The Journalist and the Pathologist sit on identical chairs — except for the handedness of the closed door they flank.
No visible handle.
Hinges and handle on the other side, got to be.
They have a fair idea about the sort of thing that will be exiting — but will the encounter be first with her or first with him?
A theorem of handedness should not be permissible in the 24 deaths of MH.
A shibboleth is that which admits.
The journalist is a revealer, a dealer in revelations. A communicator.
While the Pathologist is a determiner, often more prosaically known as a scientist; he had to pick up the pieces and make sense of them.
The character tension between them is that he does not know whether she is sincere or not,
She does not know whether he is competent or not.
Supposed to be, if this were a well-made play, and their characters matched their proclivities, in the neatest of all aptnesses. But that’s the enduring joy of human relationships.
One of them asks:
—You’re sceptical, and I’m cynical, right?
He shuffles his feet, although probably the more able of the two to withstand the boredom. She had turned into a ticking bomb about four days ago.
They don’t know for certain, but can reasonably assume, MH is dying in there; it’s a dying room, and something will come out of it. It’s a long drawn out job,
It’s about the Future and incarnations.
—One day the beans will be spilled.
—Spill the beans? He gives vent to his inner quizzical, that she would use such an ancient figure of speech.
He knows the future is going to come out of the door, and one of them will encounter it first.
Before the door, after the door,
featureless equates with surprise,
there’s always that bit of surprise.
Our belief systems quite violently readjusted, and the aftereffects of that upheaval, later.
—This is where we are with Truth at the present.
—Not overly analytical, you mean, says the Pathologist. You’re not wrong there. Once the door is opened, shouldn’t we try to keep it open for the next time? If we survive whatever the exiting brings.
To touch on their biggest disadvantage as it stands.
—What we aren’t, says the Journalist, is in control of the door.