Claire monologue (Act 2) — Plays

I've known a few moments that were life. Why don't they help me now? One was in the air. I was up with Harry--flying--high. It was about four months before David was born--the doctor was furious--pregnant women are supposed to keep to earth. We were going fast--I _was_ flying--I had left the earth. And then--within me, movement, for the first time--stirred to life far in air--movement within. The man unborn, he too, would fly. And so--I always loved him. He was movement--and wonder. In his short life were many flights. I never told anyone about the last one. His little bed was by the window--he wasn't four years old. It was night, but him not asleep. He saw the morning star--you know--the morning star. Brighter--stranger--reminiscent--and a promise. He pointed--'Mother', he asked me, 'what is there--beyond the stars?' A baby, a sick baby--the morning star. Next night--the finger that pointed was--(_suddenly bites her own finger_) But, yes, I am glad. He would always have tried to move and too much would hold him. Wonder would die--and he'd laugh at soaring, (_looking down, sidewise_) Though I liked his voice. So I wish you'd stay near me--for I like your voice, too.