LUIGI PIRANDELLO
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gone to their bedrooms every night as usual—folded their clothes up nicely, set their shoes outside their doors, and then crawled comfortably into bed between their nice white sheets—knowing for certain that in a few hours they would be dead? . . . Do you think they would?
THE CUSTOMER: But, perhaps your Signora. . . .
MAN WITH THE FLOWER: Just a moment. . . . If death, my dear sir, were like one of those strange, loathsome insects you sometimes find walking up your coat sleeve. . . . Here you are, going along the side-walk. . . . A man comes up to you, all of a sudden—stops you, and then, cautiously, holding out two fingers of his hand, says to you—"Beg pardon—may I?" . . . And with those two fingers he skips the insect off! . . . Ah! . . . That would be fine! . . . But death isn't like one of those loathsome insects. Many people walk by you, but no one notices anything. They are all absorbed in what they are going to do to-morrow or the next day. . . . Now, I, my dear sir—look! (He gets up.) Just step this way—(He draws the man aside till they are standing in the full light of the street-lamp.) Look! . . . I want to show you something. . . . See this spot, under my moustache?—Pretty violet colour, isn't it! . . . Do you know what they call that?—A pretty name!—like a verse from a poem—E-pi-the- li-o-ma! . . . Epithelioma! . . . Say it yourself, and you'll notice how nice it sounds!—Epithelioma! . . . But death—you understand—death! . . . Death has passed my way, and put this flower in my mouth—"A souvenir, my dear sir! Keep it—no charge! . . . I'll be back this way a few months hence!" (A pause.) Now, you tell me, sir—whether, with a flower like this in my mouth, I can sit quietly at home, there, as that poor woman would like to have me do! . . . (A pause.) I scream at her—"Yes—Yes! . . . Don't you want me to kiss you?" . . . "Yes—kiss me!" she says. . . . And you know what she did, the other day? She took a pin and scratched her lip, and then seized me by the head and tried to kiss me—kiss me—here—on my lips—because she wants to die with me, she says! . . . (A pause.) Crazy woman! (Then, angrily.) But I refuse to stay at home! I've simply got to stand around, looking into the shop windows,
