An Oak Tree
Page 6
Bach stops.
FATHER:
You’ve woken Marcy.
HYPNOTIST:
I need to clear this up. Pack the car. Could I have the microphone please.
The FATHER hands the HYPNOTIST the microphone.
All this stuff is mine, the speakers – I suppose I should sell it. I sold that Focus.
FATHER:
Do I stay here? Do I stay sitting?
HYPNOTIST:
I don’t know.
FATHER:
You said I was doing brilliantly.
HYPNOTIST:
You are.
FATHER:
You said we could stop if I wasn’t enjoying it.
HYPNOTIST:
That was just a thing to say, to encourage you.
FATHER:
I want to stop.
HYPNOTIST:
Listen.
She just stepped out. That’s all. I went round to the front of the car. You could still hear the music from her headphones.
FATHER:
She could really play.
HYPNOTIST:
I’m sure she could.
FATHER:
I loved to listen to her, watch her fingers.
HYPNOTIST:
I have to go, Andy. Or they’ll kick us out.
FATHER:
And then tonight!
I couldn’t play the piano before tonight. Didn’t know I could play.
I was good, wasn’t I?
HYPNOTIST:
Stand up.
Stand here.
The HYPNOTIST positions the FATHER in relation to the piano stool and takes away his script.
You’re cold in this rain.
HYPNOTIST:
Three, two, one.
The sound of the roadside.
The HYPNOTIST is there, holding a chair on his hip, as he would a five-year-old girl.
HYPNOTIST:
Are you coming home?
Come home, it’s fucking freezing.
The HYPNOTIST may feed the FATHER the following instruction: ‘Don’t repeat anything now. Just listen to what you say.’
You say, ‘I can’t leave’.
I say, ‘She’s not here’. You say, ‘You can’t see’.
I say, ‘Where then? Where is she?’ You say, ‘Here. Here’.
I say, ‘It’s a tree, Andy. It’s just a fucking tree’. You say, ‘No, you’re wrong’.
I say, ‘It’s alright, Marcy. Daddy’s poorly.
Oh, you’re frozen, you poor thing. Let’s get you home.
I say, ‘Look, she’s lost her sister. She’s not going to lose her fucking father, too.
I say, ‘We all have to deal with this. Cope with this. We have to get on. See things for what they are.’
Point at the piano stool.
Say, ‘Look, Dawn, look’.
FATHER:
Look, Dawn, look.
HYPNOTIST:
Say, ‘It’s not a tree anymore.’
FATHER:
It’s not a tree anymore.
HYPNOTIST:
Say, ‘You’re not looking’.
FATHER:
You’re not looking.
HYPNOTIST:
Say, ‘I’ve changed it into Claire’.
FATHER:
I’ve changed it into Claire.
HYPNOTIST:
I say, ‘Our girl is dead, love. She’s dead’.
I say, ‘That is a tree, I am your wife, this is your daughter, that is a road. This is what matters. This. This is what we have to deal with. This.’
The sound of a lorry thundering past.
The roadside noise ends.
The HYPNOTIST gets the FATHER to sit on the chair that was playing Marcia and hands him a script. The HYPNOTIST then sits on the piano stool.
HYPNOTIST:
Is it how you imagined it?
FATHER:
What?
HYPNOTIST:
Doing this.
FATHER:
The whole coming on stage thing?
HYPNOTIST:
Yes, the whole thing.
FATHER:
I didn’t really know what to expect.
HYPNOTIST:
Why did you agree?
FATHER:
It sounded interesting.
HYPNOTIST:
Don’t you think it’s a bit contrived?
FATHER:
Hard to tell from here.
HYPNOTIST:
Of course.
Have you seen any of my other work?
FATHER:
No.
Also –
Dawn says it’s as though there’s been two deaths. She says if I don’t sort my head out soon she’s taking Marcy.
So I ought to do something.
I think it’s because I never went to the morgue.
If I’d been able to see her for one last time. If I’d been able to say goodbye.
If I could just say goodbye.
And when I saw your name on a poster.
HYPNOTIST:
You thought I could help with that?
FATHER:
Say.
Say, ‘I’m sorry’.
HYPNOTIST:
I’m sorry.
FATHER:
Say, ‘I have to pack up’.
HYPNOTIST:
I have to pack up.
You know there wasn’t a piano.
FATHER:
What?
HYPNOTIST:
Earlier. There wasn’t really a piano.
FATHER:
Yes. I played it. I played it earlier on.
HYPNOTIST:
No. That was just me playing some music and saying that there was.
FATHER:
No.
I really played it.
Scene 8
Music plays, loud. Carmina Burana ‘O Fortuna’.
As the music plays, the HYPNOTIST gives a series of instructions to the FATHER.
HYPNOTIST:
These are the last speeches in the play. We give them directly to the audience. Take your time. Make them your own. We start when the music stops.
‘O Fortuna’ cuts out. Both actors read from scripts directly out to the audience. As the two actors read, the Bach begins to play, quietly.
HYPNOTIST:
When I say so, you’re driving.
It’s dusk. The sky is purple, blue, orange, yellow, grey.
To your right, the rim of the world is blackening.
You’re on your way to somewhere. You’re not too tired.
You shift your weight. You shift your weight again.
You glance at the mirror. You catch sight of the upper left-hand corner of your face.
You’re 51.
You’re driving forward in space and time.
FATHER:
When I say so, you’re walking.
It’s dusk.
You’re on your way to somewhere. You shift your weight. You shift your weight again.
You’re 12.
The air is cold. You’re listening to music. You’re not too tired.
You’re walking forward in space and time.
HYPNOTIST:
When I count to three, you’re cornering. You’re reaching for a cigarette.
Nod your head if you understand.
FATHER:
When I count to three you’re dreaming of winter and supper and Futurama. Your cheeks are flushed with the cold.
Nod your head if you understand.
HYPNOTIST:
When I click my fingers, you’re swerving. Your hands are gripping the steering wheel, your foot is jabbing hard on the brakes.
FATHER:
When I click my fingers, you’re stepping off the kerb.
HYPNOTIST:
When I say sleep, a girl is there. Her eyes are wide open.
When I say sleep, she looks at you.
When I say sleep everything slows.
FATHER:
> When I say sleep a car is coming towards you. You’re listening to music.
When I say sleep, the music stops.
HYPNOTIST:
When I say sleep, she lifts her hand up.
When I say sleep, you say goodbye.
FATHER:
When I say sleep, everything stops
HYPNOTIST:
When I say sleep, you’re free again.
FATHER:
When I say sleep, you’re free.
FATHER:
When I say sleep, everything stops.
HYPNOTIST:
Sleep.
FATHER:
Sleep.
HYPNOTIST:
When you open your eyes.
FATHER:
When you open your eyes.
The music passes through into the First Variation, which plays forcefully through to an end.
Blackout.
The End.
by the same author
Tim Crouch: Plays One
The Author, England, An Oak Tree, My Arm.
9781849431095
Adler & Gibb
(and the text of What Happens to the Hope at the End of the Evening)
9781783190928
England: A Play for Galleries
9781840027990
I, Cinna (The Poet)
9781849434034
I, Shakespeare
9781849431262
The Author
9781840029505
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