Tom at the Farm
Page 3
AGATHA
(fascinated) His shirts are like tissue paper. His pants are made of real wool. All his clothes are carefully folded.
TOM
She unpacked my suitcase.
AGATHA
Everything fancy, like for a wedding.
TOM
She hung my clothes up on hangers.
AGATHA
I stole some of his hand cream. Just a bit. It smells good.
FRANCIS
He’s a good worker.
AGATHA
Glad to hear it.
FRANCIS
He pats the cows.
AGATHA
You must be glad to have some company?
FRANCIS
(sharply) I’m used to being on my own.
Beat.
AGATHA
If you left …
FRANCIS
Stop!
AGATHA
The figures …
FRANCIS
Stop.
AGATHA
We’ll never be able to afford the laser milker.
FRANCIS
We’ll see.
AGATHA
Someday, we’re going to have to sell.
FRANCIS
I’ll always be here. You know that. Always.
AGATHA
(without moving) I can’t give you a hug. I know that I should these days. But I can’t.
FRANCIS
Maybe you could just not say it.
TOM joins them.
AGATHA
Tom! Tell me what you’d like to eat.
TOM
No trout!
AGATHA
I’ll thaw you a steak!
She takes TOM’s hands, turns them over, touches the cuts on his wrists, on his stomach, and his neck.
“If I don’t see the marks on his hands, if I don’t put my finger in the wound, if I don’t put my hand on his side, I will not believe … Touch the marks. Put your hands on my wounds. Blessed are they who believe without seeing.”
FRANCIS
Amen, Mum. Amen.
AGATHA
(to FRANCIS) You should take him into the village. Show him around. Go to the tavern. Afterwards, you can take him down the cypress road. My boys drove me there once. We did 160. The broken yellow lines became one streak, we were going so fast.
FRANCIS
You loved it, didn’t you?
AGATHA
Never so scared in my life!
FRANCIS
Go get dressed. If you’re a good girl, we’ll get it up to 170.
AGATHA
Let Tom have supper first.
FRANCIS
They tell me you look at your bum in the mirror?
AGATHA
Francis!
FRANCIS
“Baby-butt.” I thought of calling you Baby-butt!
TOM attacks him without warning. Kicks him in the ribs. FRANCIS takes the blow, painful but pleasant.
There, caught my man!
He grabs TOM. Squeezes his neck in the crook of his arm.
AGATHA
Enough of that, boys! Not in the kitchen!
FRANCIS
Gotcha! Baby-butt.
AGATHA
Go wrestle outside.
Surprisingly, TOM gets the upper hand.
FRANCIS
Look how handsome he is when he’s mad.
They fight for real.
TOM
You dragged me, tied by the wrists, on my belly for two kilometres! Apologize! Apologize!
TOM bites him on the neck.
FRANCIS
He bit me! He bit me, the goddamn fag!
AGATHA
The what?
FRANCIS
(realizing what he said) Manner of speaking. That’s all. He bit me!
TOM
White teeth in purple flesh!
FRANCIS
You see that, Mum?
AGATHA
I don’t talk to boys who swear.
AGATHA hands TOM a bowl of soup.
I thawed some barley soup.
TOM
They eat barley soup here.
AGATHA
With bacon.
TOM
With bacon.
AGATHA
Francis, help him eat.
FRANCIS
Never.
AGATHA
Can’t you see that he can’t hold his spoon?!
FRANCIS
Never!
AGATHA takes the bowl of soup and feeds TOM by the spoonful. After a while:
AGATHA
Tell me more about her.
TOM
(annoyed) All I can see is images from ads. A woman in a black corset. A woman swinging in a birdcage. A dishevelled woman on a raft. A woman with big tits posing with race-car drivers.
AGATHA
An easy woman?
TOM
Anyone would have been easy with him.
AGATHA
(delighted) Did you hear that, Francis?
FRANCIS
Every word.
TOM
He was a brute who could recite poetry.
AGATHA
“A brute who could recite poetry!” You should talk like Tom.
FRANCIS
Not sure ’bout that.
AGATHA
Women like men who speak well.
FRANCIS
I heard she was crazy about pasta.
TOM
(taken off guard) Ravioli. Tortellini. Spaghetti. Lasagna. You want more? Smothered in sauce, you asshole.
AGATHA
(to TOM) How about you?
TOM
Me? Sure, I like pasta. I’m lost now.
AGATHA
There must be someone special in your life? You never talk about yourself.
TOM
Here? Now? Me? What about me? I’m nothing. I don’t know what to say about me.
FRANCIS
(making fun of TOM) “Me? I don’t know. What about me? Me, I’m nothing. Nothing!” You still want me to talk like him?
TOM
“Take off your undershirt! No. More slowly! Let your briefs slide down your legs. Slowly! More slowly. Your undershirt! Show me your armpits. Raise your arms higher.”
AGATHA
What’s he talking about?
FRANCIS
Beats me.
TOM
“Your hand on your belly. Caress your belly.”
AGATHA
I didn’t even have my son’s address, and he talked to him about intimate things like that?
