Director’s Final Note: The faces of the actors have been subtly transformed. They are seen joined in a ceremonial act of reconstruction, perhaps even an act of creation. There need be no suggestion that any one of them will become less selfish in the future, less cranky, less consumed with thoughts of tenure and academic glory, but each of them has, for the moment at least, transcended personal concerns.
BUSWELL: We all agree, then, on the first line.
WATTLED GENT (quoting): “It sometimes happens when looking for”
MERRY EYES: Yes, that’s it. Did you get that down?
SARAH (writing in notebook): “It sometimes happens when looking for.” Are you sure?
MAN WITH OUTSIZE AFRO: Second line?
WISTFUL DEMEANOUR: It’s a run-on line, I’m almost sure. “It sometimes happens when looking for/Lost objects, a book, a picture or”
CRINKLED FOREHEAD: That’s it, I’m positive.
SARAH: Close, anyway. What comes next?
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: “a book, a picture or/A coin or spoon.”
GREEN TWEED SUIT: Wait! Is that “spoon or coin” or “coin or spoon”?
BUTTER MOUTH: “Coin or spoon” I think. Yes.
JIMROY (quoting): “That something falls across the mind —”
CRUZZI: “Not quite a shadow but what a shadow would be.”
SARAH (looking up): “In a place that lacked light.”
MUSIC: an organ, dense, heavy. The words of the poem grow indistinct; only the rhythm remains strong.
BUSWELL: “As though the lost things have withdrawn/Into themselves —”
PALE SUEDE BOOTS: “books returned —”
JIMROY: “To paper or wood or thought”
CRINKLED FOREHEAD: “Coins and spoons to simple ores”
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: “Lustreless and without history”
BLUE-SPOTTED TIE: “Waiting out of sight.”
MUSIC continues; CAMERA shot of photograph of Mary Swann; CREDITS roll across the photo as the voices continue.
SARAH: “And becoming part of a larger loss”
CRUZZI: “Without a name”
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: “Or definition or form”
JIMROY: “Not unlike what touches us”
CRUZZI: “In moments of shame.”
LOST THINGS
By Mary Swann
It sometimes happens when looking for
Lost objects, a book, a picture or
A coin or spoon,
That something falls across the mind—
Not quite a shadow but what a shadow would be
In a place that lacked light.
As though the lost things have withdrawn
Into themselves, books returned
To paper or wood or thought,
Coins and spoons to simple ores,
Lustreless and without history,
Waiting out of sight
And becoming part of a larger loss
Without a name
Or definition or form
Not unlike what touches us
In moments of shame.
About the Author
CAROL SHIELDS is an internationally known author who has won many awards for her novels and short stories. Larry’s Party won the Orange Prize and was shortlisted for the Giller Prize. The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize, the Governor General’s Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award, and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. Ms. Shields has also written twelve other novels and short-story collections, three books of poetry, numerous plays and a biography of Jane Austen. She is also co-editor, with Marjorie Anderson, of Dropped Threads: What We Aren’t Told. Her latest novel, Unless, reawakens the voice of Reta Winters, from her story “The Scarf,” included in Dressing Up for the Carnival.
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