Mother and Son
Moshele
The atmosphere here oppresses me. It all recalls…
Gitele (interrupting)
You remember, I wrote you before you came back you should forget all that has gone before.
Moshele (looking about him)
Nothing is changed. The same stern deathly silence! Everything—just as it was! But this upholstered chair was not here before. How comes it in here? Isn’t it mother’s?
Gitele
Yes, she had it brought in here.
Moshele
Nothing—nothing changed. The snuff-box, the pipe, the walking-stick, even his favorite “Safer”—with his handkerchief inside—just as if he were still alive! (After a pause.) You should change things about. The air would seem freer, more cheerful.
Gitele
I would not dare. No one dare touch anything here. The bobbe’she herself looks after this room every day—puts everything in its exact place—as always, and stays here all day long. She has even had her bed moved in there—in the dining-room—to be nearer. And, often, she gets up at night and putters around in here for hours at a time.
Moshele
Then she is still dominated by his spirit.
Gitele (chiding him gently)
Moshele…
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