thirteenth. But where will you go thenT signed Gavin.
She folds the paper back into its old creases, folds it still again.
Stevens watches her.
STEVENS
Well? This is the eleventh. Is that the coincidence?
TEMPLE
No. This is.
(she drops, tosses the folded paper onto the table, turns)
It was that afternoon-the sixth. We were on the beach, Bucky and 1.
1 was reading, and he was-oh, talking mostly, you know-'Is California
far from Jefferson, mammaT and I say 'Yes, darling'-you know: still
reading or trying to, and he says, 'How long will we stay in
California, mammaT and I say, 'Until we get tired of it' and he says,
'Will we stay here until they hang Nancy, mamma?' and it's already too
late then; I should have seen it coming but it's too late now; I say,
'Yes, darling' and then he drops it right in my lap, right out of the
mouths of-how is W-babes and sucklings. 'Where will we go then,
marnmaT And then we come back to the hotel, and there you are too.
Well?
STEVENS
Well what?
222 WILLIAM FAULKNER
TEMPLE
All right. Let's for God's sake stop.
(goes to a chair)
Now that I'm here, no matter whose fault it was, what do you want? A
drink? Will you drink? At least, put your coat and hat down.
STEVENS
I dont even know yet. That's why you came back-
TEMPLE
(interrupts)
I came back? It wasn't I who--
STEVENS
(interrupts)
-who said, let's for God's sake stop.
They stare at each other: a moment.
TEMPLE
All right. Put down your coat and hat.
Stevens lays his hat and coat on a chair. Temple sits down. Stevens takes a
chair opposite, so that the sleeping child on the sofa is between them in
background.
TEMPLE
So Nancy must be saved. So you send for me, or you and Bucky between
you, or anyway here you are and here I am. Because apparently I know
something I haven't told yet, or maybe you know something I haven't told
yet. What do you think you know?
(quickly; he says nothing)
All right. What do you know?
STEVENS
Nothing. I dont want to know it. All I-
TEMPLE
Say that again.
STEVENS
Say what again?
TEMPLE
What is it you think you know?
STEVENS
Nothing. I-
REQUIEM FOR A NUN 223
TEMPLE
All right. Why do you think there is something I haven't told yet?
STEVENS
You came back. All the way from California-
TEMPLE
Not enough. Try again.
STEVENS
You were there.
(with her face averted, Temple reaches her hand to the
table, fumbles until she finds the cigarette box, takes a
cigarette and with the same hand fumbles until she finds
the lighter, draws them back to her lap)
At the trial. Every day. All day, from the time court opened-
TEMPLE
(still not looking at him, supremely casual, puts the
cigarette into her mouth, talking around it, the cigarette
bobbing)
The bereaved mother-
STEVENS
Yes, the bereaved mother-
TEMPLE
(the cigarette bobbing: still not looking at him)
-herself watching the accomplishment of her revenge; the tigress over
the body of her slain cub-
STEVENS
-who should have been too immersed in grief to have thought of
revenge-to have borne the very sight of her child's murderer ...
TEMPLE
(not looking at him)
Methinks she doth protest too much?
Stevens doesn't answer. She snaps the lighter on, lights the cigarette,
puts the lighter back on the table. Leaning, Stevens
224 WILLIAM FAULKNER
pushes the ashtray along the table until she can reach it. Now she looks
at him.
TEMPLE
Thanks. Now let grandmamma teach you how to suck an egg. It doesn't
matter what I know, what you think I know, what might have happened.
Because we wont even need it. All we need is an affidavit. That she is
crazy. Has been for years.
STEVENS
I thought of that too. Only it's too late. That should have been done
about five months ago. The trial is over now. She has been convicted
and sentenced. In the eyes of the law, she is already dead. In the
eyes of the law, Nancy Mannigoe doesn't even exist. Even if there
wasn't a better reason than that. The best reason of all.
TEMPLE
(smoking) Yes?
STEVENS
We haven't got one.
TEMPLE
(smoking) Yes?
(she sits back in the chair smoking rapidly, looking at
Stevens. Her voice is gentle, patient, only a little too
rapid, like the smoking)
That's right. Try to listen. Really try. I am the affidavit; what else
are we doing here at ten o'clock at night barely a day from her
execution? What else did I-as you put it-come all the way back from
California for, not to mention a-as you have probably put that
too-faked coincidence to save-as I would put it I suppose-my face? All
we need now is to decide just how much of what to put in the
affidavit. Do try; maybe you had better have a drink after all.
STEVENS
Later, maybe. I'm dizzy enough right now with just perjury and
contempt of court.
REQUIEM FOR A NUN 225
TEMPLE
What perjury?
STEVENS
Not venal then, worse: inept. After my client is not only convicted but
sentenced, I turn up with the prosecution's chief witness offering
evidence to set the whole trial aside-
TEMPLE
Tell them I forgot this. Or tell them I changed my mind. Tell them the
district attorney bribed me to keep my mouth shut-
STEVENS
(peremptory yet quiet) Temple.
She puffs rapidly at the cigarette, removes it from her mouth.
TEMPLE
Or better still; wont it be obvious? a woman whose child was smothered
in its crib, wanting vengeance, capable of anything to get the vengeance;
then when she has it, realising she cant go through with it, cant
sacrifice a human life for it, even a nigger whore's?
STEVENS
Stop it. One at a time. At least, let's talk about the same thing.
TEMPLE
What else are we talking about except saving a condemned client whose
trained lawyer has already admitted that he has failed?