TOM
“Lie down on the bed. Lick my cock.”
Time stands still.
FRANCIS
(trying to diffuse the tension) She was nasty, eh, Tom? Nasty!
AGATHA
(laughing to mask her embarrassment) Yes, she was nasty!
The three of them laugh.
TOM
Really nasty!
AGATHA
Nasty!
FRANCIS
One nasty lady!
FRANCIS and AGATHA laugh their heads off.
TOM
(exploding) Why don’t I go outside? Why do I say: “Hi, Jeff! Bye, Jeff?” Why don’t I say: “Help, Jeff! Get me out of here, Jeff!” Why don’t I tell her: “I loved your son and your son loved me.”
AGATHA
It feels good to laugh like that.
FRANCIS
You want to go for that ride in the car, Mum?
AGATHA
Good night, Francis.
FRANCIS
Good night.
AGATHA
(kissing TOM) Good night, son.
TOM
Good night.
AGATHA
Could you ask her to come?
TOM
Who?
AGATHA
Nathalie.
Beat.
TOM
I don’t know about that.
&nb
sp; AGATHA
Francis, cook his steak for him.
AGATHA exits. FRANCIS goes over to the ironing board and continues the ironing.
FRANCIS
(worried) You’re good for her.
TOM
I’m not so sure.
FRANCIS
I haven’t seen her laugh like that for ages.
Beat.
You tell the doctor I’m the one who did that to you?
TOM
I told him you brought me there. That’s all.
FRANCIS
That’s why he didn’t ask any questions. I shouldn’t have brought you to the local doctor. I should’ve driven you to the next village over.
TOM
So there is a “next village over”?
FRANCIS
Don’t you wonder why I’m still living here alone with my mother at age thirty? I’ve got everything to make a woman happy. I’ve got a big farm and good looks.
Beat.
I know you think I’m good looking.
TOM
(uncertain) I say yes, he punches me. I say no, he punches me.
FRANCIS
My brother never told you the story of the kid in the tavern?
TOM
What kid?
FRANCIS
The kid I tore apart. Tore apart! That’s what they all said. That’s what I did. There was no trial. It was all settled in cash and in silence. I was sixteen. He was fourteen. He was wearing white jeans, a green T-shirt. I put both of my hands in his mouth and pulled it open. Wide open. Until it tore. They didn’t say “beaten.” They didn’t say “injured.” They said “torn apart.” I made my mother cry. My father, mute. People still talk about it in the village. In the whole county. A new story. Every day. The boy has a new nose. New lips. He left town. He couldn’t stand being the torn-apart monster with the fake nose. All the girls around here are scared of me. What mother would let her daughter go out with the guy who tears faces apart?
There was this one girl at the dancing class. I had even bought her a present. A pretty little top made of silk. My brother dragged me along with him. He wanted me to have a girlfriend. Ballroom dancing, line dancing, cha-cha-cha, and rumbas. They all wanted to dance with the two cute farm boys. We were the most popular. Then, one night … with my kid brother at the tavern, on our way home from the dance class … Around here, you start going to the tavern when you’re twelve … the kid in the white jeans and the green T-shirt pulled me aside, with this scary look in his eyes: “I gotta talk to you about your brother. It’s touchy.” My little brother was watching us, looking worried. I make the kid repeat what he said: “Your little brother … it’s touchy.” Then I realized what he wanted to talk about. I knew because of the drawings and the poems under my brother’s bed, but how could he know? Did that mean that everyone knew? Did that mean everyone was laughing at us behind our backs? In a hick town like this, anything that isn’t normal gets multiplied by twenty.
“Your little brother … it’s touchy.” It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. My eyes rolled back like a cow that’s been stunned. All I can remember is my hands in his mouth. And the sound coming from deep down in his throat. Bones breaking in his throat. I never went back to the dance class. My brother saw me do it, but I could never tell him why. He was so ashamed of me. He told me he was going to leave town. We fought … often. I threw him into the cow ditch. He left anyway.
FRANCIS hands TOM the work clothes that he’d been wearing previously.
Mum altered them for you. They should fit better now. You can wear your cologne again if you want. Mum likes your cologne. Mum needs to smile. I don’t know how to ask people to stay. I can’t find the right words. Stay.
+ TABLEAU SIX +
Day 5. TOM is wearing the altered work clothes. He is covered in blood. He washes his hands and arms in a deep sink.
In the barn.
TOM
Ecstasy! Pure ecstasy! We helped a cow give birth. We delivered a life. It was powerful. I felt like running into the field and yelling: “I gave birth! Hey, coyotes, I gave birth.” Okay, so I couldn’t do much because of my wrists, but I watched Francis do it all. I encouraged him until he told me to shut up. He put on some big rubber gloves. And he stuck his arm inside the cow, into the cow’s uterus, to grab the calf’s legs, his front legs. He tied a rope around them. Then, he pulled and pulled. For at least an hour. Every time the cow had a contraction, he pulled. Every time the cow had a contraction, I encouraged him. Finally the calf’s head appeared. That’s when he told me to shut up. More contractions. Then out came the whole body, almost in one shot. I yelled. Francis gave me a dirty look, but I yelled even louder. The calf fell on the ground. It broke a leg. A violent welcome into this world. Then the cow licked the placenta. The calf drank the colostrum. Francis said “colostrum.” Francis said a Latin word.
