Requiem for a Nun

210 WILLIAM FAULKNER

to see me weep, I doubt if you'll even get that. But you certainly

wont get anything else. Not from me. Do you understand that?

STEVENS

I hear you.

TEMPLE

Meaning, you don't believe it. All right, toucW then. (quicker, tenser)

I refused to answer your question; now I'll ask you one: How much do

you-

(as Gowan enters, she changes what she was saying so

smoothly in mid-sentence that anyone entering would not

even realise that the pitch of her voice had altered)

-are her lawyer, she must have talked to you; even a dope-fiend that

murders a little baby must have what she calls some excuse for it,

even a nigger dopefiend and a white baby-or maybe even more, a nigger

dope-fiend and a white baby-

GOWAN

I said, stop it, Boots.

He carries a tray containing a pitcher of water, a bowl of ice, three

empty tUmblers and three whiskey glasses already filled. The bottle itself

protrudes from his topcoat pocket. He approaches Temple and offers the

tray.

That's right. I'm going to have one myself. For a change. After eight

years. Why not?

TEMPLE

Why not? (looks at the tray) Not highballs?

GOWAN

Not this one.

She takes one of the filled glasses. He offers the tray to Stevens, who

takes the second one. Then he sets the tray on the table and takes up the

third glass.

Nary a drink in eight years; count 'em. So maybe this will be a good

time to start again. At least, it wont be too soon.

(to Stevens)

Drink up. A little water behind it?