in Surrey 2:51
18 And they are coming home 5:15
19 Let me leave 2:40
20 How still the sea 5:52
21 The hotel porter’s dance 1:51
Recorded at Les théâtres de la Ville, Luxembourg (live) and Teldex Studio Berlin
Recorded and mixed by Teldex Studio Berlin | Producer: Tobias Lehmann
Engineer: Wolfgang Schiefermair | Edit and Mix: Tobias Lehmann
This recording is made possible in part from the Barr Ferree Foundation Fund for Publications, Department
of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University; the University Committee on Research in the Humanities and
Social Sciences, Princeton University; Irish National Opera; Landmark Productions; and Crash Ensemble.
The Last Hotel was originally produced with the support of The Arts Council (Ireland)/An Chomhairle
Ealaíon, and premiered at the Edinburgh International Festival in August 2015.
SYNOPSIS
An abandoned hotel function room. The hotel porter is cleaning.
An English couple stand listening to an excited Irish woman in
the hotel’s car park. They enter the hotel and meet the porter –
the hotel’s only worker. It seems the room isn’t ready. It needs
cleaning.
They go to the bar. The husband and the Irish woman talk about
how they first met. The Irish woman had her own PR company and
was doing publicity for a newly built housing estate when she met
him at a reception for the estate’s opening. He was one of the engi-
neers who fitted the houses with gas. At the reception the woman
had a small breakdown.
Her room is ready. She enters the room, unpacks – and dresses in a
new outfit. This will be the place. Downstairs in the bar the husband
and wife sit with their drinks and watch the carvery being set up.
Pensioners are arriving with their families. The husband asks himself
– how many of them would choose to die.
His wife goes for a walk in the hotel grounds. She’s unsure of how
she has got to where she is in her life – how she grew into this per-
son, married this man – found herself today at this hotel. She longs
to be kissed. To be loved again.
The Irish woman is down from her room. She talks to the husband
about her home life. He eats a terrible lunch. The wife returns. The
Irish woman wants to know when they’re going to rehearse – be-
cause a rehearsal was an important part of the service the husband
and wife were offering.
In detail the husband talks about the kitchen extension he’s going to
build when they return home to England. His wife throws up.
The three of them go upstairs to the room and rehearse the woman’s
suicide. They’re to assist her. They will use pills and gas.
The husband and wife come back downstairs. He’s shaken and
needs to drink. His wife doesn’t think she can go through with it. He
blames her for their suburban deathly existence. She leaves him and
is met by the Irish woman – who has transformed again. The Irish
woman brings the wife back upstairs and gives her a makeover as
she explains what has happened to her life in the last five years. The
wife speaks of her relationship with her husband.
Downstairs – and the husband is dreaming of a further extension –
perhaps a building that can be developed – they have the space in
their garden. There are other customers who will pay to die like this
woman.
Dressed identically, the two women come back downstairs. It seems
the Irish woman is not ready to go through with their plan. The two
women have bonded in some way. The husband seethes.There’s
karaoke and he performs bullishly.
The Irish woman performs as desperate phone messages from her
husband and children are heard. Her world collapses once more.
The porter isolates the wife and kisses her. Her husband sees this
and rescues her.
The three are pulled back into the room upstairs and this is the mo-
ment they’ve rehearsed for.
Suddenly the husband and wife are on a car ferry – the hotel still
visible in the distance. The wife is left alone and she calls out to the
Universe for some resolution – some peace. She’ll have to live with
the voices of many dead people in a house built from their souls. There
is no rest for the Irish woman – though now dead – she still hurts.
As they sing – their words entwine. The hotel porter clears and
cleans the dance floor – as the music swallows everything.
— Enda Walsh
LIBRETTO (abridged for the recorded version)
A light slowly comes up on a middle aged man dressed in the hotel
uniform – a dickie bow tight around his scrawny neck needs adjusting.
This is the Porter.
The light widens and we see a yellow ‘Ladybug mop bucket on
wheels with a wringer’.
It would be cute looking were it not for all the blood on it.
The Porter goes to it and finishes mopping the bloodstained floor.
Lights come up on those 3 people standing in the downstage.
A very beautiful Irish WOMAN overly dressed in expensive clothing.
