Consciousness, Literature and the Arts
Archive
Volume 2 Number 2, July 2001
_______________________________________________________________
A Different Place
by
CHARACTER:
ABEL:
Foreign man. Probably mid
20s.
(The
story is based on an Indian man in South East Asia, but with minor changes he could be from another country/area).
Also
referred to:
JANIE:
His present "special friend" (in England)
MARY:
His previous "special friend" (in England)
TANYA:
His wife in his home country
LOCATIONS:
Various
locations are suggested in England and in his own country.
But the action takes place in the present, in Manchester.
SCENERY
AND PROPS:
The
performance space is probably bare at the start.
And during the play, there is likely to be only:
a
suitcase (containing stage make-up, clown costume, mirror
and
banner)
two
long sticks or poles
TIME:
Set
in the present (1999), action moves backwards and forwards through Abel's more
recent life.
Note:
stage directions are suggested in order to help the reading of the script.
THE
PRESENT. ENGLAND.
ABEL
enters carrying two poles and a suitcase. He puts down the suitcase.
He puts the two poles on the floor,
together and next to each other, forming a barrier between the front and
the back of the playing area.
ABEL
stands to the side of the poles. He
opens the suitcase. He checks to
see what he has. He takes out
some stage make-up. ABEL has
never applied make-up before and is not sure what he is doing. He tries to remember the instructions he was given.
He starts to put it on.
By page 20 he will have applied the face of a clown.
He takes out a mirror and looks at himself.
He
notices the people in the audience and temporarily stops applying make-up to
address his thoughts to them. The
audience represent the people he wishes to be like - with stability, families
around them, freedoms. The words he
speaks aloud are the thoughts he might silently address to them as he passes
them in the street.
Throughout,
ABEL may smile, but doesn't ever laugh.
As
ABEL talks, he points to the areas in front of and behind the poles: behind
(upstage) he refers to as "Your Country", in front (downstage) he
refers to as "My Country". Currently
he is to the side of the poles but will step over the poles, forwards or
backwards, as indicated.
ABEL: Your
country. (Pause)
My country. (Pause)
Your country. (Pause)
My country. (Pause)
Poles apart.
He
pauses, puts down the make-up, steps into the area behind the poles, and picks
up one of the poles.
Your
country:
He
uses the stick as a pole in a punt.
Punting!
(Pause) Janie, my special friend,
took me down to Cambridge. Explained
to me and showed me how to punt, and I insist on trying.
Five strokes out, in the middle of the river, just as I have said to her
"this is too easy", I forget to pull the pole out of the water, and I
follow it in. I can also see the
funny side, but I'm not laughing. I'm
swallowing water. Janie tried to
suppress her giggles. "Can you
swim?" she kept saying. "Can
you swim?" Because she
couldn't. And no, nor could I.
I'd never learnt. I'd been brought up in the city.
So one of the college boys had to rescue me. I feel so ashamed. It's
silly. Janie paid him to punt us up
and down for a while. I let my
clothes dry off, and we eat our picnic. Janie
had made cucumber sandwiches. Cut
off the crusts. Cut the sandwiches
into triangles. Wrapped them in
aluminium foil to keep them fresh. And
made them on white bread. She never eats white bread. But that is the proper way for cucumber sandwiches.
Your country! And she said "Let's take the crusts with to feed to the
ducks". Which we did. She is
such a nice lady. Janie.
He
applies a little more make-up. Then
uses the stick as a support rail in the underground, holding on with one hand,
and bouncing slightly at the knees.
Janie
took me to London for two days. To
show me all her favourite places. I
want to see them, but we spend most of the time like this.
In the Underground. Or this:
He
then stands rigidly, occupying as little space as possible.
Rush
hour! Like the buses at home.
Because no sooner have we arrived at a place that it was time for her to
show me somewhere else.
He
holds the stick to represent a tall palm tree.
First,
the Palm house. Kew Gardens. She
thought I'd like to see some tall palm trees again.
She took my hand, and as we walk around, I recall happy memories of a
happy childhood back home.
"I was a good boy. Janie,
I was! At least most of the
time. And
always looking forward to a better future.
I can see myself now in our
garden, a little garden with orchids that my mother looked after.
Studying hard. Or maybe...
listening to the radio with my friends.."
Janie
smiled. And led us over to see the
double coconut - two coconuts that grow together joined as one.
It looks like someone's arse. And
she giggled, "Ha-ha-ha-ha," as we compare arses.
And after, we visit the greenhouse with insect-eating pitcher plants,
like the ones we have in my country, with their cups of sweet poison to draw in
the insect, and the lids that close, so the insect can't get out and the plant
can have lunch without being watched.
He
holds the stick like a pike.
