wind picks up the bag of gas.
(to audience) You wanna go first?
Beat.
Okay.
Gas tastes like metal but also like being scared.
Like someone’s screaming in your face.
wind screams in silence.
He takes a big breath from the bag.
Another.
The first thing that happens is you feel like you’re watching everything on TV.
Only you’ve already seen the show.
So you feel nice and safe cuz you know everything that’s gonna happen.
He takes another big breath from the bag.
Then you hallucinate.
Big.
I can hear my name in the wind.
“Wiiiiiiiiiiiiind.”
wind laughs. He laughs again—dry heaves a little . . .
Sometimes you puke on yourself.
It’s awesome.
Sniff.
It’s the funnest thing you’ll ever do.
If you’re not too much of a pussy.
Then after a while you’re not watching the show anymore.
You’re part of it.
wind nods off.
He wakes up in Hockey Night in Canada!
hockey announcer harry: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals.
Leafs are down one in the third period with both Toronto Maple Leaf goals coming from the rookie from Shit Creek, Ontario.
hockey announcer dick: We’re surprised to see him in tonight’s game after disclosing the upper body injury he sustained in a fight with his dad over the recycling earlier in the season, but here he is single-handedly keeping the Toronto Maple Leafs in the game.
What a performance, Harry!
And he’s only an Indian!
hockey announcer harry: Good point, Dick.
Here he is coming down the right side.
He curls back looking for his brother.
Can’t find him—
He cuts towards the net.
He steps out in front . . .
He shoots . . . he scores!
Leafs tie!
Leafs tie!
Buzz!
hockey announcer dick: That buzzer signals the end of regulation time—this game is going to sudden death overtime!
hockey announcer dick holds out the bag of gas as a microphone. wind takes a breath of the noxious fumes before answering any questions.
hockey announcer harry: Here’s the rookie now!
What were you thinking with the game at the end of your stick?
Huff.
wind: Nothing.
hockey announcer harry: Nothing?
wind: Yeah, that’s the point.
I wasn’t thinkin bout nothing!
hockey announcer harry: Seems short-sighted.
Good luck on the English test tomorrow!
And . . . wake up!
Seriously, kid.
You better wake up!
huff: Wake up . . . Charles is coming.
wind: Oh fuck, Charles!
charles enters, smiling.
charles: Hear what happened to the hamster in sixth grade class?
Martin.
The hamster.
He’s dead.
Somebody kill im.
Found bloody scissors next to the cage.
Somebody cut his head off.
charles can’t find his porn.
Where is it?
What’d you do with it?
wind: Your porno?
We don’t know where it is.
But we’ll give it back.
First we’re going to have to administer a little test.
The FAS test.
charles: Huh?
wind: FAS.
Means you got holes in your brain cuz Mom drank while she was pregnant with you.
huff laughs.
huff: She must not have loved you very much, huh.
wind: So how bout it?
charles: Give me my porno back!
I don’t want to play your stupid game.
wind: I see.
Interesting.
I’m going to make a note of that.
wind pantomimes writing in a fake notebook. He mouths the word he’s pretending to write: moron.
Don’t worry about it.
It’s technical . . .
Do you know what technical means?
charles chokes wind.
It’s okay.
It’s not part of the test.
huff: Let him go.
He can’t breathe.
huff wrestles charles’s hand off wind’s throat. charles searches for his porn.
charles: You better not have done anything with it.
wind: Okay.
We’ll give it back.
. . . After the FAS test.
First question: spell “cat.”
Come on.
“Cat.”
It’s three letters.
I’ll give you the first one.
“C.”
You got two more.
You can do it.
Come on . . . unlimited guesses.
If you can’t pass we have to come back and give you the Down syndrome test.
charles: I got a test.
Let’s see how much fun we can have with this beer bottle.
wind: Okay, fine, Charles.
It’s in the magic oven.
charles finds his porno. He groans with relief.
charles: Good.
Wanna see?
charles hands a magazine to wind.
Take your dick out.
Only faggots don’t jerk off.
Take your dick out.
charles sees huff.
You too, take your little dick out.
huff looks at the audience. He unzips his fly—
wind: Hey, wait, Charles . . . I got a game.
I got a new game.
It’s called “smoking.”
wind takes out a cigarette, flicks a lighter.
charles: Gimme.
wind: You want it?
Here!
wind jabs at charles with the lit cigarette. charles chases wind.
