Another world?
RHODA.
Oh, you"re used to his people. Your father was a missionary to the Indians, you told me.
MICHAELIS.
Yes.
RHODA.
Where?
MICHAELIS.
At Acoma.
RHODA.
Where is that?
MICHAELIS.
_Standing near the wall map, touches it._
In New Mexico, by the map.
RHODA.
_Comes nearer._
What is it like?
MICHAELIS.
It"s--as you say--another world.
RHODA.
Describe it to me.
MICHAELIS.
I couldn"t make you see it. It"s--centuries and centuries from our time.--And since I came here, since I entered this house, it has seemed centuries away from my own life.
RHODA.
My life has seemed far off, too--my old life--
MICHAELIS.
What do you mean by your old life?
RHODA.
_She breaks out impulsively._
I mean--I mean--. Three days ago I was like one dead! I walked and ate and did my daily tasks, but--I wondered sometimes why people didn"t see that I was dead, and scream at me.
MICHAELIS.
It was three days ago that I first saw you.
RHODA.
Yes.
MICHAELIS.
Three nights ago, out there in the moonlit country.
RHODA.
Yes.
MICHAELIS.
You were unhappy, then?
RHODA.
The dead are not unhappy, and I was as one dead.
MICHAELIS.
Why was that?
RHODA.
I think we die more than once when things are too hard and too bitter.
MICHAELIS.
Have things here been hard and bitter?
RHODA.
No. All that was before I came here! But it had left me feeling--. The other night, as I walked through the streets of the town, the people seemed like ghosts to me, and I myself like a ghost.