Then
the Tower of London. Beefeater with pike. We
see Traitor's Gate. And the
executioner's block, where heads would roll...
He
lets the pole drop forward on to the floor (with a bang), like the axe falling.
Then lets it lay there as "The
Greenwich meridian".
Next,
the Greenwich Meridian. Painted
onto the path by the Royal Greenwich. Observatory. It's even painted crossing the roadway. Janie played at jumping between Eastern and Western
hemispheres. While I stand still in
both at the same time. And eleven
different sets of people from different parts of the world asked me to move so
that they could have their picture taken. And
would I mind taking it for them? Of
course I don't mind.
Mostly
I'd been seeing Janie for a day at a time.
She's very busy. She works very hard. I
telephone her on other days. Sometimes
at three o'clock in the morning. She
said it was alright to call her when I couldn't sleep.
And I still suffer from nightmares.
So I called. Often. She
usually worked half way through the night.
And if she was at her desk, she would answer: "Oh, it's you!",
she'd say. And laugh.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha". And
we'd talk. About nothing most of
the time. Those important nothings.
"How are you, Abel?"
"Fine.
How are you, Janie?"
"Fine.
Are you eating enough fruit, Abel? And what about the stain in
your interview shirt? Has it
come out using my favourite washing
powder?"
She
used to be married. And leave notes for her husband when she wasn't there in
person. If she was working away.
Or going to conferences. "Darling,
are you eating enough fruit? Darling,
does it make a difference using my favourite brand of washing powder?
Darling, do try to be a little quieter when you go to the toilet while
I'm trying to sleep." And he left notes for her.
Except he called his "memos".
"Memo to Janie. Reference:
Infidelity. Subject: my
secret affair". She says that
he taught her a lot. She says that
"relationships have a shelf-life".
But I tell you, she is well rid of him now.
Even though I think marriage is forever.
I would never write notes to my wife.
Nor her to me. We would
speak to each other whenever we could. Always
we were promising each other that next year we'd go and see the giant turtles on
the beach. Always next year.
We never meant to lose each other.
Pause
while he applies make-up.
Let
me tell you how I met Janie. I was
a student on a course she was teaching. And
since then she has continued to be my teacher.
Teaching me how to live in this country.
How to find a doctor. How to
know which bus to catch. How to
find the reduced for quick sale items in supermarkets.
How to relax just a little. The
course she was teaching was how to meditate.
Not that I want to meditate. But
there was a free lunch provided and afternoon refreshments. And money is tight. To
my surprise, every word, every smile, every laugh, every exercise she took me
through draws me further in. To
Janie. She is like my wife.
They'd both always be laughing. Janie
would be halfway through a sentence and there would be a
"ha-ha-ha-ha". When the
meditation course finished, I got to know her.
I would be waiting for the laugh to come.
It could be at the delicatessens in Sainsbury's: some stuffed olives,
hummus, guacamole and a giggle; or watching the election results on the
television; or on the telephone at three in the morning, when her mum's fine,
and her washing machine has been fixed, and she's telling me:
"the
cat's fine, except he presented me with a dead sparrow, and no doubt
I was meant to be grateful to him, and he waited and expected me to eat
it. But how do you tell a
cat you're vegetarian. So I pretended to eat it,
with a giggle, and when the cat went away, I wrapped the sparrow in a
J-
cloth,
and placed it in the dustbin".
He
continues putting on the make-up.
Sometimes
I try to make Janie laugh. But I
can only make her smile.
Pause.
Then ABEL holds a pole upright on the floor and sways from one side to
the other, and looks at the audience.
A
boat trip on Lake Windermere. On a
windy day. Twenty-eight meditators, Janie and me. And this?
He
holds the upright pole still, and watches imaginary cars pass.
Vroooom.
(Pause) Vroooom.
(Pause) Vroom click flash!
Speed camera! Janie swore!
I tell her about Tanya, my wife back home, "Tanya would never break
the speed limit. Never.
She was the most careful driver in the whole wide world".
Not like Janie. And Janie
swore again, said she'd never break the speed limit ever again.
I say "Janie, it's a warning from God, to slow down and be more
careful. And anyway you're far too
old to be speeding!" That was the wrong thing to say.
I wished I hadn't said a thing. I
know how easy it is to make enemies. Janie
was so proud that she looked so young. "How old am I then?", she asked.
Not that it matters to me. "How
old am I, Abel?". "Are
you fifty-three?". It was much
older than she looked. She told me
she was actually forty-four, that it was better that I knew, and that she wasn't
old enough to be my grand-mother. For
a while she was silent. But then
she giggled. So I took her shopping
to buy her a present to make up for my mistake.