An English HUSBAND and WIFE, made in Surrey, stand in anoraks
each holding a holdall – both smoking.
In the distance – the sound of cars on the busy road.
A long pause before they start talking.
Then – the Husband begins –
Husband: Nice decorative features, feels homely. It’s a deep red
colour, I like that in a carpet. And it runs upwards to – how many
floor are there above us?
Woman: He’ll only give us 2 keys! The room’s being cleaned.
Husband: How many Stars has the hotel got? It says only 2 outside
– but this is more surely? It feels homely. How many floors are there
above us?
Woman: Only the one floor. The 4th Floor. Only the one room –
Room 4. He says he’s still cleaning the room and we’ll have to wait.
Husband: Only one floor at the hotel?
Wife: The fourth floor.
Husband: And only the one room?
Wife: Room 4, he calls it.
Husband: But it is taller than that. What’s in between the Fourth
floor and here?
There’s so much space, what could it be filled with?
Wife: Memories.
Husband: From the outside it didn’t say much for itself but inside
I can see that many people have enjoyed themselves in this hotel
more than 2 Stars would suggest.
Woman: Let’s go to the bar while the room’s being fixed.
The light moves off them and onto the Porter as he leaves the ‘lift’.
We hear the lift door close.
He steps onto the 4th Floor and wheels the case. He stops and puts
the key in the ‘door’. We hear the door opening. He enters Room 4.
The door is heard closing.
He takes a rail from off stage and brings it into the light. He looks at
her case. He quickly lies it down on the floor and opens it. Slowly he
begins to take out clothes. Already on hangers he hangs them on the
rail. He carefully places her shoes beneath her clothes.
The light moves off him and onto the 3 guests sitting in the ‘Hotel Bar’.
Woman: It was to celebrate these new houses on the edge of the
city. It was so much pressure. But he was kind, your husband. I un-
derestimated the amount of wine that would be drunk. People were
left drinking water – when I started crying – and what did you say?
Husband: (spoken: What was it?) Would you like me to fetch some
wine? Don’t cry, I have a car.
Woman: And we drive.
Husband: Don’t cry. It’s not too far.
Woman: How peaceful he made things feel.
Husband: The new houses they built – I fitted them with gas.
Woman: I underestimated the amount of wine that would be drunk.
People were left drinking water.
Husband: 22 houses – I fitted each house. 22. Are you fine now?
Woman: The car is full of wine and driving back I listen to him like
we’re sewn together. How lucky you are – how kind your husband.
Husband: Take some time and fix your makeup – don’t cry. People
are drinking their wine – already they have forgotten. And you walk
through them filling glasses. And you carry your heart yet exploded.
And not of this world you are. Better than all of these guests you are.
More beautiful and perfect than everyone – born out of time – out of
this Universe – not of this place you are.
Woman: Is everything fine?
Husband: And you carry your heart yet exploded – you carry it and
fill glasses.
Woman: I carry it and fill glasses.
Husband & Woman: Born out of time – out of this Universe – not of
this place.
Woman: And all looking at me. All as it should be. I am at the centre
of all things.
She carries on filling the glasses of invisible guests.
Woman: Is everything fine? Is everything fine? Is everything fine?
A stronger light comes up on the Wife – as she stares at the bar’s
television – trying to lose herself in it. We hear the Weather Lady –
brightly telling us it’s going to be a terrible day. The Porter is standing
near them. They turn and look at him. The room’s ready.
The Woman gets up and walks to the ‘lift’. She gets inside. She
leaves it and steps onto the 4th Floor as the lights and Weather
Forecast cut in the bar. She walks to Room 4.
She inserts the key in the lock and opens the door. She closes the
door behind her, turns and sees that her clothes have been hung up,
her suitcase disappeared.
Woman: Each of our rooms is fitted with a King Size luxurious bed.
We offer all the comforts of home to make your stay more enjoyable
with a television in each room, an armchair and well-lit worktable and
a small refrigerator. Coupons to gain access to the internet can be
purchased at the Reception Desk.
During the below she takes random photographs of herself and the
room with her phone.
Woman: And it’s a nice room. You think what will be the place – but
it’s a nice place.
A place that’s made for my sleep. What footsteps have I walked
in? How many have made it their home? Who has slept and whose
dreams have turned in this bed?
