The stage is filled with the rhythmic, polyphonic ticking of dozens of clocks. ELIAS sits at a workbench, a jeweler’s loupe pressed to his eye. He is working on a delicate gold pocket watch. CLARA stands by the door, holding a messenger bag.
(Slamming a small screwdriver onto the bench)Repetition is precision! You think your "art" is better because it’s messy? This watch belonged to a man who crossed the Atlantic. It kept his pulse when everything else was sinking.
(Without looking up)You’re breathing too loud, Clara. It throws off the balance. 7.2 210 Drama
I’m not going there to fix gears. I’m going to paint. I’m going to move. Everything in this room just... repeats.
[CLARA walks to a large grandfather clock in the corner. It is silent.] The stage is filled with the rhythmic, polyphonic
(Steps forward, floorboards creak)It’s been three years, Grandpa. The air in here is the same dust from when I was ten. ELIAS Dust is just time that’s settled. Leave it be.
[ELIAS freezes. He slowly removes the loupe and looks at the pocket watch, not her.] Berlin. They have clocks there, I suppose. CLARA stands by the door, holding a messenger bag
I’m leaving tomorrow. For the residency in Berlin. I came to say goodbye.