In a Tudor style bedroom. There is a huge closet, a bed, a nightstand and an arm chair beside it, and a boudoir,. The air is cold coming from the open windows and the light from the wall lamps flicker, creating a rather dim atmosphere. The mother sits in front of the boudoir wearing a flimsy lingerie in black. She is in her late 20's, pale, and her eyes are deep brown wells. She intently watches herself brush her long locks, one arm holding the tips out to be smoothed. The son enters and quietly sits on his mother's bed. He is a young man, about 13, taller than most kids his age. His hair is long as what his mother wanted for him. He carries the face of his father, brutishly handsome. Thick brows, thin lips, dark brown eyes .It can be seen that he hasn't gone to his room after tea time as he is still wearing his dinner clothes (the inner garments of a suit). He sits on the mother's bed and starts looking at what his mother is doing. His image is reflected on the mirror. The mother acknowledges his presence with a quick glance at his reflection.
Son: The mayor seems to be bearing good intentions.
Mother: Does it matter?
Son: Shouldn't it? We have been living in false motives for too long now mother. (slowly lies down on the bed, his legs dangling. The mother sets down the brush. Silence)
Mother: Yes. We have... been... living... it's what matters.
Son: (shakes his head) Father, has he written? (more enthusiastic tone)
Mother: (sighs and stands from the dresser. She goes to the chair beside the night stand and grabs the overcoat for her night gown) He is the only literate person who acts as if he is not.
Son: He had good intent. (Watches the mother walk towards the boudoir again.)
Mother: (picks up a cigar from a pack on the buodoir, walks to the open window.) Intent alone... not even enough to sustain... himself...(Lights up the cigar and starts to smoke.The wind blows the smoke back in, clouding the already dim room. Blowing on her face, her eyes gets stung by the smoke and becomes teary)
Son: (sighs and sits up) I... wanted to be like father... (lowers his gaze)
Mother: (Stops puffing and turns to her son...Her face becomes sympathetic and she walks over to him. With her free hand, she slowly lifts his face levels his gaze to hers. She smiles at him affectionately) I ordered a grand piano.
Son: (his eyes widens in disbelief) but how? where?... who? Is it the ship captain!? (angrily backs away from his mother) Does he entertain you enough mother? (his voice rising)
Mother: (shocked. she stands just staring at his angry face for a while before finally speaking in a slow disappointed tone.) He does darling... The first one after many years to bring me peace.
Son: (his expression immediately turns regretful. He lowers his gaze again.) Does he have good intent?
Mother: (sits beside him on the bed and goes back to smoking) Yes and more.
Son: (looks at his mom with a bit of disappointment) the piano came from his intentions?
Mother: (laughs) I am writing for the city hall the day after next... I asked for an advance.
Son: (brightens up... then slowly becomes sad again...) and father??
Mother: (looks at the mirror) He is the wind. I don't see him. I feel him.
Son: (sighs. starts to stand up) Goodnight mother. (kisses his mother's forehead and quietly leaves the room)
Mother: (goes back to the window and continues smoking. The wind blows the smoke she puffs to her face, stinging her eyes and bringing tears...) He is the wind...
Set dims and curtain falls...
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