What clothes have hung and been left behind? Who has showered
and looked in this mirror blankly? Who has made love here and
woken with regret? No one. And he’s a kind man. And she’s quiet –
and will she hold me? – will she mind? I will need to be held. What
footsteps have I walked in? How many have made it their home? Who
has slept and whose dreams have turned in this bed? What clothes
have hung and been left behind? Who has showered and looked in
this mirror blankly? Who might have died here? Some.
She listens to the message left on her phone and we hear it through
the music. It’s her 15-year-old daughter.
Daughter V/O: Is this some joke?! There’s nothin’ in the sandwiches!
You’ve given me nothin’! Not even butter! What the fuck am I sup-
posed…
She turns it off. We move onto the Porter caught in a tight light
dancing.The light fades off the Woman as she begins to take off her
dress. We watch a strange choreography where we see the Porter’s life
liquidized into these 2 minutes of dance. Initially humourous –
it becomes distressing.
Eventually the Porter stops dancing. The Porter stands there panting.
The light moves off him and onto the Husband and Wife who are still
in the Hotel Bar.
He sings –
Husband: They got themselves a buffet, look. Is there a better way
to eat? I don’t think there is! To queue for your food is pleasurable
when it’s you who does the choosing. People tend to pile their plate
– but not me. I respect the buffet. I get to choose –
design my own taste, so to speak. You won’t find turkey on the men-
us of restaurants – but at a buffet – it always feels festive. Filling up
now. Filling up for lunch.
Seeing something – he stands. She looks at him slowly walk towards
that something – almost hypnotized. Throughout the below she tears
at a paper beermat.
Husband: Look at all these people standing with their plates. How
many are willing their last breath – praying it’s their last meal? People
tend to pile their plate – but not me – I respect the buffet.
The Porter hands him a plate of sausages and mash.
Husband: What if death was a pudding – and surely they would
order some? Look at this one here – ancient. The meat would look
all the nicer knowing you had death to look forward to. How would
you like death served, Sir? Is it hot or cold, sweet or sour, Sir? You’ll
know soon. Filling up now. Filling up.
He turns back to her.
Husband: There is money – to be made.
The Wife drops the torn beermat on the floor and stands up.
Then –
Wife: Still feeling a little queasy. Maybe I should take a stroll. They’ve
a garden out the back – maybe take a stroll there. Look out at the sea.
Husband: Looks chilly out there. Put your coat on – don’t want to
catch your death.
She puts her coat on.
Husband: (spoken) Is that a new coat? Bought new?
Wife: (sung) No not new.
She looks at him as he sits eating his food. He looks back up –
Husband: (spoken) What?
Wife: When did you kiss me last?
He won’t answer.
Wife: Why don’t you kiss me ever? You did once. There was kind-
ness.
The Porter appears with his meal.
Husband: (spoken to him) Finally!
His Wife turns away from them and walks ‘through a door’, outside
into the garden.
The Porter watches her. It’s cold out there – the wind blows. She
walks through the shitty rose garden and lights a cigarette. As she
does this – a light comes up on the Woman standing in Room 4.
She’s looking at her phone. A photograph of her face comes up on
the screens behind her. As she scans through her pictures – images
of her face pass over the screens. There are dozens of close-ups.
In some she’s smiling – in some others she stares blankly – in some
she’s been crying. Her phone rings. We hear the voice of her ex-hus-
band as the photographs of her continue to pass over the screens.
Ex-Husband: It’s me. Are you there? You need to get in touch with
Declan. He said he wrote to you a few weeks ago. Just call him
alright. Please.
As if she were looking in the mirror – she starts carefully tracing her
hand over her face – examining each pore, each line. She stops – in
seconds – sadness shatters her. For a few moments she doesn’t
move. Slowly – she drops to her knees and lies on the floor –
she curls herself up.
The light fades off her as the Wife smokes in the garden –
Wife: Breathe deep, clean all, replace, rename all parts of me. Walk
anew, walk through and to a garden grown for me. Fill my soul, plant
a thought, let it grow, carry me through this thing we’ll do. Have
these flowers ever grown? Have they known colour? Have they felt
the seasons passing, do they welcome morning? Breathe deep,
clean all, replace, rename all parts of me. Walk anew, walk through
and to a path being built for me.