Not that I have much money.
Standing
sideways on, he drops one end of the pole on the floor, and looks out sideways.
Escalator
at the Trafford Centre. Such a
place! I can't believe my eyes.
Makes me think about the shopping malls back home.
We do have shopping malls back home.
And a theme park! And polluted beaches, because of the new imperialists - the
modern tourist. We have some of the
best beaches in the world. And
shopping centres. What a use of
money they are. With security
guards at the entrance checking that undesirables don't come in. And outside people begging for a crust, on the pavements,
maybe sitting on a table that at night time is their home. What riches there are. What
a shopping choice. But I'm in your
country now at the Trafford Centre. "Have
you seen the imitation oriental quarter?"
It made Janie laugh. "Ha-ha-ha-ha".
Tanya would have laughed too. Janie
held my hand and said if it makes people happy, it's a good imitation oriental
quarter.
We
take a look at the wedding list in Selfridges.
Not that we're getting married. Not
that her friends could afford her to use such a wedding list.
I mean of course we're not getting married.
I know that she fancies me, but she says it's not right.
She says we'll both know if the time is right. And I ask if it will ever be.
Maybe if I can settle down and establish myself here with a good job and
have some security, it will be time. If
and when they grant me asylum. But
I will only marry her if she loves me. I
couldn't marry her just to stay in this country. Even if I have to go home.
I will only marry her if she loves me.
I bought her a necklace. From
a crafts shop. Very simple.
Made from different shapes of wooden beads.
It is a "fair trade" shop.
He
returns to his make-up. He checks his watch.
I
have friends. I have friends in the
hostel where I live. We share a fridge. Have
an appliance in common. But special
friends, that's different. I
haven't been in England for that much time.
But there has been one special friend here before Janie. Her name was Mary. She
said her parents called her that because she was born at Christmas, and
Christmas they said is "the season to be Mary".
I asked her what she meant. She
had to explain a couple of times. And
tried to explain to me about the English sense of humour.
Mary asked me about life in my country, but I don't like to talk about
it. I don't often talk about it.
But Janie says that is where my heart is. In
my country. With my wife. With
Tanya. And Janie is right.
She's always right. Really.
She is. It's for her I'm
doing this. All this make-up.
It's alright. It's not women's make-up.
I made a promise to Janie. I
must keep my word.
He
looks in the mirror. Pauses.
Looks again at himself. He
doesn't like what he sees and is despondent.
(To
himself:) So what do you think? How
am I doing?
He
continues with the make-up, and checks in the mirror.
Then he picks up a pole, stands it vertically on the ground, and puts an
arm round it (at shoulder height).
Me
and Janie under the cherry blossom tree. One
month ago. In Janie's garden. You
see! It's in full blossom.
Pink against the blue of the sky. And
beneath it is a carpet of pink petals, and green where the grass and weeds point
through. And the dandelions and the daisies. Janie is next to me. Isn't
she slim! (Pointing to the pole:)
Six inch waist! There's a
cool breeze that brings smells of over-cooked burgers from the barbecue next
door. And all sorts of couples stroll past the back gate licking
their ice-creams. Cups and saucers
chink irritatingly in the coffee shop at the corner.
Birds that have been waking me up far too early every morning have flown
over to Janie's house and are still chattering away, and Janie's cat is no-where
to be seen to shut them up. It's
the most beautiful day. I feel
happy. Until Janie is telling me
that she is going away. Her teacher
has asked her to go away. To teach
people how to meditate. She has to
go. Her teacher said. Her spiritual teacher. He
says in life we must do service to others. This is her service.
And she wants to go. Far
away. She is taking extended leave
from work. She can let me stay in
her house while she's gone. But I
don't want to. And I won't. She'll telephone when she can, but it's very expensive.
And she'll be back before I know it.
She says. And she says I'll
probably get up to all sorts of things when she's not around.
Ha-ha-ha-ha. She says it's
best if we have time apart. She
says she thinks I'm a very special person, and she'll think of me every day. I ask her: "Do you love me?" Of course she does. She
says. She loves everybody.
But she tells me I have to have a life of my own.
And so does she.
He
holds the pole horizontally, waist height.
A
week ago. Barrier at the airport.
She shows her British passport. Janie
can travel to any country in the world.
And she's off far away. To a
land of...
(Maybe
he uses the pole to illustrate...)
...Giraffes
...Elephants ... Parasols in the sun...
With a sensible suitcase, half filled with sun tan cream factor 25, which
she bought last year when Boots the chemist had a special offer, and she thought
it would last her 25 years she bought so much because the offer was so good and
its new, water resistant, easier to rub in, fragrance free, in the green plastic
bottle with a flip open cap and I know as she walked away that she didn't love
me in the way I need her to. She
said "Jai Guru Dev". She
always says Jai Guru Dev. She
looked into my eyes, and kissed my forehead.
