rachel: / Shut up.
george: / People struck by panic attacks, so terrified they can’t breathe.
rachel: Then they should get help.
george: I’m not sending them all to the psychiatrists.
rachel: Did you see one? Dad? What’s the big deal?
george: When did you start using . . . ?
rachel: Those pills aren’t really for your back, are they?
george: You have no right to speak to me like this.
rachel: Why are you lying to me?
george: You don’t have a leg to stand on here.
rachel: Just be honest with me for once. I’m not a kid.
george: I’m not the one snorting drugs. This is—I can’t believe—you need to tell me what’s up.
rachel: This is exactly why I don’t talk to you.
george: Was it because . . . with your mother and I?
Beat.
rachel: You don’t even know me.
george: I was there when you were born. I saw your first steps. Read stories to you. I know at least part of you.
rachel: But I don’t know you. Why can’t you trust me?
george: I do trust you.
rachel: Then tell me the truth.
Beat.
I’m your daughter. Please, Dad.
Beat.
george: It was a long time ago. I—I had to take a break from med school. Bit of a rough patch.
rachel: What happened?
george: It just got to be a bit more than I could handle.
rachel: Did you see a psychiatrist?
george: Off and on.
rachel: Did they help you?
george: Maybe. I don’t know. They seem to pounce on that moment of weakness. We all have those, don’t we? They whoosh in, probe and dissect, and then hand out labels about who and what you are. And people believe them. They’re the experts.
rachel: Who did they say you were?
george: It’s not an episode I’d like to talk about. Your old dad’s not always . . .
Beat.
I think that’s all I’m going to say right now.
rachel: Okay. Thanks. Dad. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.
george: Good. Yes, that’s good. Um.
Beat.
Rachel. How long have you been . . . ?
rachel: Once in a while before I left. Just thought I’d try it out for fun. A bit more down there. Yeah. Kind of crept up, a little.
george: Do—do you need some help?
rachel: No, it’s fine. It’s under control.
george: Why did you call?
rachel: What?
george: You said, down in Central America, you tried to call one night.
Beat.
rachel: It’s nothing, Dad.
george: But . . . Are you sure?
rachel: Not right now, okay?
george: I . . .
rachel: Could you just go now? Please?
Truth
wally, rachel, khalil, and george are all on stage. Yet alone as they speak.
george: There once was a doctor from . . . Galls
Who had his ears tangled up in his balls.
That’s not right.
Tickles, pickles.
There once was a doctor from Eccles
Who had his ears all screwed up in his testicles.
(to Sheila) Sheila. It’s about Rachel. I—I’m scared. She’s not in a good way. I think she needs us. I don’t know what to say and you’re not here. I can’t tell Rachel how frightened I . . . I’m her father.
wally: Lucky, how long was I sleeping? Is it time for your walk? Wake up, boy. Cheque’s coming soon. We’ll get wet food, mix it with the dry. All right, wet food straight from the can. Almost as good as steak.
Just like Johnson Lake. You needed me and I was there. Cheese slices. Bloody red steak, that was good, wasn’t it? That was really good.
You must be dreaming. Chasing those squirrels. We’ll go to the park today. I didn’t mean to miss our walk. Your dish is empty. Let’s fill it up. Here—have a drink.
You’re my little guy. You’re my trooper. Wake up, boy. Please, Lucky. You have to wake up. Wag your tail. You’re my best friend, you know that? You’re all I’ve got. You’re all I ever had. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky.
khalil: Williams, can I see your pictures again? Your girlfriend’s beautiful. Me? Sort of. A girl down the street. The last time I saw her she was heading off travelling. She was restless, on fire.
Your grandmother is so tall. Mine is small and round. I would do anything for her.
The Canadian didn’t believe me. You believe me, don’t you?
I was eight. My parents went back for a wedding. I stayed in Canada with my grandmother. They were enjoying a feast of the most delicious food when the drone attack came. It was from your government. I don’t blame you.
I was searching for the crater in the earth where my parents died. I don’t know what I was looking for. Their spirits.
Williams, is the Canadian coming back? They can’t just abandon me here.
Beat.
Could you get me a pen? I could jam it into my skull and carve it out like a juicy peach. Just kidding. I’ll only write a letter like you. I promise.
Beat.
I’m not going to die here. Please. Give me a pen for five minutes. Thank you, Williams.
khalil receives a pen from Williams.
rachel: I only have twenty. I get paid tomorrow. I’ll give you my address. I’ll pay you back, I swear. Please. Wait, come back. Don’t go. I have something.
She takes off her locket.
This locket’s worth at least three hundred. Look. Eighteen-karat gold. Come on, at least two hundred. You’re joking. A hundred and fifty. Yeah, I want it. A hundred. No. Wait. All right. Fifty. Here.
She gives the locket away.
Why should I deserve a chunk of gold? It’s only a thing. A shiny object.
Beat.
With a picture of Mom, Dad, and Pooks inside.
Get Me On the Table
wally is at a hospital emergency ward.
wally: Get me into surgery. Cut me open. Get me on the table, prep me, do it now. Electrical wires inside zapping, do I have to spell it out for you idiots? Between the, what do you call it, inner ear canal and the shoulder collar bone, shooting down my neck into a coma. Get the surgeon. Radio frequencies 24-7. I can’t hear my dog bark.
How much money does it take to get an operation around here? If you don’t get me prepped and on the table, I will gut and skin you.
Get your hands off me. I’m a patient. I have rights. I’m in a coma. My dog can’t wake up because of you. You’re hurting me. You can’t kick me out of here. I have a list, a big, long list, and your name’s going on it right now.
wally is kicked out of the hospital.
