A wood. Enter two gentlemen, swords drawn, engrossed in conversation.
G: What did you say to him then?
R: You were there, you should know.
G: I was? I should?
G: Ah. But. Well.
R: You don't remember, do you?
G: Of course I remember.
R: Then what did I say to him?
G: Weren't you listening either?
R, exasperated, stops and points his sword at G's chest.
G: Ah, I remember now! It was something about cards.
They continue strolling.
R: We were playing Ruff and Trump.
G: On my honours, yes. It's coming back to me now. The hand plays cards, the mind plays tricks.
R: Get on, then.
G: Let's play a hand!
R: I haven't got the cards. He has them.
G: No, no, that's what you said. "Let's play a hand."
R: Hmm. I don't think so. It wasn't a hand. It was a different part of the anatomy.
G stops and looks shocked.
R: No, no, not that part. I think it was another extremity.
G: Perhaps you said, "This will come to a head." You were also drinking beer.
R: And there's the trick in it. A beer in the hand makes the cards sticky.
G: I bet.
R: No, you didn't.
R: You didn't bet. In fact, I can't recall your ante.
G: Well, of course you can't. My parents had no sisters.
R: What are you on about now? Watch where you're stepping.
G: I never had an auntie. My parents were only children.
R stops, looks quizzically at G.
R: Your parents were only children.
G: That's right.
R: When they had you. When you were born, they were only children.
G: Their entire lives. And they'll be only children when they die.
R (showing sudden enlightment): Ah, I see. As I can hardly bear you myself. I didn't see how only a child could have borne you.
G: It would be a difficult burden to shoulder indeed.
R: Your mother must be strong.
G: As a bear.
R: With shoulders like a bear?
G: Bare shoulders, sometimes. But never while playing cards.
R: She must protect her honours lest she be termed a rough strumpet. Watch where you're stepping.
G: I think it was a foot.
R: How's that again?
G: You said something about a foot. He said "Let's play a hand," and you replied, "Now the game's a foot."
G (stopping in triumph): Exactly!
R: It's all running together for me.
G: The feet?
R: The memories.
G: That would be the beer.
R turns and stabs G in the arm; G drops his sword and holds the wound, shocked.
R: That would be defeat.
[A complete play in one act. Disarmingly absurd.]