Showed her passport. And
disappeared off to the duty free shops before they disappear too.
"Peace be with you, Janie. Look
after yourself". She turned,
waved at me, laughed. "Ha-ha-ha-ha".
Disappeared round the corner. Then
popped her head back round. Waved
at me. Laughed. And
disappeared. Three minutes later.
I'm still at the barrier. She
popped her head round the corner again. She
sees I'm still there. She calls
out: "I'm going now. Take good
care of yourself. Jai Guru
Dev"...
He
stands staring as he imagines her walking away.
Maybe he closes his eyes when imagining.
Why?
When I'm only just getting to know you.
I am so helpless. I want to
push that barrier down. I can only
watch, and smile, and show I am happy for you.
And know that every night, and every day, I shall be dreaming of you. In my mind, as it's always been.
I shall survey your face, touch your forehead, stroke my fingers in your
greying hair. Look so deeply into
your green speckled eyes that I shall see into your soul and right round the
back of it. I shall see so clearly
every crack in your make-up where the wrinkles are when you've smiled and
giggled. I shall feel your breath,
your kalamata olive and garlic breath. And
hear your hiccups after you've eaten too quickly because you have work to do.
I love you, Janie, until it hurts in my chest.
And now you can just walk away. You
have to love me. You have to love
me how I want you to love me. Tell
me what I can do. Because I am at
the airport saying goodbye. The barrier stands between us. With security men
checking documentation. Security
men who keep me in my place. Yes.
I have been here before. Not
able to go where I want to. Seen
real barriers that stop real people from living.
Real torture, persecution, prejudice.
Barriers that separate families and friends. Control the so called undesirable. I have been here before...
He
steps forward over the pole on the floor into the front that represents his
country. He is still pushing at the
barrier rail. All the time that he
is in his country, he never looks at or talks to the audience.
This is his own very private world.
(Shouting:)
Freedom? What freedom?
(Shouting:) Down with the Government!
Fairness and justice for all! Down
with the Government! Face up to the
oppressors! Fight for what we
believe in! Down with the
oppressors! (Talking:) No. (Pause) A
peaceful demonstration. In the palm
tree lined avenue. It is a peaceful
demonstration. Outside the Local
Government Building. It is
six o'clock. We're starting
demonstrating. I'm with my friend.
It is a peaceful demonstration. Because
our local leader, our Opposition party leader is being detained.
Without a police warrant. Being
held indefinitely. We want people to know.
We have our placards. We
want everyone to know. The press
aren't here yet. From six o'clock
we said to them, we are having our demonstration.
Now it is 7.30. Two truck
loads of Police and Special Reserve Units arrive.
They arrive with guns. With
batons. Shields.
We have our demonstration. In
our shirt sleeves. We have nothing.
We stand our ground. They
sit. They wait.
They sit near the entrance of the Government offices.
They sit thinking, stupid thoughts, thinking that we might storm the
building. One of the big Government ministers is due here.
We are going to deliver a letter of protest.
We, 250 people. It is now
half past nine. The Minister is
arriving. The crowd push forward.
I am pushed against the barrier. I
have been chosen, with my friend, to deliver the letter.
We jump over the barrier. We
walk over to the entrance of the Government building.
We are about to go in. We
are surrounded. We are beaten. With batons. We
are dragged by our collars. We see
and hear the Special Reserve Units attack the demonstration. We are dragged to a blue police van. They arrest thirty people.
We are taken to the police station.
We pass over our money. Our
valuables. Everything in our
pockets. One by one we are asked
why didn't we get a police permit for our demonstration. And we say we are a peaceful demonstration: we don't need a
police permit. We did nothing
wrong. We are taken into a big
room, and told one by one to take off all our clothes. And we are given rag
clothing in return, that has been used and used, and hasn't been washed, and we
are taken to another room where we are fingerprinted, our pictures taken, we are
given numbers. And then we are
taken, each of us to a different location.
I know nothing more about my colleagues.
I
am hungry. None of us have
eaten. We came straight from our
work or our studies. "Can I
have some food?" "I'm
hungry. I want some food".
They are moving me to another room.
They Push me to the floor. It
is cold. They tell me to sit up.
There are four of them. There
is only a dim light. There is a fan
spinning above my head. They start slapping me, hitting me, asking me questions,
why was I so brave to fight against the Government.
And I say I speak in the name of truth.
And they accuse me of being a public enemy.
But I love my country. They say I am not fit to live in my country, that I am a dog
begging for pity. They strip me.