I’ll Find You
rachel stands outside her old house.
rachel: Sold. Goodbye, house. Goodbye, street. See you around.
khalil enters a flashback with rachel. It’s from a few months earlier.
Hi.
khalil: Hi. It’s been . . . wow.
rachel: Yeah.
khalil: You’re graduated?
rachel: Last year.
khalil: You’re looking . . .
rachel: What?!
khalil: Really good.
rachel: You too.
khalil: What are you . . . ?
rachel: I’m flying to Central America in two days.
khalil: Cool. I’m heading overseas volunteering.
rachel: Cool back.
khalil: Hey. Do you want to . . . ?
rachel: Sure.
They almost kiss. The flashback
ends.
(waving to khalil’s grandmother) Hello. Hi. I lived down the street, remember? Rachel. Your grandson. Khalil. We used to play. Is he back from his trip?
khalil: I want to catch snakes with you.
rachel: Is he okay?
khalil: Play street hockey.
rachel: I didn’t mean to upset you. What’s wrong?
khalil: Pick peaches.
rachel: Arrested where? Why?
khalil: Kiss you again and again.
rachel: No, that’s crazy. Can we talk to him?
khalil: Build paradise.
rachel: But he’s Canadian. What’s the government doing? That can’t be right.
khalil comes to rachel as he is now.
They connect as young lovers, perhaps a near kiss, a sensual dance. He retreats.
Khalil. I’ll find you.
Shedding
khalil: The Canadian isn’t coming back. The taxi driver died last night. Nana, I’m scared.
khalil attacks Williams with the pen.
I’m sorry, Williams. Nana, I’m coming home.
khalil makes his escape. He is shot and killed.
I’m flying. I’m falling. Like a snowflake on your rooftop. I’ll fix your back steps, the front porch, anything on your list. I’ll bring Rachel with me.
george rushes out into the street, bursting into wally’s space. wally is alarmed.
george: Oh. Wally. Hello.
wally: Stay where you are.
george: Out for a walk. Good for you.
wally: Don’t come any closer.
george: Excuse me, a bit of a rush.
wally: I’m not rolling over for you.
george: I need to get to my car there, Wally.
wally: Don’t move.
george: Is something wrong?
wally: I can’t afford to take chances. Not anymore.
george: I’m not standing here all day.
wally slowly takes out his gun and aims it at george.
What are you doing, Wally? You don’t want to be doing that. Look, I know we had a bit of a falling out. You had a rough time, an oak tree . . . no, a cedar log? It’s me. Dr. Stevenson, remember? Just put it down. I tried to help, I wanted to get to the bottom of it.
wally: Your mouth is moving.
george: Please, I met a special lady now—we have a date. I have a daughter.
wally: You’re the one transmitting those signals.
george: No, Wally. I’m on your side.
wally fires and kills george. george remains standing, in a stylized moment.
rachel: Dad!
wally: He came out of the hedges.
rachel: No.
wally: It’s a well-known crime area.
rachel: He can’t be.
wally: These hedges need trimming.
rachel: He’s only injured.
wally: My dog would’ve barked.
rachel: He’s at the hospital.
wally: I need to bury him.
rachel: He’s gonna be fine.
wally: He’s eight feet tall, coming at me.
rachel: He’s regular size. He’s my dad.
george: Oh. Look at that. A male and female cedar waxwing, preparing their nest. The male’s a dashing fellow with that black mask and crest, a real ladies’ man.
rachel: Daddy.
You spread your wings, stretch them, soar away
Your skin always with you
I’m not shedding anymore
I’m keeping it with me
All of it.
The End
Acknowledgements
I am deeply grateful to many people who supported the creation of this work. David Skelton at Nakai Theatre commissioned it and paired me with dramaturg DD Kugler, until it was time. Enter MT Space’s Majdi Bou-Matar. Majdi and a brilliant group of actors—especially Aldrin Bundoc, Nicholas Cumming, Pam Patel, and Michael Peng—helped me discover what text was essential. Others who have made valuable contributions include: Trevor Copp, Marjolène Gauthier, Nada Humsi, Andrameda Hunter, Jenny Jimenez, Ashley Judd-Rifkin, Gary Kirkham, Kwanlin Dün Cultural Centre, Playwrights Theatre Centre and Kathleen Flaherty, Playwrights’ Workshop Montréal and Emma Tibaldo, Elaine Schiman, Angela van Steuvel, Nick Storring, and Yukon Arts Centre.
Thank you always to my husband, Leonard, my amazing daughters Erin and Sophia, who teach me so much, and my mother Julia, who continues to seek justice.
About the Author
Patti Flather’s plays include Sixty Below, West Edmonton Mall, Where the River Meets the Sea, Street Signs (formerly The Soul Menders), and the devised creations Go Angel Girlfriends and Tell Me More . . . Patti co-founded Gwaandak Theatre to develop and share Indigenous and Northern stories for the stage. She’s a recipient of the Yukon Arts Builder Award and past winner of Theatre B.C.’s national playwriting competition. She has a M.F.A. in Creative Writing and is a dramaturg, director, educator, fiction and screenwriter. Her latest project is the devised play Map of the Land, Map of the Stars. She lives in Whitehorse.
Paradise © Copyright 2017 by Patti Flather
First edition: April 2017
Author photo © Bruce Barrett
Cover illustration and design by Patrick Gray
Playwrights Canada Press
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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Flather, Patti, author
Paradise / Patti Flather.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-77091-758-3 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-77091-759-0 (PDF).
--ISBN 978-1-77091-760-6 (HTML).--ISBN 978-1-77091-761-3 (Kindle)
I. Title.
PS8561.L34P37 2017 C812’.54 C2017-901353-X
C2017-901354-8
We acknowledge the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council (OAC), the Ontario Media Development Corporation, and the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.
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