by Maja Ardal
I think that’s why she doesn’t like him, and none of the children in our class will talk to him because he only has the one nice ear. But I think I know his secret! He’s just like the troll children from the stories back home. They’re always dirty and their noses run green and they live in the bottom of the mountain.
I’m going to save you, Jamie. I’ll help you find a song.
JAMIE
I don’t know how to sing. (He starts to leave.)
ELSA
Jamie MacDonald is really a troll!
(to JAMIE) I’ll teach you! I understand you! Nobody in the whole world is going to help you except me, Jamie!
JAMIE
I’ll think about it.
The playground, a week later
JUNE
(prancing on her horse) Everybody gather ’round me! I have an announcement to make! I’m having a birthday party next Saturday and I’m allowed to invite five girls. I haven’t decided who they are, but you can only come if you have
a brand-new party frock.
ELSA
(narrating) In the closet I find the dress my mummy was wearing the night she first danced with my daddy. Lily white satin with lavender lace frills. A swift cut with scissors and the sleeves turn into wings. I chop the tight skirt until it hangs in playful strips, ready for the dance!
ELSA pulls the dress on and twirls around, dancing a little like her version of a ballerina.
ESTELLE
You look like you’re going to a party.
ELSA
(narrating) She’s been waiting for me. Every day since I made Estelle invisible she waits outside my door to see if I’ll talk to her.
She tries a few balletic leaps.
ESTELLE
Can I chum you to school?
ELSA doesn’t answer and twirls around with pointed toes.
I can be your adoring public.
ELSA
(giving in to temptation) All right. You can be my friend all the way to school and all the way home. But don’t come near me when I’m talking to the girls.
ESTELLE
They might not be nice to you.
ELSA
What do you know!
ESTELLE
I know what they’re like.
ELSA
No you don’t! They will be amazed! I’m the Dancer Girl! Look upon me and tremble!
ESTELLE
All right then.
ELSA dances, impersonating “Swan Lake,” trying to float on points all the way to school.
ELSA
(narrating) Dancer Girl prettily pouts her cherry lips
And floats to Bruntsfield School
Prepared for love and membership
And admiration
Ready to drop smiles like sugar
Upon the heads of Scottish urchins
Grubby Bruntsfield schoolers
Who cannot ever dream of this!
She pauses at the door marked “GIRLS” and stands in a dancer’s Degas pose. (poses in a “Degas” way and waits)
A titter flutters up behind her, then another, louder.
FRANCES steps forward, using height to conquer beauty.
FRANCES
Look at Elsa Paul in her stupid homemade frock!
ELSA
(narrating) Frances Green stands tall among her dreadful army, giggly horse-girls all around, ready to obey or be forever cast aside. Then Frances Green curls back her snarly lips and calls upon her queen—
FRANCES
June MacReady! What would you think if Elsa Paul came to your party in a raggedy frock like that?
JUNE steps forward and rears up on her horse, tossing her long, golden horsetail like a nervous filly.
JUNE
Who said you were invited!? Elsa Paul! You fancy yourself!
FRANCES
HA! Elsa Paul fancies herself!
ELSA
(narrating) Dancer Girl moves away, but something trips her up
She stumbles to the centre
Of a playground filling fast
With hostile eyes and hateful whispers
And wonders how she never saw this coming
Someone yanks at her skirt, and a piece rips off
Then something grabs her neck and pulls
The lavender lace unravels in the hand of Frances Green
She is now attacked from all sides, trying to protect her dress.
As satin and lace are shredded to rags
The Dancer Girl twirling, protecting
Her dance is no longer the dance of dreams
Her dance is the dance of the fool
Frances Green gives a shove—
ELSA falls.
And the dance is finally over
She stands astride her, grinning down
And in a poisonous spray of spit demands
FRANCES
Who do you think you are?!
ELSA
(narrating) And now she knows that is a question she can never answer.
ELSA pulls off the remains of the dress.
Alone at home she watches the satin and lace of Dancer Girl ablaze in the small coal fire. She dreams of climbing mountains, but not to search for elves. And in the howling wind of the Scottish glens she hears screams of dying warriors.
(sings) Hark when the night is falling
Hear hear the pipes are calling
Loudly and proudly calling down through the glen
There where the hills are sleeping
Now feel the blood a-leaping
High as the spirits of the old Highland men
ELSA goes to the trunk. During the following verse she draws out a tartan kilt.
Towering in gallant fame
Scotland my mountain hame
High may your proud standards gloriously wave
Land of my high endeavour
Land of the shining river
Land of my heart forever
Scotland the brave
With a flourish she drapes the kilt across her chest and raises her fist.
