Free Requiem for a Nun by William Faulkner Page A

The trial is over now. She has been convicted and sentenced. In the eyes of the law, she is already dead. In the eyes of the law, Nancy Mannigoe doesn’t even exist. Even if there wasn’t a better reason than that. The best reason of all.

    Temple
    (smoking)

    Yes?

    Stevens
    We haven’t got one.

    Temple
    (smoking)

    Yes?

    (she sits back in the chair, smoking rapidly, looking at Stevens. Her voice is gentle, patient, only a little too rapid, like the smoking)

    That’s right. Try to listen. Really try. I am the affidavit; what else are we doing here at ten oclock at night barely a day from her execution? What else did I—as you put it—come all the way back from California for, not to mention a—as you have probably put that too—faked coincidence to save—as I would put it I suppose—my face? All we need now is to decide just how much of what to put in the affidavit. Do try; maybe you had better have a drink after all.

    Stevens
    Later, maybe. I’m dizzy enough right now with just perjury and contempt of court.

    Temple
    What perjury?

    Stevens
    Not venal then, worse: inept. After my client is not only convicted but sentenced, I turn up with the prosecution’s chief witness offering evidence to set the whole trial aside—

    Temple
    Tell them I forgot this. Or tell them I changed my mind. Tell them the district attorney bribed me to keep my mouth shut—

    Stevens
    (peremptory yet quiet)

    Temple.
    She puffs rapidly at the cigarette, removes it from her mouth.

    Temple
    Or better still; wont it be obvious? a woman whose child was smothered in its crib, wanting vengeance, capable of anything to get the vengeance; then when she has it, realising she cant go through with it, cant sacrifice a human life for it, even a nigger whore’s?

    Stevens
    Stop it. One at a time. At least, let’s talk about the same thing.

    Temple
    What else are we talking about except saving a condemned client whose trained lawyer has already admitted that he has failed?

    Stevens
    Then you really dont want her to die. You did invent the coincidence.

    Temple
    Didn’t I just say so? At least, let’s for God’s sake stop that, cant we?

    Stevens
    Done. So Temple Drake will have to save her.

    Temple
    Mrs Gowan Stevens will.

    Stevens
    Temple Drake.
    She stares at him, smoking, deliberately now. Deliberately she removes the cigarette and, still watching him, reaches and snubs it out in the ashtray.

    Stevens
    All right. Tell me again. Maybe I’ll even understand this time, let alone listen. We produce— turn up with—a sworn affidavit that this murderess was crazy when she committed the crime.

    Temple
    You did listen, didn’t you? Who knows—

    Stevens
    Based on what?

    Temple
    â€”What?

    Stevens
    The affidavit. Based on what?

    (she stares at him)

    On what proof?

    Temple
    Proof?

    Stevens
    Proof. What will be in the affidavit? What are we going to affirm now that for some reason, any reason, we—you—we didn’t see fit to bring up or anyway didn’t bring up until after she—

    Temple
    How do I know? You’re the lawyer. What do you want in it? What do such affidavits have in them, need to have in them, to make them work, make them sure to work? Dont you have samples in your law books—reports, whatever you call them—that you can copy and have me swear to? Good ones, certain ones? At least, while we’re committing whatever this is, pick out a good one, such a good one that nobody, not even an untrained lawyer, can punch holes in it. . . .
    Her voice ceases. She stares at him, while he continues to look steadily back at her, saying nothing, just looking at her, until at last she draws a loud harsh breath; her voice is harsh too.

    Temple
    What do you want then? What more do you want?

    Stevens
    Temple Drake.

    Temple
    (quick, harsh, immediate)

    No. Mrs Gowan Stevens.

    Stevens
    (implacable and calm)

    Temple