Fill my soul, lay that path, let it lead and carry me through this thing
we’ll do. Has this path an ending? Does it travel forever? Has it felt
the seasons passing, does it welcome morning? Breathe deep, clean
all, replace, rename all parts of me. Walk anew, walk through and to
a sea being filled for me. Fill my soul with that sea, let it flow and
carry me through this thing we’ll do. Will that sea save me? Will I
float forever? Will I feel the seasons passing, will I welcome morn-
ing? Dark waves are calling – “The wife who’ll never kiss – she’ll take
her breath.”
The light moves off her and momentarily onto the Porter. He stands
staring at the floor. Beneath him an ant passes. He slowly crushes it
into the floor. Around him the light widens and we see the Woman
standing in front of the Husband – who eats the mash potatoes.
Woman: The kids said I’d die fat. That fat was made from him – from
him away – and knowing he’ll never come back. I stood and looked
and promised fat would fall.
I starved the year – to brittle bones and hairy skin. And I was a tiny
one – a silent one – but carved now to perfection.
Husband: (about the mash) What is this!? (to the Porter) I can taste
your day in this mash! Come here and smell?
Woman: Do I change the tone and colour of all things – does the
heat rise – do hearts race – does blood pump faster?
He holds the plate of food under the Porter’s nose –
Husband: Can you smell your hands – your journey from bed to here?
Woman: Does the world breathe easier now that beauty has found a
face. Are you looking?
Husband: Can you smell your hands not clean, the filth your feed-
ing?! Can you?!
Woman: Are you looking?
Husband: Can you smell your hands?
Woman: Say you’re looking…!
Husband: Can you?!
Woman: Are you!!?
The Husband scrapes the food onto the floor. He turns to her.
Husband: You change the tone and colour of all things.
The Porter leaves to get something to clean up the mess. He passes
the Wife coming in from the garden. He stops and looks at her. Per-
haps he’s about to say something. Completely ignoring him the Wife
passes him by. She stops – and unseen she looks at her Husband
and the Woman.
Woman: Does the world breathe easier now that beauty has found a
face. Are you looking?
The Wife stands watching them get closer to each other.
Woman: And does the heat rise – does your heart race – does your
blood pump faster? Am I at the centre of things? Am I?
Husband: For now.
Woman: Never forever?
Husband: Never.
He watches her world visibly – slowly – collapse. Then –
Woman: (spoken) We will rehearse, right?
Husband: (spoken) Yeah, of course.
Woman: (spoken and whispered) I need it to stop.
Husband: (gently sung) Soon.
He gestures to her to sit down. She does this. He then sees his Wife.
He stares at her for a few seconds. She walks over and sits next to
the Woman.
He sings to them both – his dream.
Husband: Man is nothing without dreams – without vision we’re
stone. On the edges of the village – down Caterham Drive by Ry-
don’s Wood – in our 30’s house – with the recently replaced roof – is
a kitchen whose length is 12 foot. Arms outstretched and the walls
can be touched – overhanging cabinets whose depth can hold only
bad breath – a larder we call ‘the cubby’ – is seeping with damp.
The Porter returns and on his knees – he cleans the mess into a small
bucket.
Husband: Our dining room table – a solitary place to dine – is food
splattered. Buried deep in the carpet are dark secrets. It is shame-
ful grime, a kitchen delivering misery each morning and evening.
With the money – that we’ve discussed – fortune will change. Walls
extending deep into the garden – and within those walls – a kitchen
whose deep cabinets and surfaces gleam with esteem – whose tiles
timelessly carry us to a future of heat beneath our feet. And to slice
and cook while looking at guests seated around a glass table – is a
dream that soon will fill this kitchen of substantial size.
Suddenly his wife throws up.
Man is nothing without dreams – without vision we’re stone. With
money – that we’ve discussed – our fortune will change.
Let’s now… rehearse.
The Husband and Wife pick up their holdalls. They walk from the light
as the Porter wipes up the Wife’s vomit. The 3 guests get into the lift.
They leave the lift and step onto the 4th Floor.
