Contents
Preface
Production History
Characters
Overture
Myths and Legends
Alone
How You Dance
Letters
Green-Breasted Mango
Appeal Denied
Change the World
Can’t Get Clean
Those Bushes Are High
Inside the Barn
Coming Home
It’s About My Bus Pass
Ear Canals
Tough Old Bitch
Who’s Dr. Pierce?
Dogs Listen
Yellow-Rumped Warbler
Cheese Slices and Fat
Dogs are Dirty
Tighten Our Belts / Moving On
Tell You Anything
A Good Sign
Best Cleaner
Bus Pass
Luscious Linda
Round and Round the Tree
Good Little Truck
Interrogations
Bad Doctor
It’s Empty Here
Special Ear Guy
Had It With Doctors
The Guns Are Back
Are You Addicted?
Truth
Get Me On the Table
I’ll Find You
Shedding
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Paradise is dedicated to the memory of my father, Verne D. Flather, 1937–1992, who loved to play.
Preface
Paradise is a play that is close to my heart, my story. My family has lived with mental health and addictions issues for many years. In 1992 my father, a family doctor, was murdered on the street outside his home by a former patient with undiagnosed mental illness.
I began to write, struggling to transcend the personal, in an exploration of human rights, mental illness, addictions, and our own personal complicity in these urgent issues that surround us daily. I didn’t know what I was writing. Only that I was writing in response to personal experiences, and experiences I had only heard about over immense distances of time and space, which haunted me. Paradise covers such distances in the beat and flutter of a bird’s wing.
This approach presented many challenges, as did the scope, with multiple complex stories emerging as I wrote. Would some be shortchanged? Together with my friend and dramaturg DD Kugler, whose support has been invaluable, we wondered how Paradise would even be staged. DD said these questions could only be answered in the rehearsal hall. Enter MT Space, founded by Majdi Bou-Matar, who were touring their stunning show Body 13 to Whitehorse. This incredibly talented ensemble does not usually begin with text. They are committed to intercultural work that speaks to Canada today. We invited them to “stage the impossible” with us at Gwaandak Theatre in a workshop—a scene happening simultaneously in two different parts of the world. It worked. And a rich new artistic relationship has developed, which I am utterly grateful for.
My hope, in sharing Paradise, is that we embrace the parts of ourselves, and our worlds, that are difficult. We live in desperate times. Many of us struggle to maintain our mental health and get by each day, let alone connect meaningfully in our communities. We have a housing emergency, people going hungry, women and girls sexually assaulted, people tortured. We live in a climate of fear: crime, radicalization, terror. We need the beauty of a bird in flight, soaring, landing.
Production History
Paradise premiered at the Yukon Arts Centre in Whitehorse, Yukon, in March 2015 as a production of Gwaandak Theatre and MT Space, in association with the Yukon Arts Centre, with the following cast and creative team:
Khalil: Aldrin Bundoc
Wally: Nicholas Cumming
Rachel: Pam Patel
George: Michael Peng
Director: Majdi Bou-Matar
Stage Manager: Emily Farrell
Set & Properties / Lighting Design: David Skelton
Composer & Sound Design: Jordy Walker
Costume Design: Melaina Sheldon
Technical Director / Tour Technician: Bronwyn Bowlby
Dramaturgy: DD Kugler
Production Manager: Vanessa White
Managing Artistic Director: Patti Flather
General Manager and Marketing Director: Marjolène Gauthier
This production of Paradise was presented at MT Space’s IMPACT festival in Kitchener, Ontario, from September 26 to October 4, 2015, with lighting design by Jenny Jimenez.
MT Space held a three-week development workshop for Paradise in the fall of 2014 in Kitchener, Ontario, and included a public presentation on December 6 at the Courtyard at Bonnie Stuart. It was directed by Majdi Bou-Matar, and performed by Badih AbouChakra, Aldrin Bundoc, Nicholas Cumming, and Pam Patel.
Gwaandak Theatre, MT Space, the Yukon Arts Centre, and Kwanlin Dün Cultural Centre held a workshop and public presentation at the Cultural Centre in Whitehorse in 2014 directed by Majdi Bou-Matar with Badih AbouChakra, Brad Cook, Andrameda Hunter, Jenny Jimenez, Tawiah M’Carty, Pam Patel, David Skelton, and Nick Storring.
Characters
Wally: An unemployed logger.
George: A doctor.
Rachel: George’s daughter.
Khalil: An accused terrorist.
Setting
The recent past:
A Canadian city.
Central America.
Afghanistan.
A faraway prison.
Design Elements
The set must be simple and non-realistic, with minimal props, to allow fluid movement and coexistence between spaces.
Dialogue Notes
A forward slash ( / ) indicates a character cutting in on preceding dialogue.
Overture
Each character, alone and in community, the moment before the bullet flies.
