Fundamentally the walls of this school should protect its students. I believe that. If it’s the end of the world out there . . . then the deepest part of this school—the heart of Sheff High—should be a place where you can go to be safe.

Danielson smiles.

DANIELSON: Hey.

I’m sorry I snapped at you back there. I didn’t mean to lose my temper.

KHADIM: Okay.

DANIELSON: I’m sorry.

KHADIM: Okay.

DANIELSON: And you?

KHADIM: What?

DANIELSON: Anything you want to apologize to me for?

KHADIM: No . . . ?

DANIELSON: Nothing at all.

KHADIM: No.

DANIELSON: You called my mother a whore. In Spanish. I think that deserves an apology.

My mother’s not a whore. She’s a decent woman.

Beat.

KHADIM: I’m sorry.

DANIELSON: You’re sorry for what?

KHADIM: I’m sorry I called your mother a whore in Spanish.

DANIELSON: That’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. You’ve never even met my mother.

KHADIM: I know.

DANIELSON: Isn’t it nice when we can get along?

KHADIM: Yeah.

DANIELSON: Yeah?

KHADIM: Yes sir.

DANIELSON: I know.

I think these days . . . this day and age . . . people are really . . . combative. Everything’s a fight. Everything’s a struggle.

There were simpler times.

He touches the door.

DANIELSON: Simpler times in years past. But I guess maybe every old man feels that way.

(beat; he listens again to the door) Sometimes I listen through this thing and I think I hear . . . I don’t know . . . echoes.

(he listens) Like the past, you know? I can hear myself back in there, myself as a boy your age, laughing, yelling . . . Years ago, when I went here. When I was just another lost sheep.

He stops and looks at Khadim, smiles.

DANIELSON: Come on. Take a listen.

KHADIM: What?

DANIELSON: It’s like a seashell . . . you put your ear to it, you may not hear the ocean, but you hear something.

KHADIM: That’s okay, Dr. Danielson.

DANIELSON: I know, I know, it’s freaky deaky. I need a coffee. You want a coffee? A soda?

KHADIM: No thank you.

Danielson goes to the office door, opens it.

DANIELSON: Go on, take a look.

Danielson exits.

Khadim looks at the door. He gets up and goes to it, touches it. He traces the door with his finger. He holds his palm against it.

Khadim changes slightly. Perhaps it is the sudden lack of tension in the room, he can let his guard down for a moment. But he doesn’t look better. He seems very sad. He closes his eyes.

In the extreme distance, we can hardly hear it at all, and shrouded also by echoes, a flute plays arpeggios. As we and Khadim hear them, his head drifts to the door in the wall. It’s not as if he’s listening through the door, but rather, that he’s resting his head against it, as this ghostly sound echoes in his head.