Content warning: death, ableism

Old Merk feels his age. He will die soon. He tries to prepare Pauline, his mentally disabled adult daughter, for the inevitable. What, if anything, will she remember of him? Of the house they share? Of their life together? Will she remember her father’s love? Will she remember the embrace of home? Will she understand why he will have left her? Old Merk’s burden lifts only in a dream; a dream in which his daughter is clear, expressive and transcendent.

Pauline’s participation is liminal, somewhat outside the operatic texture, speaking and breathing her unpitched opening responses, later humming in accompaniment to her father’s questions, rhythms breaking with metrical patterns or back-phrased. Though she is forty-one, Pauline maintains a childlike wonder for the world and life with her father. Finishing the piece, Pauline’s aria provides the chance to uncover her full voice, possibly as a dream sequence as the title suggests. Or, maybe Merk doesn’t fully know what she comprehends. She begins her aria textless with a vocalise; in that moment we might wonder if she will find words for expression at all. Then she moves on to recount memories with her father, whimsically and insightfully, “You’re like eggs fried with leeks. / You’re hide and seek. / You’re like blackbirds. / We counted twelve and made tea.” Pauline articulates in her own way that she understands; she will remember her love for her father. Old Merk is asleep. The fire motif weaves in and out of the entire scene, cozy and flickering, losing notes as the fire dies. It’s a still moment at home, but time is moving very quickly for Merk. His tessitura and dynamics rise with the imperative need to keep his memory alive for Pauline when he can no longer remind her.