Myths and Legends
rachel: Volcán Cerro Negro, black mountain. I’m at the pinnacle, surrounded by craters. Surfing on a piece of plywood. I’m not freaked, I’m fast. Hurtling pebbles ash air rushing deafening somersault flipping lava skin scraping raw. No jumpsuit, no goggles, this is the cheap tour. Ash sandwich, close your mouth, girl.
Beat.
Listen. They’re clapping for me! For my wipeout, crash and burn. Scraping off who I should be. Peeled clean and new and starting over.
khalil: I’m digging, always digging. Ditches. And planting trees. Apricots, almonds, peaches. They keep us busy. I’m even stronger than when we trained for provincials. And I scored the winning goal in the finals, short-handed, puck flying into the top shelf, Dakota and all the guys piled on top of me right on the ice.
We’re north of Kabul now. Soon we travel to our village. This guy promised to send me a map with directions, to the earth, sand, dust where it happened. I’ll find it, Nana.
Alone
wally: Who wants his walk? Lucky does. Yes, he does.
wally walks his dog Lucky on a specific route with precision.
We’re going a little further, you and me. All the way to the end of the park.
In the same city, george watches birds around the birdhouse in his backyard.
george: Lots of juncos today.
khalil arrives in his family’s village. He takes pictures with his phone.
khalil: A hedgehog left his footprints in the sand.
wally: Go get that squirrel.
george: Red-winged blackbird flitting in the shrubs. Oh. There he goes.
wally: Thattaboy.
george: He’s in the haze
lnut.
wally: You’re speedy. You almost had him.
khalil: Oh, a rat snake came along here. Wiping his hedgehog feet away.
george: Sheila, did you see him?
wally: Lucky. That’s my little guy.
khalil: Old mister lizard. They’re as beautiful as you told me, Nana. Like proud old men sunning themselves.
How You Dance
rachel: We’re in the mountains now studying Spanish. Our homestay grandma gives me extra avocado because she knows I love it. She takes care of the kids. The mother’s a doctor. She hardly ever sees her babies.
We went out last night. The music is incredible. I dance like nothing else matters. Every piece of me flung out, elastic, stretched and shaking. Like my life depends on it.
I wonder how you dance.
Letters
khalil, then the other men, each take, open, and read a letter. khalil’s reveals a map.
khalil: Take the road east towards the US military base. Past the peach orchard. Where the pomegranate stands alone.
khalil wanders away from his group.
wally: / Fuck you!
george: / No, Sheila. Lawyer, why?
wally: You’re not cutting me off.
george: That’s not acceptable.
wally: Who’s there? Turn that racket down. Lucky, where are you? I said turn it off!
george: That’s not okay with me.
wally: I’m right here, buddy. Don’t worry. I’m not taking this lying down.
khalil finds the place where his parents died.
khalil: This is it. The earth.
khalil is arrested.
What’s going on? No. This is a mistake. I’m Canadian. Check my passport. I’m volunteering with Afghans4Tomorrow. There’s a group of us. Where are you taking me?
khalil is left outside, as if handcuffed to a fence.
You’re not leaving me out here. There’s snow on the mountains. Please.
george phones Sheila.
george: This letter. We can’t just walk away from our marriage.
The call ends.
(calming himself) There once was a young man from Leeds
Who swallowed a package of seeds
Great tufts of grass sprouted out of his ass
And his balls were covered in weeds.
Snow falling, day into night, in the cold mountains.
khalil: There’s an eagle soaring, hunting for a mouse to eat.
Beat.
There’s vultures.
Kids lost in the North can shut down their bodies for hours. Even days. Dakota’s uncle ran away from school. He built a snow shelter. You told me about when you were little, Nana, that snowstorm here in the mountains. Curled up warm in that cave.
Wiggle your fingers, stroke the soft feathers. Snowflakes. Is it snowing for you in Canada? Perfect snowflakes.
rachel: I thought Central America would be hot. But it’s freezing at night. We’re so high up. There’s no heating. I need a onesie!
People walk into town before sunrise for market. Every village has its own clothing, like works of art. They don’t speak Spanish, they speak another language called K’iche’. Snow is muqulik sutz’. Tz’ikin means bird. Also woman. And jail.
Green-Breasted Mango
khalil is brought inside the prison for “processing.”
khalil: Can I go now? My group will be wondering.
rachel is still in Central America. She writes on a postcard.
That is my real name.
rachel: Dear Mom and Dad.
khalil: Planting trees.
rachel: And Pooks.
khalil: A reservoir and water system.
rachel: Central America is a blast.
khalil: Different villages. Check with my project leader.
rachel: They love Canadians here.
khalil: I was born in Canada.
rachel: But not all our mining companies.
khalil: My clothes? Why? But, there’s lady soldiers. Stop. No. All right.
khalil begins rapidly taking off his clothes.
rachel: (laughing) Green-breasted mango!
khalil: Please don’t laugh.
rachel gives george the postcard.
george: Pooks.