Okay, here.
wind throws the cigarette on the ground.
(to audience) I toss the lit cigarette on a dog-eared porno magazine soiled in semen and gasoline.
The smut publication ignites in a flash.
wind holds the burning magazine at arm’s length.
(to charles) Quick, Charles!
Come on it!
(to audience) I throw the burning porno magazine out the window.
It lands in the snow and is just about to burn out when the wind screams through the trees.
The pages turn to wings as the burning magazine becomes a raven.
The raven flies back onto the windowsill and lands before returning to flame and igniting the curtains.
Trickster.
wind escapes from the motel.
Outside, Charles is gone.
Me and my little brother watch the motel burn.
The black smoke obscures the trees and the night sky and breaks in the wind and you can see the stars through the swirling darkness.
(to huff) Awesome.
We should do this again sometime.
huff: But . . . we can’t.
It’s gone.
wind: Oh yeah.
. . . The school then.
huff: Awesome!
wind: Come on, let’s go home.
Sees something . . .
Hey.
Do you see that?
It looks like a cat or a skunk.
Skunk?
Skuuunk!
The skunk stands poised. He licks the air! He holds his tail like a shotgun!
skunk: Whoa!
Whoa!
Whoa!
Don’t move, man.
Don’t you fuckin move.
You think I won’t do this shit?
I will, man.
I’ll give you a mouthful of my sweet skunk juices right fuckin here.
huff: Whoa!
Skunks can talk?
skunk: That’s right, skunks can talk.
And I’m talkin to you, motherfucker!
wind: Please!
Let us go!
We’re only children.
skunk: Really?
You look like brothers.
wind: We are.
skunk: But you just said you were “only” children.
I’ve already caught you in a lie.
This is not going well for you.
huff: Please, we don’t mean to hurt anyone.
skunk: Really?
What do you call that?
I call it a goddamn forest fire!
Now here’s what you don’t know: somebody dies in this fire.
Yeah, that’s right.
I’ve foreseen the shit.
The skunk opens his eyes wide to emphasize the clarity of his vision.
This fireman named . . . Stevie Windsor . . . is gonna come out here to put out this fire, and, in the process, suffer a heart attack and die.
You know what that means?
wind: He was probably a diabetic?
skunk: It means restitutions have to be made, motherfucker!
huff: It’s not our fault!
The flaming porno magazine turned into a raven—
skunk: I’m going to have to cut you off right there.
You’re telling me that some gay porno you guys were rockin turned into Raven?
wind: It wasn’t gay porno.
skunk: But you just said it was “flaming.”
Really?
Is that really what you’re worried about?
Someone’s gonna think you’re a homosexual?
You got bigger problems here, kid!
huff: Please, can we go home?
We just want to go home.
skunk: All right.
You seem like nice enough kids so I’m going to let your lucky asses off the hook with a warning.
But heed my words, motherfuckers!
The skunk lets down his tail.
wind: (to audience) That’s when our dog Angelina shows up in protection mode.
(to angelina) Angelina, no!
angelina, the boys’ dog, sees the hostage situation.
angelina: Leave my brothers alone!
skunk: You lied, motherfuckers!
The skunk sprays everyone! The skunk flees!
wind: (to audience) The skunk is gone, but Smell remains.
smell: You know what the worst part about smelling bad is?
You never feel like you deserve to be anywhere.
And you don’t, you piece of shit.
You can’t just walk into class smelling like rancid fish or rotten eggs or the inside of a skunk’s asshole?
Who do you think you are?
angelina: Oh the smell!
It’s huge!
I’m useless.
If I weren’t so stupid, stupid, stupid.
I’m no good.
A no-good girl.
No!
Good!
Girl!
wind: You stupid bitch, Angelina!
What were you thinking?
wind kicks angelina.
huff: It’s not her fault.
She didn’t mean for us to get sprayed.
huff smells himself.
Now what do we do?
wind: Kohkum.
Let’s go see Kohkum.
smell: (to audience) Kohkum is the owner of the local store.
That makes her the hub of commerce and knower of lore.
Arcane and domestic.
kohkum: (from over the counter) Ah shit.
Close that damn door behind you.
You’re gonna give your grandmother hyper thermal.
smell: Hey, Kohkum.
I bet when you take your false teeth out you give a great blow job.
Would I win that bet?
kohkum: Pew!
Stink!
Nosums, the smell.
