Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) You don’t believe in a guiding light?

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) What then?

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) So . . . morally . . . you flounder in wet shit. You know . . . like when you’ve eaten a rancid omelet.

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) I think I deserve one for the road.

He pours, drinks.

NICOLAS (cont.) Do you drink whiskey?

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) I hear you have a lovely house. Lots of books. Someone told me some of my boys kicked it around a bit. Pissed on the rugs, that sort of thing. I wish they wouldn’t do that. I do really. But you know what it’s like—they have such responsibilities—and they feel them—they are constantly present, day and night, these responsibilities—and so, sometimes, they piss on a few rugs. You understand. You’re not a fool.

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) Is your son all right?

VICTOR I don’t know.

NICOLAS Oh, I’m sure he’s all right. What age is he . . . seven . . . or thereabouts? Big lad, I’m told. Nevertheless, silly of him to behave as he did. But is he all right?

VICTOR I don’t know.

NICOLAS Oh, I’m sure he’s all right. Anyway, I’ll have a word with him later and find out. He’s somewhere on the second floor, I believe.

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) Well now . . .

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) What do you say? Are we friends?

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) I’m prepared to be frank, as a true friend should. I love death. What about you?

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) What about you? Do you love death? Not necessarily your own. Others. The death of others. Do you love the death of others, or at any rate, do you love the death of others as much as I do?

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) Are you always so dull? I understood you enjoyed the cut and thrust of debate.

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) Death. Death. Death. Death. As has been noted by the most respected authorities, it is beautiful. The purest, most harmonious thing there is. Sexual intercourse is nothing compared to it.

He drinks.

NICOLAS (cont.) Talking about sexual intercourse . . .

He laughs wildly, stops.

NICOLAS (cont.) Does she . . . fuck? Or does she . . .? Or does she . . . like . . . you know . . . what? What does she like? I’m talking about your wife. Your wife.

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) You know the old joke? Does she fuck?

Heavily, in another voice:

NICOLAS (cont.) Does she fuck!

He laughs.

NICOLAS (cont.) It’s ambiguous, of course. It could mean she fucks like a rabbit or she fucks not at all.

Pause.

NICOLAS (cont.) Well, we’re all God’s creatures. Even your wife.

Pause.