Beat.
Maybe we should have told you.
Beat.
Birds of Central America. Scarlet-rumped tanager. Squirrel cuckoo. Green-breasted mango.
He laughs.
That’s a good one. I have to show your mom.
There once was a green-breasted mango
Who always wanted to tango . . .
rachel moves away. Prison attire appears for khalil. He puts it on.
khalil: Number 2-7-8-9-1. I’m Khalil. I was only walking by.
Appeal Denied
george is at his office. He makes a phone call.
george: Sheila, this is a mistake.
wally bursts in with a letter.
wally: Doctor Stevenson.
george: Wally! I’m on the phone with the hospital.
wally: / You have to call workers’ comp.
george: (to phone) Don’t hang up. (She has.) Do you have an appointment?
wally: / My transfer runs out in twenty-six minutes.
george: Wally, I’m booked solid today.
wally: / That’s a top-notch photo of your dog jumping in the waves.
george: Pooks was a champion swimmer. We had to put her down this winter.
wally: / I want an action shot of Lucky running. I’d put it on my wall. I take him on his walk every morning. We’re getting stronger.
george: That’s healthy but you need to get going.
wally: / He whips through the grass chasing bushy-tail squirrels and damn near catches them. He’s a tough bugger. But I need to buy his food. I’m all he’s got.
Beat.
george: All right. Five minutes.
wally: There’s my rent and I need a bus pass. “A cedar log never fell on you.” Appeal denied.
george: / Okay, calm down and breathe.
wally: I can’t breathe. This is bullshit.
george: It’s helpful to focus on something as we breathe. Here’s a new photo from our birdhouse. Look. A pair of cedar waxwings. See? That’s the male on the left.
wally: Okay, I’m looking at the boyfriend. He’s got a black mask like a musketeer.
george: They love our mountain ash berries. The birds get drunk on them when they ferment. What else do you see?
wally: He’s got red on his wing tips. Like he got ’em clipped stealing berries.
george: Excellent. Now what about his breast?
wally: I don’t want to look at waxwings anymore. Here’s the letter.
george: (taking the letter) Let’s see.
wally: It’s getting worse, not better. I’m getting Lucky his supper and it’s blasting away.
george: There’s a limit to what workers’ comp pays for.
wally: / Three years ago by Johnson Lake. Hundreds of pounds of red cedar. It jarred everything loose. I told them that’s when the racket started.
george: But your shoulder bore the brunt. Your surgery went well. Their doctors can’t find any connection to the ringing in your ears. Nothing to do with your logging injury.
wally: / Lucky really enjoys his dry food with a little wet mixed in, but it costs more. Welfare barely lasts two weeks. The old truck won’t run. It’s two fifty on the bus up to see you and another two fifty back because, you know, I’m here staring at your birds. By the time I get my prescription my transfer’s no good.
george: Book another time with my nurse. We’ll look at getting you on disability.
wally: I won’t have bus fare tomo
rrow or Friday.
george: Here’s some change.
wally: You’re the only one who helps me.
george: Maybe we can get you in to one more specialist. I’ll make some calls. All right?
wally: Thank you, Doctor. You’re not like the others.
wally leaves the office. george makes a phone call to Sheila.
george: Sheila. Can’t we try the couples’ weekend? We just need to practise our talking and listening. For you and me and Rachel too. Just, please.
She hangs up.
Cedar waxwings perched in the mountain ash. Gobbling up those bright red berries. Getting drunk and flying in circles.
Change the World
rachel: Today’s my birthday. The big two-zero. Our homestay grandma made us tamales.
Half the kids in this country are malnourished. I feel ashamed to eat my giant plate of tamales and plantains. Let alone meat. Students here work all day and go to university at night. If they’re lucky enough to get one of the few spots.
This place is filled with guns. Machetes. Drugs.
Why are we even on this earth? Beyond using and being used. God, that sounds cynical.
Flashback.
khalil: I’m going to change the world.
rachel: Yeah, right.
khalil: Really.
Flashback ends.
Can’t Get Clean
khalil is in prison. rachel enters, in a happy partying mood. It’s late, after a night drinking and dancing. A tourist hassles her.
khalil: I’m healthy. I don’t need a checkup. I don’t have nasty crotch bugs. I don’t—no girlfriend. No.
rachel: I said okay, that was fun and all, whoop-whoop. But good night, Simon from Sudbury. I said I’m tired. I’m going back to the hostel. I’m catching the chicken bus first thing.
khalil: Why is the lady soldier here? It’s not funny. Don’t point like that. I’m not a girl. I’m not a faggot.
rachel: Okay, goodbye. Look, I have a boyfriend, okay? Dressed like what? Give me a break. I’m not a cocktease.
khalil: I’m not the little bitch.
Paradise Page 1
