ACT I

A Single Scene.

Night. A door with no number.

A knock. Knock, knock, knock.

… No one answers.

Another knock. Knock, knock, knock.

You push the door open. A smell of yellowed paper and black coffee hangs in the air and, far behind it, a hint of machine oil. Shelves crammed with ageless books climb all the way to the ceiling. A single lamp is lit. Beneath it, an old man, alone, leafs through a book with weary pages.

THE OLD MAN, without looking up from his book. – I knew you would come.

His voice is deep and measured. He snaps the book shut. Dust escapes from it.

You make out three letters on the cover.

THE OLD MAN. – Do you recognise what that is? A book. They still exist, you know.

(He coughs.)

THE OLD MAN. – So he didn’t go to all that trouble writing it for nothing, it seems… You know, this isn’t where you’ll find him. But I can tell you his story… After all, it’s a little bit mine too.

(In the distance, a crow caws.)

THE OLD MAN. – What do you mean, who am I talking about? Well… the other one. The one who sews. You won’t see much of him, you know, that one…

(He adjusts his glasses.)

THE OLD MAN. – Where were we. “ATO”? It was… more than a Man. Today, it’s more than a brand, it’s a wave. Is it an abbreviation? Short for what? The Atelier of a Taciturn Obsessive? Who knows…

(His gaze turns to a door, closed.)

THE OLD MAN. – Perhaps you’re here to learn how it’s made? Well… he’s probably working on it right now. That sound of machines? That’s him, sewing. This project is him. His mind laid flat across the canvas. You’ll get six pieces. The peak of everything he taught himself.

The old man falls silent. Behind the door, the machine keeps beating.

THE OLD MAN. – But there comes a time when Man must leave his cave, doesn’t there? He’s done playing alone, he’s stepping into the big leagues. And this is only the beginning.

(Beneath your feet, the old floorboards creak.)

THE OLD MAN. – They say he’s already preparing bigger things, more extraordinary things, even more… strange things. You can’t even imagine what’s waiting for you. Truth is, he can’t imagine what’s waiting for him either.

He glances at the tall clock, keeping time for the beat of the machine.

THE OLD MAN. – Oh, is it that late already? You must go. We’ll meet again in a few months; the kid will have grown. What comes next could be interesting…

You head for the door. Hand on the handle, you hesitate. Behind you, his voice betrays a smile.

THE OLD MAN. – You want more? … That too, I knew.

(The lamp goes out. Darkness.)

CURTAIN