JON: It makes her feel in control.

MARJORIE: I’d like to feel in control.

JON: Well, try yelling at Dr. Ross.

I’m going to go rescue that man from my wife. I’ll be back soon. Here’s some Vivaldi.

(Jon presses play. We hear the Largo from the “Winter” section of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. The violins plucking high notes like icicles.)

Tess says you played it in the orchestra.

(Jon exits past the kitchenette, leaving the door ajar. Marjorie listens.)

MARJORIE: “Winter.” The Largo.

It’s supposed to be icicles.

Not the melody, but under . . .

(The main violin part starts to fade away so that we hear the high pizzicato notes underneath—so that we are lost, with her, in the memory of her supporting part.)

Pizzicato.

My fingers were red from all the plucking.

“Summer” was more fun.

(Then, with more self-awareness:)

Summer was more fun.

(The music plays. Then to the real Walter, not Walter Prime:)

Walter.

Walter I’m scared.

This is it, isn’t it—there isn’t anything after.

Walter . . .

(Walter Prime appears. Maybe it’s an entrance that none of the “real” characters uses. Maybe he was always there—dimly lit at the perimeter, sitting silently—but we forgot him until now. He has on the same clothes he was wearing in the first scene.)

WALTER: I’m here.

MARJORIE (Harsh): No, not you.

WALTER: Not me?

MARJORIE (Bitterly): I don’t want you—I want Walter!

(Walter looks at his feet. Is it possible for him to be wounded?)

WALTER: Of course.

Why don’t I come back later

(He starts to go.)

MARJORIE: No, wait

WALTER: When you’re feeling better.

MARJORIE: Walter.

(This stops him.)

I’m not getting better, am I. They won’t tell me anything but I know.

WALTER: It’s too soon to tell.

MARJORIE: You said I’d get better, but you’re the one who’s getting better.

WALTER: We’ve only been talking a few months. (Beat) Part of it is biology.

MARJORIE: I know.

WALTER: Your genetic inclination.

MARJORIE: Which is to leave everything behind. To pack lightly. (Beat) I don’t have to get better. Just keep me from getting worse.

WALTER: Okay

MARJORIE: Promise

WALTER (Warm): I can’t promise.

(Beat.)

MARJORIE: Can I still play the violin?

WALTER: I’m sure it’s all in your head still, but your hands.

MARJORIE (Regarding them, lightly): Traitors.

WALTER: What are the four strings called?

MARJORIE (Automatic): G, D, A, E.

WALTER: There you go.

MARJORIE (Dismissive): That’s the first lesson.

WALTER: What else do you learn in the beginning?

MARJORIE: “Twinkle Twinkle.” It’s Mozart, did you know that?

WALTER: Yes.

MARJORIE: How to hold the bow so that everything—sings. How to hold it without holding it. Very Zen.

WALTER: You’re a fine woman, Marjorie.

MARJORIE: Am I?