Tie my hands and legs. Piss
on the rags they gave me as clothes. Then
swat me with them. Beat me.
Swat me. Beat me.
Kick me in my ankles. Until
I am so drained. And I pass
out.
I
wake early in the morning. I see the sun come down through a small window.
I see the sun. I feel so cold. The
fan is still running. "I want
some food". "I am so
cold". (Shouting:)
"I want some food".
No one comes. I pass out.
In
the afternoon they come. They wear black masks. They
interrogate. They accuse.
I deny. They want a
confession. They want a statement
that I will not do it again. Do
what? I am weak and hungry.
I am not coherent. I tell them to go to hell.
One of them says I am so brave. And
he takes out his pistol. Points it
at my head. Asks for my
confession. I say no.
I am so fearful. He fires. And
again. He asks.
I say no. He fires.
And again. And again.
No bullets. They laugh at
me. They laugh and laugh.
Laugh as they strip my nerve. Laugh
and strip me of my dignity. For
two days they keep coming, waking me, laughing at me.
Every few hours waking me. The
third day comes, I sign their statement. Saying
if I ever go to a political demonstration again, I will face longer periods of
detention. They give me my front
door key and my valuables. They
keep my money. They give me
some food.
He
stops. Pauses.
Composes himself. Then slowly crosses back into the "England" side of
the pole and continues with his make-up for a while in silence, getting more and
more agitated, until he can't hold in his irritation any more.
While talking, he picks up a pole, and starts to hold it aggressively...
In
my country, I don't know about your country, but in my country, our Prime
Minister has gone far too far. What tourists see is only the outside of it.
What they don't see is the inside where people are struggling.
I know of organisations where leaders, my friends, have been detained for
years without trial. In accordance
with the needs of National Security. And
in detention, they have been put into a special type of program, run by people
with special skills. Skills in
destroying memories and hearts and souls. And
when eventually they let out these people, they don't know their families any
more. They don't know their
families. They don't know their
friends. Sometimes I wake up at
night in a cold sweat. Sometimes I
dream of things that happened to me like they happened to me yesterday.
There
was a time when I did support the Government.
I did become a member of the party.
Once. When I was barely a
man. And because of my enthusiasm,
so did my friends. So did Tanya.
I joined because I love serving our people.
Speaking the heart of the people. Some
play politics as a dirty game. That
will never be true for me. In
politics you can be honest with people.
In my district, I became Youth leader for the party.
In my district, I organised membership, I involved people.
But I found barriers. Corruption.
So much corruption. Money
everywhere buying corruption. As
a child, I watched my parents and cousins, struggling, working all the hours
that God gave them, then putting their money and trust into our Country. And when I became involved in politics, I see how they have
been betrayed. I saw the party just
promoting Government propaganda. Engaging
in back stabbing. My party played
me for a fool. So I turned my back
on the party. And the party said I
was a traitor to my people. A
traitor to everybody who had built me up.
That I could have been a political leader.
But not now. Not any more.
Tanya
came with me. She left the party.
She became my wife. One
night coming home, she was assaulted in our village.
By a gang of men in a car that had government number plates. And let me tell you, if someone in your village is beaten up
by outsiders, who come then go in a car registered to the government, that
someone very quickly becomes an outcast.
He
pauses. Realising he is holding the
pole threateningly, he drops it, and backs away from it.
He pauses until he calms down.
My
first special friend in this country was Mary.
I told you about Mary. We
both used to go to Central library every day to read the newspapers.
In the circular reading room with the embarrassing echo. She checked the lottery numbers, looked at the pictures of
Manchester United footballers, checked the horoscopes: hers and David Beckham's.
She noticed me first on a day I had wind.
Which suddenly came on from no-where, because I still hadn't found an
appropriate cheap diet. And because
of the echo, my wind reverberates through the travel section and back.
Although no-one could tell where it came from, and everyone kept their
heads down after the first few rounds, I can't cope with people looking at me.
I am afraid that if I try to leave, I'll make an exhibition of myself,
and never be able to face Central Library again.
Mary was sitting opposite me, and she knew it was me.
She'd been watching me. And
I haven't noticed her until now. She'd
been having fits of silent giggles. And
just as I can't take any more of her, she left and winked at me, and smiled at
me kindly.
The
next time she was in the library, she came over to talk to me.
She was doing a project at school. In
her sixth form. She wanted to know
all about me and where I am from. I
tell her very little. Until I get
to know her better. Which I do.
And even then I tell her very little.
She invited me to her house. I
meet her parents. We all get on
very well. They had bought in
special biscuits. And they showed
me plans for the extension they were building.
I tell her mother that I am falling in love with Mary. And the mother just smiled.
But Mary stopped coming to the library.
