The same house. The lights come up slowly on the empty living room. SIPHO comes in carrying an urn. He puts it down on the coffee table and sits down on his chair, eyes fixed on the urn. THANDO enters, carrying as many suitcases and bags as she can, followed by MANDISA, about 22 years old, well dressed, beautiful and glamorous, as one would expect from someone who grew up in London. She is carrying a fashion designer's portfolio and a bag from an airport duty free shop.

THANDO: Put everything down here now.

MANDISA: Are you sure, Thando? I did book myself into the Garden Court Plaza Hotel.

THANDO: No! You are going to stay here with us. My father insists. Yes, Daddy. You have to be here until the funeral on Saturday.

SIPHO: The funeral! Oh, my God! The funeral! What are we going to do? What about the night vigil? Reverend Haya is coming soon to conduct a small service for the arrival of Themba's body. What body? How could you do this to me? Why didn't your mother say anything to me?

MANDISA: My mother wrote to you, Uncle Sipho, and you never replied. Anyway, I don't see the problem. That's what everybody does in England.

SIPHO: You burnt my brother.

MANDISA: Don't say burnt. He was cremated, and that was my mother's wish.

SIPHO: Your mother's wish. You burnt him to ashes.

THANDO: Daddy, please!

SIPHO [pointing to the urn]: What is in this thing?

MANDISA: His ashes.

SIPHO: All of him?

MANDISA: Some of him.

SIPHO: Where is the rest?

MANDISA: You don't take all the ashes from the oven. It's symbolic. The rest is … discharged is the word they use.

SIPHO: You mean thrown away?

MANDISA: All right. Yes.

SIPHO: I want them all.

MANDISA: Oh this is ridiculous. I didn't come here to argue about ashes.

SIPHO: What am I going to bury on Saturday? My uncles are going to want to see him. What is going to be in the coffin?

THANDO: Daddy! Some black people here are also going in for cremation these days.