They walk to Room 4. The Husband inserts his key in the lock and
opens the door. They enter – he locks the door behind them – the
music surges. He opens his holdall and takes out an 8.8 cubic ft
tank of helium. He attaches a red rubber tube and a pressure gauge
to the tank. From her holdall – his Wife carefully takes out a folded
clear plastic bag and an elasticated headband. He takes the plastic
bag and pretends to fill it with gas. When directed – the Woman gets
down on her knees and he says something to her we can’t hear. He
places the bag over her head. He continues to hold the tube inside
the bag as his Wife places the hairband over the Woman’s head – se-
curing the bag and tube by tightening the bag around her throat. The
Husband counts 10 seconds with his fingers. The Woman pretends
to fall unconscious – collapsing into the Husband’s arms. His Wife
suddenly gets up and steps back. She can’t look. She turns away.
Her Husband removes the bag from the Woman’s head – and the
rehearsal is over. He carefully places all the instruments to one side.
The 3 stand quietly in Room 4 – the enormity of what they’re planning
to do quietly shattering each of them. Above them the lights fade up
and beat down on them.The lights snap off to black.
The Porter sits looking at them as he eats his lunch – a Subway sand-
wich and drink.
The Husband and Wife are locked in a small rectangular light speak-
ing to one another –
Husband: We’re doing the right thing – you said so yourself...
Wife: But before it was only the telephone, though – it wasn’t real.
Husband: She’s reaching out to us. She’s in a desperate state?
Wife: We should go.
Husband: We’ve been planning it for months...
Wife: So what?!
The Wife goes to leave.
Husband: We’re not going anywhere – Where you goin’?
Wife: To the toilet.
Husband: Don’t start confusing her – do you understand? I’m fuck-
ing serious. Fuck!
The Wife and Woman are standing in a long narrow strip of light look-
ing at each other. The Woman has changed clothes again.
The Woman sings –
Woman: To feel like the Sun – to hear no breath but mine – no heart-
beat but mine –
to have others only there to show me through their eyes. Where all is
perfection –
where every particle is made of me – the Universe is found in a mir-
ror. Staring.
Always watching me. To have this need to be watched – to have this
need to be awed –
to be loved in each second. To feel my throat close with that need –
my heart ache
with that need – my stomach sour, my brain tear with that killing
need. No devotion
can satisfy – like this it is.
Wife: Will it give you rest – will it?
The Woman leads the Wife back into Room 4. She chooses a dress
for the Wife to wear. She hands it to her. Then –
Wife: To hold words within my mouth – to remain silent at the edge
of things – to will
invisibility – to have no breath but mine – no heartbeat but mine – to
matter little –
to offer nothing – to hasten time – to live for a kiss that will never
come. To fold so easily – to respond to his words – to his slightest
touch – to surrender my heart for a borrowed
stone – to dream barely – to settle always – to die for that kiss – for
any kiss – like this it is.
Below and the Wife undresses and gets into the dress.
Woman: And leave now and change to another and leave that dead
one behind. And let it fall to the floor – and with new skin – take to
the stars. Rise above him and float and disappear into the ether as
past withers – as time stops and space eases us to rest.
No eyes, no words… and no greed to be seen like me – or wish to be
kissed, like you – it’s just – this floating. This forgetting. This renew-
ing. This belonging. This beginning.
Wife: Rise above and float and disappear into the ether as past with-
ers – as time stops and space eases us to rest.
Woman: No eyes, no words… no greed to be seen like me – or wish
to be kissed like you – it’s just this floating.
Wife: This forgetting of him and any wish to kiss.
Wife & Woman: This renewing. This belonging. This beginning.
Wife: Will it give you rest – will it?
Wife: Sing.
The Woman can’t. They’re not in the stars but in Room 4. The Wife
reaches out and holds her hand.
The light and music fades off them and up on the Husband. 3 pints
down and he’s staring bewildered at Siun Nic Gearailt reading the
news ‘as gaeilge’ on RTE’s ‘Nuacht’. The Porter appears in the light.
The Husband looks at him as Nuacht is cut –
Husband: Man is nothing without dreams – without vision we’re
stone. The extension – of which I speak – has greater ambition.
Something unserviceable now serviced – and they see compassion
– structured care. Life’s a scattered journey. The service – of which
we mustn’t speak – brings control. How would you like death served,
Sir? Is it hot or cold, sweet or sour, Sir? Filling up now. Filling up.
Filling…
A slight pause. A pang of doubt and we see it. He suddenly smashes
his head with his hand to clear that doubt.
