Two months later. Night.
The Valentine’s Day balloon and flowers are gone.
Eusebio on his hospital bed watches the Mets on TV.
Flora stands behind him, giving him a shave.
FLORA (Regarding the game): Who’s winning?
(Eusebio struggles to say “Mets” and it comes out:)
EUSEBIO: Mhhytshh.
FLORA: Go Mets. What is it? Two-nothing! Wow! Good way to start the season, Pito. This could be the one!
EUSEBIO (“Yes”): Yyshhh.
FLORA: Are those bums going to find a way to blow this one too?
EUSEBIO: Yyshhh!
FLORA (Laughs): Well, have faith, maybe they hold on to the lead this time.
EUSEBIO (“Shit”): Shhhyt!
FLORA: No!
EUSEBIO: Shhyt! Shhhyt!
FLORA: They blew it again! I can’t believe this!
EUSEBIO: Shhhtypyd Mhhyshhh!
FLORA: Stupid Mets is right. You want me to turn it off?
EUSEBIO: Nnoh!
FLORA: I’ll never understand the pleasure you get from this, Pito.
(Flora finishes the shave and looks at him, pleased with her work.)
You want to see?
EUSEBIO: Yyshhhhh.
(Flora holds up a mirror so Eusebio can see the shave. He smiles as best he can.)
FLORA: Good, huh? What a handsome man!
EUSEBIO (“Yes, handsome”): Yyshhhh. Hundshhymm.
(Eusebio, unable to stand the sight of himself, looks away.
Flora gets up and blocks Eusebio’s view of the game on the TV.)
FLORA: I have to talk to you about something important.
EUSEBIO: Mhhyshhh!
FLORA: Look, you already know the ending, they’re going to lose.
(Flora turns the TV off.
Eusebio sulks.)
EUSEBIO: Byytshhh.
FLORA: Did you just call me a bitch?
EUSEBIO: Yyshhh.
FLORA (Laughs): Asshole!
(She playfully slaps him but it’s clear she’s more amused by his comment than angry.)
I’ve been talking to Eve. You know how much she loves you. The both of us. Before she went back to Spain, she got me these.
(Flora reaches into a pocket, pulls out a bottle of pills.)
Remember the angel who came to you in your sleep? Eve figured out a way to grant the angel’s promise. With these.
(Beat.)
I’ll take them, too, Pito. We’ll go together. You understand? No more bed. No more pain. And maybe in Heaven, the Mets win the World Series every year. I know you’ve been wanting to do this for a long time and I resisted it because I thought it was a sin to wish for your own death. To play God with yourself. But now I’m so confused and I want you to not suffer anymore, my angel—no more! And if God can forgive me, maybe we’ll be all right.
(Beat.)
You want to?
(Eusebio thinks about this a moment, stares at the pills in her hand.)
EUSEBIO: Nnohh.
FLORA: No? Are you sure?
EUSEBIO (“I’m sure”): Ahhh shuursh.
FLORA: You want to stay here? Like this? Are you sure, Pito?
EUSEBIO: Yyshh.
FLORA: Why?
EUSEBIO (Struggles, “With you”): Wysshh ewyu.
FLORA: With me?
EUSEBIO (“With you, Flora”): Wyshhh ewyu, Foohah.
FLORA: Okay. That’s okay. With you, Pito, with you.
(Flora wipes her eyes.
She throws the bottles of pills into the trash. Picks up the remote and turns on the Mets game.
Eusebio holds out his bad hand. He struggles to open it . . . and he does.
Flora takes his hand and gets into bed with him.
In the distance Flora and Eusebio, young, holding hands, and dressed as they did in 1953, appear. They look at their older selves.
As the sound of the game gets louder and louder, lights go to black.)