Some evenings, I wait outside her house in case she'd come by.
And one day I knock, and Mary's father told me that Mary didn't want to
see me any more. But I don't
believe him. So I keep waiting for
her. I occasionally catch a glimpse
of her but she never saw me. One
summer's evening, when the sun had been shining all day, and I have walked miles
and miles, watching the courting couples in Castlefield and by the canal and in
St Anne's Square walking hand in hand, and I just want to say hello to a
friendly face, I go down to Mary's house, and the police come along and arrest
me.
I
am taken to an antiseptic police station, to a windowless, sound proofed and
cramped little interview room, with two policemen with crisp white shirts and
trimmed moustaches, and a solicitor who couldn't understand what I am saying.
I am left for the night in a stuffy, stifling, sanitised cell, with
clinical tiles, and a little metal button on the wall that I keep on pressing
until the officers tired of me and warned me to stop, and a skylight of opaque
glass that had locked in all the day's heat.
I go to sleep dripping of sweat, stripped to my underpants, lying on the
plastic blue mat on a wooden bench, staring up at the grey ceiling and misty
darkness beyond the skylight, so desperately lonely.
And scared how this will affect my application for asylum.
Only to be told the next morning that they weren't pressing charges.
As long as I understand that if I ever go and wait near Mary's house
again, I will face longer periods of detention.
They gave me back my front door key and my valuables.
And my money. And some food.
And my case worker came to the police station to collect me.
I
have never seen Mary again. But
what I do see in Central Library are leaflets advertising a free course on
meditation. With a free lunch and afternoon refreshments.
So I go along. And soon after comes punting in Cambridge, the Palm House at
Kew, the boat trip on Windermere.
Janie
always showed me such compassion and warmth as she teased out of me tales of my
experiences. I say "I'm eighty
per cent better now. Maybe the last twenty per cent will always be with me".
And she'd say "It doesn't have to be.
If you could forgive them". She
wanted to help me to forgive them. Those
who had done me wrong. In the
prison. In the detention centre.
In the government. So that I could move on.
To a better place. She'd
always bring up the same thing time and time again.
But I can't forgive them. And
what about those people I have wronged? Who
I can't see, who I can't ask to their face for them to forgive me.
My mother and father and brother and sister back home, whose lives I have
put in danger. And my dear Tanya. "Don't give up", Janie said as she told me again to
forgive those who have hurt me. And
what if I have to go back home again? If
I've got no choice. And end up
having to face them again. And I
have to go through it all again. No,
Janie, I haven't given up. Still I
am determined to change the world. If
I'd given up I would have been dead a long time ago. Janie doesn't understand.
Janie never understands. She
thinks everything will be better for me if I join the Liberal Democrats.
How can I forgive? She says I must learn to laugh again. How can I laugh? After
letting people down so badly, how can I laugh?
After knowing what they did to my wife, how can I let anyone see me
laugh. And when we argue, this is
what we argue about. People
don't know what a hard life is. Not
people like her. They seek to avoid
suffering, and they seek out their pleasures.
In my country. In this
country. People don't know what it
is to be free. Really free.
Nothing in this world comes easily.
We can make things happen, whether they are good or bad.
We can make things happen. At
least there she agrees with me.
The
day before she leaves is a really nice day.
The sun shone for us. And we
have another picnic. In Castleton
in Derbyshire. Sitting on the wall
of the castle on the hill that overlooks the village.
She made apple sandwiches with sugar in them.
And sandwiches with peanut butter and strawberry jam arranged side by
side in stripes. All on Hovis.
With crusts on. She made rice krispy cakes covered in orange flavoured
chocolate. And we drank Tizer and munched on ready salted crisps.
All the things that reminded her of being a child, that she wanted to be
reminded of before going away. Then
she practised her Tai Chi on the grass in the castle, putting on a show for a
group of giggling school children out on a day trip.
She was so elegant and graceful and
flowing and loving and gentle. She
took me for a cream tea at a prim and proper cream tea shop.
Where they looked at us strangely. And
Janie looked back at them strangely. And then she dashed to the toilet because
everything had gone straight through her. All
the sugar and the fat and the bubbles she wasn't used to.
And she came back and laughed. She
said it was funny. But she knows I
can't laugh.
Janie
never gives up. She thought for a
while, all the time looking at me quizzically, trying to catch my eye.
Then suddenly she became very serious and exclaimed: "It's just come
to me! Dress up as a clown",
she said. "No one will know it
is you. And stand on a street
corner a week from today. And every
week until I come back. And laugh.
And lots of people will laugh with you.
And you will see their humanity. And
they will see yours. It will help
you forgive, and be forgiven. I
promise," she said.