Then privately – tenderly –
Husband: And pushing back – further into our garden – building on
and stretching beyond a kitchen – another house I will build there.
And then over the road – and flatten the trees in Rydon’s Woods –
and concrete poured over crushed trees – ‘til a village I’ll build from
death – and more houses I’ll build. Filling up now. Filling up. Filling
up now. Filling up. Filling up. Filling up.
The Husband looks back at the Porter. Suddenly ‘Nuacht’ returns
loud and this time distorting wildly.
The Husband winces with the noise. He drinks back his drink. The
Porter turns away and begins to set up a small Karaoke machine. He
looks upwards and suddenly the stage fills with garish party lighting.
‘Nuacht’ thankfully cuts. A telephone is ringing loudly. The Wife and
the Woman enter the bar – dressed identically – and holding hands.
The Porter and Husband look at the women – they see at once this
new solidarity – which is not a part of either of their plans.The Wom-
an glances at her phone and turns it off.
Then –
Husband: Look at you 2 – you look like sisters! Isn’t this nice!? It’s all
for you!! Do you sing?
Woman: Not especially no…
Husband: Me neither. Let’s all have a drink! What you ladies drinking?
Woman: (to the Wife) Vodka tonic?
The Wife nods. Then –
Wife: (to the Woman) Sing.
The Husband looks at the Woman.
Husband: Sing what? What about?
Wife: Not tonight.
Husband: (to the Woman) You’re scared – I understand…
Wife: No. (to the Woman) Sing.
The Husband looks at her.
Husband: I’m standing here, aren’t I? Sing.
Her hope – is delicate.
Woman: It may pass. It may turn. It may lighten. It may change.
Something else.
Maybe better. Something new. Something rare. Something that isn’t
me. Not tonight.
Not in this place. Over the sea to set me to sleep – kind people – but no
more push to death.
And no devotion can satisfy – and still this need to be watched – to
be awed – to be loved in each second – and feel my throat close
with that need – my heart ache with that need – my stomach sour,
my brain tear with that need. But…
She falters. Her hope – ridiculous then. She gathers a tiny resolve.
Woman: But it may lighten. It may change. It may turn. It may pass.
Something else. Maybe better. Something rare. Something that isn’t
me. Something new.
The Wife and Woman await the Husband’s response. He seethes. He
slowly hands both women their drinks. He takes his pint. Then –
Husband: (speaks) Okay.
They toast with their glasses. The 3 stand at the bar drinking as time
passes – their plan scrapped – the Woman saved. Choreography –
as the Husband talks to his Wife, his Wife talks to the Woman – the
Woman talks to the Husband. More drink. The Husband
sees the Porter getting close to his Wife.
The Wife keeps returning to the Porter and him to her. Something is
going to happen. The Porter takes her hand. The Husband snaps. He
walks to the Karaoke and grabs
the microphone.Behind him the screens fill with a Karaoke video in
which he stars.
The supporting roles in the video are all played by the Porter. It is a
spectacularly ordinary journey through Surrey – but ‘beefed up’. He
performs to impress and win back his Wife.
Husband: An afternoon in Surrey – a journey is taken. A farewell to
his wife and destiny calls. His chariot cuts through Caterham Drive –
and soon to be in England’s pleasant land. Nourishing his body with
what Heaven provides – fending off Irus – he travels
onwards. He is being, he is human – he is man. Part now of the pre-
cision of this world –
no longer floating but carving out dreams – making roads – wielding
free will – taking chaos and focusing life. And back in Ithaca – men
build a castle worthy of his return, worthy of his wife. He is being, he
is human – he is man. Nourishing his body with what Heaven pro-
vides – fending off sirens – he travels on. All life will be taken – part
now of the precision of this world – he is stirring, he is returning, he
is man!
The Husband leaves the light and returns to the bar – as the Woman
passes him. The Husband looks over at his Wife who’s drunk – the
Porter is even closer to her now and filling her glass once again.
The Woman takes the microphone – a light coming down on her.
A long pause.
Woman: And they are coming home. And they are seeing me – the
children.
She looks for help from the Wife. The Wife, caught in half-light, is
seen kissing the Porter. The light fades off them completely. Isolated
– the Woman sings –
Woman: Are you there? And beauty sours quickly. Darkness colours.
