A man and a woman stand in front of a burning house. Their small child is with them. From the house we can hear a telephone ringing as it melts (this continues to the end).
Woman- Dear John, it would appear that we are now homeless.
Man- Yes dear. Very much so.
There is the sound of an explosion from offstage; what it is that is exploding, or has exploded, is unclear. The sound of the sea can now be heard as it draws nearer.
Tuesday 25 May 2010
Tuesday 11 May 2010
Running Water: penultimate section, On The Farm
xv.
(parts missing. In brief: still not slept, not since leaving the wife, and an irksome digestive system). There is a cow upon the farm. A quiet animal which they call Inga. When it looks at you with those big brown eyes it has a calming effect. The farmer's daughter, Trudy, milks it at dawn. I think she talks to it as well. I wonder what she says.
xvi.
On the table there is a postcard from the farmer's brother. On the back there is, written, a poem: Dear God/..../There used to be three dots/But now there are four. On the front is the old holidaying sentiment, written in red, WISH YA WERE HERE. The return address is the nearest prison, miles away. Papa never has been able to forgive himself over that, Trudy says as she pours more wine.
xvii.
He falls asleep in the corn and in the morning there is a Scarecrow present on the farm that I have not seen before. Trudy asks me if I have seen her father, I say that I have. She asks me where to find him but I do not say. Flustered, she criticises everything I have ever done since being here and leaves me alone. With my fear I go to hide in the cow shed where Inga treats me kindly.
xviii.
My head is in my arms when I fall asleep but in her hands when I wake. She tells me that I must leave, that her husband is soon back from the war. That I can't I say kisses me we accidentally knocking over a pail of milk in the furore. Before departing she gives me this advice: oh, my dear, try not to be so lonely all the time. I go into the forest. I find Clarence by the stream.
(parts missing. In brief: still not slept, not since leaving the wife, and an irksome digestive system). There is a cow upon the farm. A quiet animal which they call Inga. When it looks at you with those big brown eyes it has a calming effect. The farmer's daughter, Trudy, milks it at dawn. I think she talks to it as well. I wonder what she says.
xvi.
On the table there is a postcard from the farmer's brother. On the back there is, written, a poem: Dear God/..../There used to be three dots/But now there are four. On the front is the old holidaying sentiment, written in red, WISH YA WERE HERE. The return address is the nearest prison, miles away. Papa never has been able to forgive himself over that, Trudy says as she pours more wine.
xvii.
He falls asleep in the corn and in the morning there is a Scarecrow present on the farm that I have not seen before. Trudy asks me if I have seen her father, I say that I have. She asks me where to find him but I do not say. Flustered, she criticises everything I have ever done since being here and leaves me alone. With my fear I go to hide in the cow shed where Inga treats me kindly.
xviii.
My head is in my arms when I fall asleep but in her hands when I wake. She tells me that I must leave, that her husband is soon back from the war. That I can't I say kisses me we accidentally knocking over a pail of milk in the furore. Before departing she gives me this advice: oh, my dear, try not to be so lonely all the time. I go into the forest. I find Clarence by the stream.
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