Morning After

AT RISE:
A science vessel on a stormy sea. JACQUES COUSTEAU stands at the prow, waves crashing about him. His ancient brow is troubled.
With a soft splash, a GIANT SQUID appears.

GIANT SQUID:
Hey, Jacques Cousteau.

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
Oh. Hello, Giant Squid.

GIANT SQUID:
This is awkward, isn’t it?

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
Yes. Yes it is. Awkward.

A beat.

GIANT SQUID:
Did you get my voicemail?

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
Yes. It was… Yes, I got your voicemail.

GIANT SQUID:
Oh. Good.
(gesturing to the ship)
So this is the Calypso?

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
No, this is my other boat. My… private boat. It has satellite TV.

GIANT SQUID:
Oh. Can I… come aboard?

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
No. I mean…It’s not a good-

GIANT SQUID:
You’re probably right. It was a stupid… I should go.

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
I didn’t mean…

GIANT SQUID:
I know.

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
It’s just...

GIANT SQUID:
Jacques. I know. It’s okay.

JACQUES COUSTEAU
Okay.

GIANT SQUID:
Give me a call sometime, would you?

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
We’ll see.

GIANT SQUID:
I suppose we will, won’t we?

The Giant Squid gives a wan smile.

JACQUES COUSTEAU:
Goodbye, Giant Squid.

GIANT SQUID:
Goodbye, Jacques Cousteau.

The Giant Squid disappears beneath the waves.

Jacques Cousteau makes sure the squid is out of sight, then picks up a large harpoon from the deck. He raises it high above his head, tears appearing in the crinkled corners of his eyes.

He holds his position, and is become a statue carved in supplication to an oceanic god of death. But he cannot do it. The harpoon drops to the deck.

Looking out once more to the endless sea, Jacques Cousteau produces a pipe from one of the innumerable pockets of his vest, lights it, and silently puffs away.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.