CORNELIUS [sadly]: List’nin’ to her blood-pressure, son. She complains it roars in her ears like a stawm sometimes.

CHARLIE: She’s leanin’ against the table in the dinin’ room.

CORNELIUS: Never mind, she heard nothin’. Speak to her. You’ll see.

CHARLIE: —Mom? Are you all right in there, Mom?

BELLA: I grated some onions for the om’lette. I’ll bring it out as soon as— Om’lette’s got to be watched—excuse me, won’t take long. [She starts back toward kitchen but staggers dizzily against wall.]

CORNELIUS: Help her, seems to be—

[Charlie enters the dim dining room area]

CHARLIE: Mom?

BELLA: —Chips?

CHARLIE: No, no, Mom, I’m Charlie.

BELLA: Sorry—yes, you’re Charlie.

CHARLIE: Go in front, set with Pop, he’s not well. I’ll take care of the om’lette.

BELLA: I cook for my men folks and will till I die, Son.

CHARLIE: I know Mom, but tonight, I think you oughta go in front with Pop. He seems tired and depressed about something. So just go make yourself comfortable on the sofa and sympathize with Pop about—he’s got new medical problems. Can you make it? [Slowly, ceremonially, Charlie conducts Bella into the living room. Gently releases hold on her before sofa. She falls onto it as if struck dead.]

CORNELIUS: Bella? Bella? [Scene freezes a moment or two.] Can you hear me, Bella?

[A soft, involuntary wail from Stacey in the shadow on the landing.]

BELLA: —Such a loud stawm tonight. Chips—preparin’ om’lette.

CORNELIUS: Neither of us is in good health here lately. Both have medical problems. Requiring attention and care. —Can you hear me, Bella?

BELLA [dreamily]: Chips insisted I let him prepare the om’lette.

CORNELIUS: Chips insisted! You hear that?

BELLA: Always such a sweet boy. [Picks up a large, leather framed, hand-tinted photo of Chips, hair blond in ringlets, long neck, wide baby-blue eyes.] Remember how he was voted the handsomest boy at Pascagoola High?

CORNELIUS: I remember how he was voted the prettiest girl at Pascagoola High. That I remember clearly.

CHARLIE: Pop, you know the, the—editor of the class-annual just, he—got it mixed up, a—accidental mix-up.

CORNELIUS: A very peculiar and embarrassing mix-up and—

CHARLIE: I spoke to the editor of that fifteen year ago class-annual, Pop. He assured me it was a terrible mix-up, completely accidental, and he apologized to me for it. Oh, I was pretty pissed off, kicked his ass an’ blacked both eyes and he apologized for it, swore it was just a mix-up.

BELLA: What’s that, Chips? I didn’ unnerstand that.

CORNELIUS [slowly and loudly]: Bella, do you realize you’re talkin’ to Charlie, not Chips whose funeral we attended a day ago in Memphis? [Slight pause.]

BELLA: Charlie? Not Chips? —Tragedy, long trip.

CHARLIE: Confused you a little, Mom.

BELLA: I only know I got two wonderful sons to thank God faw. Oh, the om’lette could scawch!