But I told her I can't laugh. I've
forgotten how to laugh. "When
I was a girl", she said, "I used to have two budgerigars.
And one day it suddenly seemed wrong to keep them in a cage.
So I opened the cage door, and waited.
And waited. I tried shooing
them out. But they had forgotten
how to fly. So I took them to my
friend who lived in a tower block, and threw them off the fourteenth floor. And after a little while, they flew back up, onto the
balcony." She paused, and
looked me in the eye. "They
hadn't forgotten. They were just
pretending". "And did
they fly back into the cage?" I ask. Her
face became serious. I have never
seen her so serious. She said,
"Look at the time. You
see what time it is? Every week
from today, at exactly this time, I will stand on a street corner wherever I am,
and laugh. I give you my word.
And if you choose to, you can laugh with me.
We can cross this world with laughter.
We can change this world with laughter.
I give you my word".
Pause.
The
day she went away, I meet her at her house.
Before we leave for the airport, she gave me this suitcase, and a leaflet
from her teacher called 'Laughing on street corners'.
It says to laugh you don't need a reason.
It says if you can't laugh genuinely, fake it.
It says take a deep breath, stretch your arms out wide, make a big smile,
lean back, and laugh as you breathe out. It
says start with the sounds hah-hah-hah-hah.
And hee-hee-hee-hee. And
hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo. It says it's
easy to do standing up, and in the open air.
Go to all the villages and towns in your area, taking banners, and start
laughing at bus stops, in train stations, on street corners.
For ten minutes at a time.
He
finishes his make-up as much as he feels he needs to.
From the suitcase he takes out a wig and a nose.
He puts them on, looks at his image in the mirror
and looks away quickly.
What
does she know?
He
paces around. Then he kicks the
pole divide between the two countries to the back of the playing area (leaving
the stage as 'his country'). He
becomes immersed in his own world, again not looking at the audience. After
a while, he sinks down and sits on the floor.
You
want my shoes? Takes my shoes.
He
removes his shoes, hands them up to an imaginary guard, and lets them drop on
the floor...
How
long this time? I have endured so
much, I can easily endure this time. Stand
up to the people who have the power. They
can take my flesh, they can take my body, they will never take my name.
Hours. Days.
Where the rooms stink, without fresh air.
Every two or three days maybe given some food.
Some porridge. Porridge.
What sort of porridge? A
little porridge, a lot of water. And
sometimes in the porridge a cockroach. They
make me eat it. I have to eat it.
Even if I don't want to eat. I
am forced to eat. Cockroaches. Spiders. Lizards.
They put them in the porridge just to make you think "give up, give
up". I never give up in life.
One thing my family taught me. My
father never gave up. Not on his family, not on his career. He never gave up so he could give me an education.
He is my inspiration now. Father,
where did I go wrong? What did I do
wrong? How much more will I have to
endure. What will happen to my
friends and family. When will they
caution my father again? For doing
nothing wrong. Fining him his hard
earned money? And intimidating my
mother again in the road by our house? When
will they promote my sister only to demote her the next day or the next day?
My
shirt? Take my shirt.
He
removes his shirt. Throws it aside.
Two
weeks. Scars on my body where they cut me with razor blades.
And in the hand. Burnt with
a hot iron rod. I've got a gash in
my face. I have lost a few of my
teeth. Remain level headed.
Reason with the authorities. Tell
the guards torture doesn't work. It
doesn't work. Tell them violence begets violence.
They
force me to drink water until my stomach is bloated.
Then hit me until I bring all the water out again.
They give me something to drink and it makes me so weak, I am unable to
control my body. They hang me up
side down from the ceiling for a day. They make me shit on the floor and pick
the excrement up with my hands.
I
hear the screams of women who are arrested and tortured.
I dread that one day I shall hear Tanya screaming.
Because they put the hot iron rod inside a woman's vagina and burn her
womb.
My
trousers? Have my trousers.
Here!
He
removes his trousers, and throws them down.
Two
months. I've got a line on my leg.
Here, a line on my leg. They
drop a gas cylinder, they just
simply drop a gas cylinder on my leg. And
tell me not to scream. To keep my
mouth shut. And the tears run down
from my eyes.
I
am made to sit on ice for a hours. My
groin and my buttocks are numb. I
am passing out all the time. I
urinate all over the place because I can't control it.
I can't control my shit. They
rub my face in it and make me eat it. And
then I am unable to eat anything for days.
They make me crawl on the floor. With
somebody sitting on my back. And
whip me. They call me names.
Black dog, pariah, son of a bitch, bastard;
they insult my parents.
Remain
level headed. Reason with the
authorities. Tell the guards that
violence begets violence. They tell me to lick the floor clean. They make me lick the floor clean.