TOM breaks down and sobs.
Then your mother thawed some pies. It was so cool!
FRANCIS
(enters, covered in blood) We can call it “Baby-butt.”
TOM
(inconsolable) So cool! I don’t know what’s come over me! I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m sorry.
FRANCIS
Tom, can you tell me what good your sperm is?
TOM
What?
FRANCIS
What good is your sperm?
TOM
Okay. We’ve just changed the subject.
FRANCIS
Why are you alive if you can’t give life?
TOM
Give me a second …
FRANCIS
I was just thinking about that. When you’re gone, there’ll be nothing left. Your sperm is absolutely useless.
TOM
That’s one way of looking at it.
FRANCIS
Your juice is useless.
TOM
“Juice”? Leave synonyms to the experts!
FRANCIS
What’s the point of your life?
TOM
Since when is tearing faces apart a mission?
FRANCIS
Take off your undershirt.
TOM
What?
FRANCIS helps TOM take off his undershirt.
FRANCIS
Raise your arms higher.
He soaps his body.
Show me your armpits.
TOM
He has your voice.
FRANCIS
You can’t spend your whole life without kids. An old man? No kids? Nobody?
TOM
He has your hands.
FRANCIS
I’m talking to you!
TOM
He has your dark eyes.
FRANCIS
I’m talking to you.
TOM
Back to him. I only care about my own little self, Francis! And producing “my juice” gives me a lot of pleasure.
FRANCIS
Let me show you something.
FRANCIS takes a paper bag out of its hiding place and carefully removes a red blouse, a woman’s blouse.
This was for the girl at the dance classes. The salesgirl told me it was real silk.
TOM
Just looking at it, I can tell it’s real silk.
FRANCIS
Coming from you, I believe it.
TOM
It’s beautiful.
FRANCIS
I never had a chance to give it to her.
TOM
What was her name?
FRANCIS
It is real silk. I’m glad.
FRANCIS pushes a button and music fills the barn.
Twelve speakers, one console, a 2500-watt amp. An eight-CD continuous deck. Everyone thinks it’s samba music, but it’s rumba. The cows love it. I’m sure they give more milk. You keep your arms stiff when you dance the rumba. You stand up straight! A good arm’s-length. The pelvis loose. You move it from right to left, like this. Just the pelvis. One step forwar
d, one back with the same foot. You bend your knees, one after the other. Come on!
TOM
No. No. Choose a cow.
FRANCIS takes him, despite his protests.
FRANCIS
Stand straight. Your arms stiff. That’s it!
TOM
Right to left. Watch the pelvis. Forward. Back.
They start dancing. They are perfect dancers.
FRANCIS
(impressed by TOM’s ease) Hold on! You’re learning too fast.
TOM
Not bad, eh?
FRANCIS
Not bad at all! My little brother must’ve taught you. (joking) He promised he’d only practise with me.
TOM
You’re not bad either.
TOM kisses FRANCIS. At first, FRANCIS doesn’t resist. TOM withdraws.
I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me!
FRANCIS
Come back here!
TOM goes back to FRANCIS, who grabs him by the throat. There is something calm and pleasurable in the strangling for FRANCIS.
FRANCIS
You tell me when to stop! You decide. Give me a signal and I’ll stop. It’s up to you, man. More? You’re tough, man. You’re tough.
TOM nods his head. FRANCIS releases him.
Breathe, for chrissakes, breathe!
TOM catches his breath. The music plays on for a while. FRANCIS turns it off, takes TOM into his arms, and holds him like a pet dog or cat.
You know I’m stuck here because of my mother. I could take off, leave her here on her own, but I can’t do it. Someday, I’ll have to put her in a home. She gets carried away with the religious stuff, but she hasn’t lost her mind yet. I figure I’ve got another five years before it gets out of hand. Five more years. Milking the cows, following the coyotes, watching the corn grow, listening to the dog bark: five years, that’s all. Sometimes I wish for a sudden sickness. The kind where you find her one morning on the kitchen floor. Holding the phone, her mouth wide open, staring into space. I’d be sad because I love her, but at least I wouldn’t have to put her in a home.
TOM and FRANCIS notice AGATHA, who has heard everything.
AGATHA
I was looking for the two of you.
FRANCIS
Where were you?
AGATHA
I was looking for you. (seeing the red blouse) You still haven’t gotten rid of that rag?
FRANCIS
She had a beautiful calf. We baptized it: Baby-butt.
AGATHA
That’s no name for a calf.
FRANCIS
You heard what I was saying just now?
AGATHA
Come eat now. The pies are hot.
FRANCIS
Did you hear what I was saying?
AGATHA
(coldly) Yes! I heard everything and I said Baby-butt is no name for a calf! The pies are hot.
She exits.