When Nasturtiums Bloom

B: No.

P: Yes.

B: No.

P: Why not?

B: It's not the right time.

P: It's never the right time. What is the right time?

B: When Nasturtiums bloom.

P: That's an excuse.

B: But they bloomed in profusion.

P: It's still an excuse...

B: It's a fact.

P: And what if they don't bloom?

B: They've always bloomed. The only time it didn't happen was...

P: Five generations ago when your great, great grandfather was a child. Yes I know. He was the only one in your family with blue eyes and black hair. He spoke Arabic in his sleep.

B: It was actually southeastern Mesopotamian.

P: Is that really a language?

B: If you heard it, you'd know it.

P: I defer to you. But I do believe it's possible for the Nasturtiums not to bloom this season.

B: It only happened once, and it will not happen again. Nature says so...

P: Have you spoken with Nature lately?

B: More or less.

P: Which one? 

B: More, I'd say.

P: Are you certain? 

B: Mostly.

P: You don't seem certain.

B: Okay, yes. Yes, every morning. The Mourning Dove, calls, "Coo hoo, coo hoo, coo hoo, hoo hoo." And I answer. " Wa hoo wa hoo hoo hoo hoo."

P: It could be saying anything...

B: I'm pretty sure it's predicting the bloom of the Nasturtiums.

P: But how do you know it's not speaking Greek?

B: Because I know Latin from Greek. "Coo hoo, coo hoo, coo hoo, hoo hoo." That's distinctly Latin. 

P: Are you sure?

B: I don't know if I turned the lights off in my house, but I do know Latin was spoken.

P: I still don't believe you.

B: And how would you know? Are you a Latin scholar?

P: No. But I know I turned my lights off in my house.

P: That's a very good point. But whether it cooed to you in Latin or Greek, it's still an excuse. I think you're making excuses for Nature...

B: Making excuses for Nature? I'd never do that. I only make excuses for myself.

P: You're still a pathological liar. 

B: And how would you know that?

P: Because I heard you talking to yourself among the Wisteria three phases of the Full Moon ago, the one they call the Narwhal Moon. You distinctly told yourself that you're a liar. Remember?

B: I did? 

P: Yes. I distinctly remember you telling yourself, "Beatrice, as I stand out here beneath the sky, moon,, and stars,, I'm a liar."

B: Okay, so I may have lied to myself, but are you an Astronomer?

P: Why do you ask?

B: Because an Astronomer would know that there is no such phase of the Moon called the Narwhal Moon.

P: Says who?

B: Says all Astronomy books written about the phases of the Moon.

P: I didn't know that.

B: Well, if you'd read them all, then you'd know....

P: Have you read them all?

B: I don't have time for that. I listen to recorded books, or I consult with an Astronomer on Main St.

P: Don't you mean Astrologist?

B: What difference does a few letters make? The truth is at stake. I don't have time for this.

P: But you have time to confuse an Astronomer with an Astrologist.

B: Life is too short for a Spelling Bee. I have people to see, and places to be.

P: But it all starts with The Truth. You don't want to face the truth, do you?

B: Now why would I not want to do that?

P: Because... Every time I see you gazing up at the Sun, you're always shading your face like this....

B: That's because I'm always forgetting my sun block. It's not safe to gaze up at the Sun without doing this.

P: It's because you don't want to face the truth.

B: Do you know what Ultra violet rays and atomic particles can do to the skin? 

P: Yes.

B: Then why do you question me? This is a matter of Science, and Science and Truth have always walked hand in hand like lovers?

P: Not around here, they don't.

B: You haven't noticed?

P: That's funny because I know the truth and I'm familiar enough with science to know one from the other, so that if truth and science were walking together holding hands, I would certainly notice.

B: Could it be that you've been looking in the wrong place?

P: Impossible. I'm always looking out my window. I have a view of everything around.

B: You spend most of your time in your basement.

P: But I sleep in my attic next to the window with my eyes open. I see everything that passes by at night.

B: But what about during the day?

P: I keep my blinds down. The house stays cooler that way.

B: Then how do you know?

P: Because a degree or two makes a big difference. I have sensitive skin. 

B: I'm talking about what you see outside of your house. So what if you're in your attic then how can you see outside?

P: Well, I'm in the basement, and my cousin, Julius, is up in the attic keeping watch. He takes notes, and lets me know who or what passes by.

B: Then you do know.

P: More than I want to, in fact.

B: Yes, I can see it in your eyes. May I ask a question?

P: That's your prerogative.

B: Did you ever notice? 

P: Notice what?

B:  Notice that every-time we go on one of these gallivants, we end up at this same juncture. Don't you think that odd?

B: I hadn't thought about it. But now that you mention it, yes, the landmarks do seem a bit familiar. Yes, the oak tree. The dogwood. And the Cottonwood. And all lined up in the same configuration.

P: Why do you think that is?

B: Coincidence?

P: I wouldn't say so.

B: Habit?

P: I don't think so.

B: Then why? You tell me.

P: Because one of us enjoys going around the Mulberry Bush. And who do you think that is?

B: Not me. I'm not an aficionado of shrubbery. Mulberry bushes mean nothing to me. Nasturtiums are my concern.

P: Do you have any concern for direction? North, South, East, and West?

B:I certainly know where I've been. And, yes, I certainly know where I'm going.

P: Prove it.

B: Well. The sun is there, and if it were night The Big Dipper would be there. And since Ohio lies in that direction... That means... We are back where we started.

P: Exactly. 

B: Which means there's nothing to prove.

P: But you're forgetting one thing. The reason why we keep coming back to this very same spot in the first place.

B: And what would that be?

P: Should I spell it out?

B: T-r-u-t-h. Are you happy now?

P: Why aren't we able to get there or find semblance of it?

B: Because it is a long way to Tipperary.

P: Not if you live there.

B: You have a very strange perspective, if I might say so. 

P: And what about yours? If your perspective is so correctly calibrated, why is it that are we always coming back to this same spot. Doesn't that seem a bit fishy to you?

B: Yes, something doesn't smell right in the state of Denmark or Norway.

P: This is here. We are thousands of miles from both.

B: And yet, I fear, we'd still be no closer.

P: If it were only night, and the stars were out... 

B: The truth is my GPS' batteries ran out of charge.

P: Truly?

B: I'm afraid so.

P: So we don't really know if this is the right here or not?

B: I blame technology. And your compass?

P: It's spinning out of control. We must be positioned over a magnet deposit.

B: There's no hope. The truth just too elusive to find this afternoon.

P: There's always tomorrow.

B: Forget tomorrow. I'm just plain exhausted.

P: Next week?

B: I suppose. 

P: Are you as hungry as I am?

B: You mean like, you could eat a whole cheesecake by yourself?

P: Well, with a quart of milk to wash it down.

B: Should we find someplace?

P: We must. We can't live on truth alone.

B: Nor cheesecake.

P: We'll have it for dessert. I know a place that makes the best pot roast. It's on me.

B: That's kind of you.

P: And what about the Nasturtiums? I'd like to see them in bloom.

B: And let the truth molder in the ground for a while?

P: It will spring forth in its good time.

B: Absolutely.

P: But we should eat first.

B: We should. And then we can see the Nasturtiums.

P: The Nasturtiums can wait till tomorrow, but my stomach can't.

B: Mine, neither. To our stomachs.

P: To the stomach. Without it, there is no truth or Nasturtiums.

They bow to one another, exit the stage.