Again. In that house I fill it with black. It covers my man – so I mustn’t
talk of love. He haunts the rooms – and where does he rest his head?
What beauty is he with? How black those eyes – that lured him so.
No longer for him I wait. Wait until I can need no more. To rest.
And what is it that keeps my breath? That my beauty can light the
way – that my face can colour the gloom? What Universe have I
made – that all should love me so?
A terrible place where no devotion can satisfy – and surely it must
end. How black those eyes – that lured him so. He haunts the rooms
– and where does he rest his head!?
What beauty is he with? What Universe have I made – that all should
love me so!?
A terrible place – where no devotion can satisfy – then surely it is
death!
She looks again for the Wife – but she can’t be seen.
Woman: Are you there?
She turns back.
Woman: They are coming home. They’re not seeing me. The children.
A light comes up on the Wife looking at her –
Woman: Let me leave!
Lights snap to a new state as the Husband is seen dragging the
Porter away from his Wife. The Porter stands in the middle of the
space – arms outstretched – waiting to be beaten. The Husband
charges at him and smashes him in the face. He hits the ground and
the Husband begins hitting him again and again. His Wife stands
back watching him. The Husband gets up and slowly steps away. His
Wife holds out her hand and he takes it. For the first time it’s a show
of togetherness. This satisfies the Porter. He too wants a body. The
Husband and Wife look at the Woman.
Woman: Please.
The music swirls wildly. The screens fill with ghostly images of the 3
of them entering Room 4. On screen – the Husband hurriedly attach-
es the rubber tube and a pressure gauge to the tank of Helium.
He snatches the plastic bag from his Wife and fills it with gas.The
Woman gets down on her knees. The Wife turns and faces the wall
where she can’t see. The Husband quickly places the bag over the
Woman’s head holding the tube inside the bag. He secures the bag
with the hairband – tightening it around her throat – opening the
valve on the tank…
A BLACK CURTAIN FALLS.
Silence – a light comes up on the Wife’s face.
The sound of the sea and the low rumble of the car ferry’s engine.
We look at the Wife for a significant time – unable to discern her ex-
pression.
Then –
Wife: How still the sea. How far the land – the sea between me and
it. Pulled slowly back to home. Night-time. Caught between sea and
space – drawing a path to home. It travels me. In blackness we cut
a silver line. The day spent walking the harbour. We sat in the car
and kissed. He lies asleep in the bed now – and good dreams he’ll
dream – dreams from my lips. The light still on in Room 4. I can see
the light.
A light comes up on the Woman’s face.
Woman: And death falls to the floor – and with new skin – take to
the stars. Rise above and float. Disappear into the ether. Past with-
ers. Space eases me to rest. No eyes on me, no words to hear – just
this floating. This forgetting. This beginning. New.
Wife: New life – please.
Woman: New life here.
Wife: So still the sea.
Woman: And quiet in space.
Wife: That light on her. Still.
Wife: I can smell that room. Not the sea, not the sky – but that room.
Woman: And over the sea and pulled back to their house –
Wife: – to the new room he’ll build from your death. I’ll stand in that
room and hear you from the walls.
Woman: Beneath the tiles my breath – still sore.
Wife: I can hear it.
Woman: (frightened now) It stabs in here – it holds that blackness. It
hurts.
Wife: She is there –
Woman: It is there –
Woman & Wife: Always.
Wife: She is there.
Woman: It is there that breath. Still there. Always…

Their faces slowly disappear as the music engulfs them.

In near darkness –
– and holding a black plastic bin liner – the Porter stands with his
back to us staring at the blank screens and listening on his head-
phones. The Porter (his nose bandaged) is walking around the stage
shoving used props and costumes into the black plastic bag. His
work is done – he peels off his dickie bow and drops it in the bag.
The End.

Executive Producers: Michael Gordon, David Lang, Kenny Savelson and Julia Wolfe
Label manager: Bill Murphy
Sales & Licensing: Adam Cuthbert
Label assistant: Cassie Wieland
Art direction: Denise Burt
Photography: Sky Arts/Landmark Productions/Wide Open Opera/Brink Films
For more about everything you hear on this CD, visit cantaloupemusic.com, donnachadennehy.com,
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