END OF ACT ONE
Act TWO
ELSA
(narrating) June MacReady got the mumps! There was no birthday party. There’s been no horse club for two weeks. Now that Frances Green doesn’t have June MacReady to play with, she’s trying to be all friendly, like she’s sorry for what she did. I’m making Frances Green invisible. Anyway, I have been busy helping Estelle Munro for the song contest. She’s too shy to have any talent, but I showed her some of my favourite gestures like this. (demonstrates with melodramatic flourish) And this. (gestures grandly) And I want her to look nice in front of the class today, so I washed her face and brushed her hair this morning like she was my little doll.
(to ESTELLE) You know, Estelle, I think I know why your mummy stays in bed all the time. When she heard the news that her darling beloved was dead she nearly died of a broken heart, so she took to her bed and dreams of love.
ESTELLE
(overcome with the romance of it) Oh! Oh yes…
ELSA
(narrating) I think I’d like to be a teacher when I grow up. I’m good at it. She’ll never win.
Bruntsfield School classroom
MISS CAMPBELL
Well class, today is the day. The scoring will be according to deportment, clarity and of course musical interpretation. And of course there will be special favour given to anyone who offers a song by the greatest poet of them all—our own beloved Robert Burns. Ah… who’s first? Ah, June MacReady. As always, well prepared. Are you feeling better now? What do you have?
&
nbsp; JUNE
Yes, thank you. “Oh Whistle and I’ll Come to You My Lad” (coyly) by your favourite poet, Miss Campbell.
MISS CAMPBELL
Lovely!
JUNE sings very jollily and chirpy, and terribly off-key.
JUNE
Oh whistle and I’ll come to you my lad
Oh whistle and I’ll come to you my lad
Though faither and mither and all should gae mad
Ooooooooooo whistle and I’ll come to you my lad
She whistles the last phrase inaudibly and badly.
MISS CAMPBELL
(horrified) Next!
JAMIE
Please, Miss…
MISS CAMPBELL
Jamie MacDonald! Lord save us. (mutters) From bad to worse.
ELSA
(narrating) Jamie MacDonald’s going to sing! He’s going to look like an idiot. He should have got me to help him. Everyone will laugh at him.
MISS CAMPBELL
Perhaps, Mr. MacDonald, you will redeem your clan’s honour in song.
She chortles at her own joke.
JAMIE sings in a tender, husky voice.
JAMIE
I left my baby lying here, lying here, lying here
I left my baby lying here to go and gather blaeberries
Hovan hovan gorrio go, gorrio go, gorrio go
Hovan hovan gorrio go. I never found my baby o—
ELSA
(narrating) Nobody’s laughing. Maybe they’re feeling sorry for him.
JAMIE slides into his seat next to ELSA.
JAMIE
My granny learned me that song.
ELSA nods patronisingly.
ESTELLE
(putting up her hand) Please, Miss Campbell, may I go next?
MISS CAMPBELL
Oh my, the invisible girl has decided to appear today of all days! Will wonders never cease! Perhaps, Estelle Munro, your song will compensate for the poorest attendance I’ve seen in the history of my teaching career. But I must say you do look (sniffs ESTELLE) surprisingly presentable today.
ELSA looks pleased with herself.
ESTELLE sings. It starts so quietly you can hardly hear it, but then it soars, and her voice is like an angel.
ESTELLE
My Love is like a red, red rose, that’s newly sprung in June
My love is like the melody that’s sweetly play’d in tune
So fair art thou my bonnie Lass so deep in love am I
And I will love thee evermair till a’ the seas gang dry
ELSA
(narrating) Well she didn’t do any of the gestures I taught her. Why is Miss Campbell going over to her? Why is she bending down towards her? She’s putting both hands on her shoulders? She looks like she’s crying! Miss Campbell crying?
MISS CAMPBELL
(on one knee, worshipfully, her voice breaking) Estelle Munro, dear child. The sweetest love song ever heard. I never would have imagined.
ELSA
(bursting with competitive desperation, leaps up) Me, please Miss! Please, Miss!!!!!
MISS CAMPBELL
Elsa Paul, before you burst.
ELSA sings “The Glencoe Massacre.” She plays out every detail of the song in great melodrama.
ELSA
Oh cruel is the snow that sweeps Glencoe
And covers the grave of MacDonalds
And cruel was the foe that raped Glencoe
And murdered the House of MacDonald
They came in a blizzard we offered them heat
A roof o’er their heads dry shoes for their feet
We wined them and dined them they ate o’ our meat
And they slept in the house of MacDonald
Some died in their beds at the hand of the foe
Some fled in the night, were lost in the snow
Like murdering foxes among helpless sheep
They slaughtered the house of MacDonald
Liiike muuurdering foxes among helpless sheeeeep
They slaughterrrred, the house… of… Mac… DONALD!!!!
She ends in triumph.
(narrating) Miss Campbell picked Estelle Munro. And then she said that Jamie MacDonald should get honourable mention because he chose such a lovely song and it wasn’t his fault that he had such a croaky voice.