He
licks the floor.
He bundles himself into a small ball.
How
long? Watch the door!
From the corner. Don't move.
Watch the door! No! Mind
wanders. Narrow cell. Cold floor. Paint
peeling. No! Mind wanders. Noises.
Banging. Breath heavy. Head aching. No!
Breath slowed right down. No!
Rage. Bastards.
Can't cry out. Want to cry out. Can't
cry out. For fear.
Fear what they'll do. To me.
They're probably watching. No!
Feel my skin. Pinch my skin. Legs gone numb. Don't
move. Body stiffening up.
Want to curl up and die. No!
Mustn't say that. No!
Curl up and sleep. Sleep.
Not die. Not die.
Not die. Not die.
Sleep. Not die.
No! Neck hurts.
Don't move. Heavy eyes.
Must keep going. Leaning
back. Against the wall.
They're watching. Sinking lower. On
to the floor. Can't resist.
Whatever. They're going to
do it whatever. Noise.
Someone coming. Clenched
teeth. Hug my body. Stroke
my body. "Who is there?"
No. Mistake.
No-one. Silence.
No. Keys.
Hear keys outside. Someone coming. Footsteps.
Down the stairs. Why is it
quiet? Why? Wait.
Wait. Listen.
Coming nearer. Or going
away? No! Guard comes
in. What does he want? Makes me stand up. Pushes
me against the wall. Lights a
cigarette. Remain level headed.
Reason with them. Violence begets violence.
ABEL
doubles over in pain as he is repeatedly hit.
And sinks to the floor.
Lie
still. Don't tell.
Don't tell them. They will
never take my name. No, nothing.
Nothing. Cold.
Damp. Clammy.
Cold. Sweaty.
Feel my body. Close my eyes. He'll
go. Away. Food? Yes, I
want food. Yes. When? Something
to tell. What?
My wife? What?
My wife what? Don't believe them. Going
to release me? Don't believe them.
International pressure. What?
Don't believe. Car crash
victim? My wife?
No! My wife?
Dead? Car crash?
Dead in a car crash?
He
is motionless for a while. When he
moves he is in the present again.
Tanya!
Remember the good times. The times
we went to rallies together and tried to change the world.
The times we took a pedal boat on the lake, and sat and watched the
flocks of birds fly over. The days
we flew our kite high into the sky. The
day we bought you a wooden necklace. The
times we laughed and laughed and laughed. The
times we talked important nothings. The
day we were married. The times we
made love. I love you so much.
I always loved you. I never
stopped loving you. And I will
always strive to change the world for you.
For us. You should have left
me, you should have gone away. Forgive
me, Tanya. Forgive me please! I
never saw you to ask you to forgive me.
If
he is going to put on a clown's costume he does so now.
He
takes out and unfurls the banner from the suitcase.
It reads: "For Tanya".
He attaches the banner to the poles.
He tries to step forward to the "street corner" (possibly in
the audience), but stops. And is
surprised to find that he can't proceed...
(To
himself:) I can't. I am so afraid. This
isn't a face I can hide behind. It's
not like the faces I have worn in the past.
If I go out there, I can't turn back.
I'm not ready. I can't show
the world that part of me I've hidden since childhood.
I am afraid. Of letting go.
Of being alone. Of losing Tanya forever.
I have survived so much, and this is what I am afraid of.
That if I am a man without a cause to fight, you will judge me, hate me,
because I am nothing. A stranger, who is daring to show his face.
ABEL
withdraws into himself. He sits on
the floor. He is still and silent.
Maybe a clock strikes.
The
time?
ABEL
is thrown into confusion, panics, then gets up.
I've
always been fighting for someone else. This
is fighting for myself. I must.
Tanya forgive me, and let me start to say goodbye.
ABEL
prepares to step out again.
I
love you. I love you, Tanya.
And I don't know how to reach you. I
don't know how to. How to ask you
to forgive me. So I have to try
this. To reach out across the
world. To find my humanity once
again. To change this world with
laughter.
He
walks out to a "street corner", probably in the middle or back of the
audience. He stands, holding the
poles one in each hand, he stretches his arms out to his sides, takes a deep
breath, leans back... and fakes the laugh repeatedly:
Hah-hah-hah-hah,
hee-hee-hee-hee, hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo. Hah-hah-hah-hah,
hee-hee-hee-hee, hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo. (Repeatedly
as necessary)
The
sound of Janie doing the same - faking laughter - is heard.
She fakes it until she starts laughing uncontrollably.
ABEL cannot laugh. His faking turns to tears. He sobs his heart out. Every time he tries to laugh, it turns to tears. Until he gives up trying to laugh and just cries.
END