An Interview
Characters:
Emma, the interviewer
Amy, the interviewee
Scene: Two women are sitting across from each other at a wooden desk in the middle of an empty room. Emma, smartly dressed, faces the door. Amy, in business casual, faces Emma. Her clothes are nice but wrinkled. Her hair is clean but messy. They are in Deer County Funeral Home. Amy is interviewing for the position of graveyard shift receptionist. No one visits Deer County Funeral Home at night so this is an entirely unnecessary position, but it is the nature of Deer County to employ entirely unnecessary positions, and Deer County Funeral Home is Deer County to its core. The walls are bare. The desk, however, features piles of newspaper clippings and a full trashcan beneath it.
Emma: Thanks so much for coming in today.
Amy sits quietly, listening. The interviewer looks at her expectantly, waits for a response. Looks at her.
Amy: (aside) Respond. You have to listen and respond. Not just listen. (attempting to sound professional, though it’s not in her nature) Yes, of course. (forced, awkward smile) Thank you for making time to meet with me. (folds hands intentionally on knees, appears proud of herself)
Emma: (confused, a little disturbed, speaking slowly) Yes, well. Tell me, Ms. Mort, why you think you’re suited to this position.
Amy: Amy is fine, Emma.
Emma: Dr. Silverman, please, Ms. Mort. (Emma is the type to take everything very seriously. She loves protocol and standards. She suspects anyone who does not abide by them.)
Amy: (confused) Sorry?
Emma: Dr. Silverman. Please address me as Dr. Silverman. (Dr. Silverman is unamused.)
Amy: Sorry (pauses, unsure) Dr. Silverman (pauses, still unsure) um, but, are you a doctor? I mean I just figured, in this line of work… (Dr. Silverman continues to stare, unwavering, unamused) Right, Dr. Silverman –
Dr. Silverman: Yes?
Amy: Oh I was just about to answer your question. You asked why I think I’m suited to this position —
Dr. Silverman: Why are you suited to this position? Why do you think you’re suited to this position, Ms. Mort.
Amy: (smiles, laughs softly) You just said it, didn’t you! (hurries to explain) My name. “Ms. Mort,” “Ms. Death.” And throw in Amy. Squint a bit. Shake your head. You know how people joke. “Amy Mort” like the French verb “aimer” but mispronounced, the American way (uses a mocking tone). It’s like “death is my middle name. Death is my purpose!” except death is my whole name, you see “love of death,” really — (Amy realizes she’s babbling and collects herself. She clears her throat and smooths her hair, returns her hands to her knees, folded again.) Ms. Silverman.
Dr. Silverman has been taking notes as Amy speaks, she looks up now.
Dr. Silverman: Dr. Silverman.
Amy: See, I don’t understand why you use “doctor” if — (Dr. Silverman stares, now even less amused than before.) Anyway, Dr. Silverman, that’s just the beginning of why I feel I’m well suited, really. I’m also quite experienced. All my life —
Dr. Silverman: I’ve got a question for you, Ms. Mort. There’s an out of control train speeding towards a fork in the tracks. It’s on course to hit two men tied to the left track. You are standing at a lever which can divert the train onto the right track where only one man is tied. Do you pull the lever?
Amy: Of course.
Dr. Silverman: What if it’s one woman and two men?
Amy: Still, I’d save two lives over one.
Dr. Silverman: What if the woman were pregnant?
Amy: Then I’d save the woman.
Dr. Silverman: What if the men were boys.
Amy: And the woman still pregnant?
Dr. Silverman: Yes.
Amy: How young? The boys?
Dr. Silverman: How young must they be for you to save them over the pregnant woman?
Amy is quiet.
Dr. Silverman: Why didn’t you ask how far along her pregnancy is?
Amy is quiet.
Dr. Silverman: Why didn’t you ask her age?
Amy is quiet.
Dr. Silverman: What if she doesn’t want this child?
Amy: I’d save her and bring her to get help.
Dr. Silverman: And let two five year olds die?
Amy: You never said they’re five. I’ll save them, then.
Dr. Silverman: Well what if they aren’t five. What if they’re seventeen? I ask again, how young must they be for you to save them? When do they age out of having promise?
Amy is counting on her fingers, calculating in her head.
Amy: (oblivious to Dr. Silverman’s growing passion) I think fourteen or fifteen maybe?
Dr. Silverman: What if she put herself there? The pregnant woman. She tied herself. The boys were tied against their will, seventeen still.
Amy: Save the boys, then.
Dr. Silverman: What if this is a scheme by the pregnant woman? (growing increasingly frantic) Who believes in God’s will? Who’s religious? What if she’s religious?
Amy: (flustered) I’m not prejudiced against religious people, Dr. Silverman —
Dr. Silverman: What if they raped her? Mother and father tied on the tracks waiting for fate, for you, at the lever? Both boys tied for good measure. Dead women can’t correct errors.
Amy is quiet.
Dr. Silverman: What if she begs you to leave her? Leave the lever unpulled? All you have to do is nothing.
Amy is quiet.
Dr. Silverman: What you see is two struggling boys and a stoic woman. Two screaming bodies, two lives, young lives. What if you see two boys pink with the will to live and one woman, resigned. Unrepentant. No guilt. So she has no guilt, after what they were able to do. What their unrepenting bodies could do. What they did. What if she were driving home one day from work like every other morning driving east into the morning light. Watching the sky birth the sun feeling hers kick at her bladder. Kicking, kicking like their feet. Unrepentant feet so she doesn’t go home. Instead she and her unwanted son drag the unrepentant bodies. To the tracks. Drag them. Drag their bodies. Drag their unrepenting bodies. Behind her so she doesn’t have to see them. Their bodies. And she ties herself up on one track with her stomach stretched, eight months pregnant and she waits for you, at the lever, to decide. Who do you save? The two who don’t wish to die or the one woman they raped begging you to let her? Who do you save, honestly? The boys. Who should you save?
Amy: (stuttering) I’m not sure I see how this is relevant. (rummages in her bag, pulls out her resume) I’m competent in all of Microsoft Office suite (voice is shaking) I have experience down the road at… at, that place — it opened this year. (to herself) How can I not remember the name? — (Her hands are also shaking. Her resume, shaking, is the only sound in the room.) I worked there almost half a month.
Dr. Silverman: And you think that is relevant!? This job is sitting alone in the dark five hours a night surrounded by corpses, surrounded by corpses. (She leans forward on the table so her face is close to Amy’s) Surrounded. Until they become more than corpses, (laughs) more a life than a death (laughs) they thought that was clever, Amy, the corpses. (Dr. Silverman is quiet for a moment. She pushes her body off the desk and moves to sit on it. She traces circles on the table. Her eyes follow her finger. Then, she again looks up) but at least the corpses call me doctor. (laughing still) The corpses call me doctor, Amy. Who would you save?