June MacReady’s over there crying, and all the girls have surrounded her. “Not fair. You should have won. You were the best! No fair.” I feel like someone’s hit me on the head. Jamie MacDonald looks happy. Estelle’s trying to catch my eye. (turns away from her) This is my fate. This is what happens when I try to help people. They bite the hand that feeds them. The girls are all looking at me
(defiantly goes over to them) What are you all staring at!
FRANCES
Did you see Miss Campbell’s face when you were singing, Elsa? She was purple!
ELSA
Why?
FRANCES
Cause she’s a Campbell! You don’t remind a Campbell what they did to the MacDonalds unless you’re looking for trouble. But she won’t do anything to you cause you’re a foreigner.
JUNE
(whining) I’m going to tell my daddy to talk to Miss Campbell.
ELSA
(to JUNE) I’m not! If I really wanted to win that stupid contest I would have sung the same song as Estelle Munro.
JUNE
Me too! Anyway, who wants to be Estelle Munro!
ELSA
(narrating) June MacReady links arms with me and we swagger out into the playground, a gang of big girls mowing down the throng of mediocrity! I’d rather be part of this than singing in some stupid contest.
The playground
ELSA is eleven years old.
JUNE
Everybody trot! (beautifully demonstrates on her horse) Now canter! And gallop! And jump! And jump! Now you go, Elsa! Do just as I showed you.
ELSA gallops around like a horse during the following commands. She is obviously tired of it and gallops badly, jumps even worse, slows down and finally stops.
Elsa Paul, do as I say! Gallop and jump! If you don’t do as
I tell you you have to leave the horse club!
ELSA
I’m fed up with taking orders from you, June MacReady. This horse club’s for babies.
JUNE gasps.
I’m off to the boys’ side. There’s a football game going on. That’s a lot more fun than your stupid horse club.
ELSA narrates as she walks over to the boys’ playground
The big boys are kicking the ball round.
(yelling at them) Come on! Give us a goal! There’s your chance!
(narrating) Just as the boy with the ball is going to score, a piercing whistle sails over the playground and everybody freezes—because that whistle has so much authority! The boys all turn and a canyon parts right up to the iron-spike railings, and there, slouched carelessly up against a spike, black hair licking his eye, four fingers parting glistening lips, gazing into space (looking awfully like James Dean), leans—Martin Bailey! And a hundred boys hold their breath as if something’s going to happen, something important, and Martin Bailey will be the cause…
Clang, clang! Two straight lines! Everybody runs! Martin Bailey doesn’t budge. He looks out through the railings in
a prisoner kind of way (that James Dean despair that turns my knees to jelly.) He could get the strap for not running into line, but he doesn’t seem to care. Me neither! I take a breath and hold it in, and against the tide of scabby knees and elbows I make my move. Heart thumping, but hidden by the swagger I’ve acquired that gives you status in a playgr
ound full of plots and downfalls, twisting my
mouth against the kiss-wish that’s boiling up behind my lips, I pepper my stare with a mixture of trouble and fun and plant myself in front of him as if I stopped by chance.
(to MARTIN) Eh—Martin Bailey, how do you whistle like that?
(narrating) Oh no—he rolls his eyes like he’s bored. He’s left my question dangling like a lost sock.
(to MARTIN) Em—could you show me how you do that whistle?
(narrating) Oh crumbs! I can’t believe it! He’s walking away! Leaving me standing in the middle of the boys’ playground! The only girl, looking like she wants something. And I can feel the heat in my cheeks, reminding me of their appleness, and wish that they were gaunt and that my bum didn’t exist. So in order to survive the humiliation of ignoration I push a wee boy out the way, kick the shins of another and I take off to the girls side, hoping his eyes are burning into my back, but at the same time hoping they’re not because of my bum.
Who does he think he is!
I am itching! Itching to stick my fingers in my mouth
And cut a canyon grander than his!
Itching to show him
That I could stop a football game with my whistle
As easily as him, and it would be even better
Cause I am a girl
As I cross over to obey the bell in Miss Campbell’s fist
Clanging the command—two straight lines!
I see June MacReady galloping up to form a line
Her glossy, golden ponytail swishing from side to side
With the big tartan bow all crisp on top
I sneak behind her in the line
Slide the ribbon off her head
And drop it to the ground
I grind it to death in the path of forty dirty shoes
She never saw a thing
I turn and catch the beady eyes of Frances Green
Who looks at me with new respect—or so it seems
Later that day at The Meadows
ELSA
(narrating) After school, crossing the meadows in the rain, I get ready for revenge.
ELSA puts four fingers in her mouth, about to blow—
ESTELLE
Hallo Elsa, can I walk home with you?
ELSA
(narrating) I haven’t talked to Estelle much since she took first prize at the Scottish National Song Contest. But she’s always around, waiting.