. . . You got sprayed by Skunk.
Nosums, skunks are powerful messengers.
They show your shame.
Here, take this sacred medicine tobacco.
It will protect you until the smell dissipates.
kohkum gives wind a cigarette. She’s taken aback by the smell.
And here: a jar of tomatoes.
Go on now.
Take a bath.
Go.
kohkum looks to the audience.
(to audience) Not you!
You just wait right there.
That’s right.
I see you.
You’re here to take me to spirit world.
No.
You’re here to help my nosums!
Good thing.
Cuz I’m no good.
Listen to this.
kohkum walks around the counter.
Don’t rush me.
When she’s ready.
First time my daughter got beat up by Mike I picked her up.
Took her home.
Took care of her.
Then I sent my son round to talk to Mike.
Found him at the bar.
Gave him a lickin.
Second time: same thing.
I pick her up.
Take her home.
Then I go down to my son’s place and, shit, here he’s passed out drunk.
I’m thinkin: Who can I call?
You know: to beat my daughter’s husband.
Ah shit, Kohkum!
That who you are?
Going around trying to fix everybody?
Or do I be like Duck?
How the water falls off their back, there.
You tell me.
Beat.
Ah shit.
If she’s gonna go back to him that’s what she’s gonna do.
If my son’s gonna drink that’s what he’s gonna do.
If the boys are gonna steal Lysol—
Ah, shit.
I don’t want to talk about that.
wind lights the cigarette.
huff: You’re gonna smoke up the sacred tobacco?
But Kohkum said to keep that safe until the smell “dissipates.”
wind: That mean you don’t want any?
wind hands the cigarette to huff. huff smokes of the sacred tobacco. He coughs.
huff: Awesome.
At home, wind creaks the kitchen door open. The television blares. He speaks to the audience, almost in a whisper:
wind: My dad is my favourite person in the world.
He can do anything.
He went to prison when I was a little kid.
So I don’t mean to start anything: but my dad could prob’ly kick your dad’s ass.
But all that kicking guys’ dad’s asses makes him pretty tired.
You can come over but it’s better not to bother him while he’s watching TV.
wind sneaks around his father and grabs a bowl, then runs down into the basement.
(to smell) H
ey, Smell, come down to the basement.
I wanna show you something.
smell: Hey, guys, what’s up?
wind pours the tomatoes into a bowl.
What’s up with the tomatoes?
Playing awfully close to the tomatoes, don’t you think?
I don’t like this.
I don’t like this.
Help!
Somebody!
Help me!
Help!
I’m melting!
wind squishes his hands into the tomatoes and bathes up to his elbows.
huff: Basement’s cold.
wind: We’ll be fast.
huff: Tomatoes are cold.
wind: Squish yourself around in them.
Like this.
It’s fun.
Look: I’m Mom.
wind lies perfectly still, imitating a corpse. His eyes open, he plays dead for a long time. Too long.
huff: Stop it!
Cut it out!
I hate it when you—
huff hits wind, splashing tomatoes into the audience. wind is dripping in tomato juice.
wind: (to audience) Oh my God, did I get you?
If any of this gets on any of you . . . um . . . you’re part of the movement now.
Yeah!
Consider this your Indian test of bravery . . . and you passed!
High-five!
wind high-fives someone in the audience, splattering them with tomato juice.
Now you know what it’s like to be an Indian!
How about a round of applause for our new brothers and sisters?
wind applauds. A thin mist of tomato juice sprays the audience; the pungent smell lingers for the rest of the story.
And if you’re still upset . . .
Wait’ll you see what happens next.
mike enters.
mike: What the . . .
You . . .
Hahaha!
You got sprayed by—
Then you—
Hahaha!
Donna!
Woman!
Woman!
Woman!
Look!
My boys!
They got sprayed by Skunk and now look: they’re already takin a bath in tomatoes.
donna squawks!
donna: Oh my gawd!
Ever cute these boys a yers!
Ever real industrious.
I’m gonna cook you two a special dinner.
donna picks up the phone.
Hey, Cherise.
Pepperoni.
Bacon.
Mushrooms.
Extra cheese and one—
No.
Two litres of Coke.
Thanks, Cherise.
donna hangs up the phone.
Mike, ever cute those boys a yers.
Ever real industrious those boys a yers.
mike: Woman, you just said that twenty minutes ago.
Will you get over it?
Huff & Stitch Page 2
