Fallen Petals Page 7
Uh, uh.
She vomits over him, into his protective suit.
Oh, fucking cunt of a thing!
PHIL begins to back away. JONESY still hasn’t worked out what to do. So PHIL runs up to TANIA. She looks at him.
PHIL: [to TANIA] You drank it, you fucking idiot.
He grabs the pencil cases from her and exits. JONESY is slowly beginning to get very angry.
JONESY: Never had to wash it out from the inside… you moll.
TANIA: I feel sick.
JONESY looks into his suit.
JONESY: I noticed. [Calm seems to come over him.] What did you think you were doing? Getting out? With that story?
TANIA: Exams.
JONESY: Exams? You Hollow people are pretty desperate, aren’t you? How old are you, really?
TANIA: Seventeen.
JONESY: Right…
TANIA is shivering. He looks at her.
You’re sweet, aren’t you?
She doesn’t answer.
You’ve got a rash on your neck.
He readjusts his balls and then grabs her shoulder.
Why don’t you come and join the other cum-buckets?
TANIA: Phil?
JONESY: Come on.
He grabs her head to examine it closer. He puts his fingers in her mouth and looks inside for defects.
No signs round the mouth. You’ll do. For a while.
He grabs her by the ear and begins to haul her away.
This situation fucking rocks.
As he drags her away he whistles.
SEVENTEENTH
At the tree.
SALLY is in the hole. You can hear her pant.
PHIL returns. He stops and looks up at the tree.
PHIL: Beautiful sight. Nice landscape. See you. [He goes up to the hole.] Come on, Sal. Get out of my hole. It’s mine. [He bends down to talk to her.] You’re still breathing.
Silence.
Come on. Get out of my hole. I dug it. Hey. Do you want to come with me?
SALLY makes a mumbling sound. PHIL bends into the hole and pulls her up. She makes almost baby noises.
Good. Good. You can still hear me. Sal, you are sitting on top of my hole. You are blocking my hole.
She laughs. He tries to think of ways to get her out. She is too heavy for him.
Can you still walk?
SALLY: Bye-bye.
PHIL: Come on.
He gets into the hole and props her up.
Do you want to hear a bye-bye story?
SALLY: Bye-bye.
PHIL: Good.
SALLY still has the ability to wrap her arms around him.
Good-good.
SALLY: Good-good.
PHIL strains to shift her bodyweight as he talks. As he speaks he succeeds in getting her out of the hole by the last bit of the story.
PHIL: Here goes. You know most of it. Once upon a time, I used to live on a farm. A stupid, little hobby farm where Mum used to go about planting trees and ignoring Dad—
SALLY: Trees—
PHIL: But one day, before we had to sell up to the dickhead from the city, I stumbled across workmen in a field. I got scared and ran away. The next day they were there again. And I ran away again. But the third day, they had cranes and pipes and bulldozers, and Mum was planting that tree—
SALLY: Tree, tree—
PHIL: Yeah—and so I went up to a workman and asked where the pipes would take me. And the workman laughed and all his mates laughed and he said, well, if you go one way, they’ll take you to the ocean. But, he said, if you go the other and you follow your nose, you’ll get to any bathroom in Melbourne you desire.
SALLY is unresponsive. PHIL dumps her. He runs and gets the shovel.
And I looked at the tree and I measured and memorised the spot.
He prises open a metallic grating with the aid of the shovel’s blade. SALLY walks to the edge of the hole. She dopily peers in. For a moment, the stink sort of seems to wake her up.
SALLY: Stinks!
PHIL pushes her away.
PHIL: It’s my hole. I dug it. I own it. I’m getting in. You can choose to rot like the vegetable you are, but I am going to make a difference.
He disappears down the hole. The grating comes down with a thud on top of him. SALLY laughs. Stops. She stands vacantly again at the grating’s edge. She bends down to try to pull at it, but now she has weakened too much for her effort to be of any use. She examines her hands.
SALLY: Get away from me. [Looking at her feet.] Get away from me.
She grunts at each hand, then each foot. She is standing with her legs apart, her hands far from her body. Even though she is standing reasonably still, you can see that she is panicking, her head and eyes twitching from side to side, carefully regarding her own body as if at any moment the legs, the hands, the stomach might attack her head. She breathes hard in this struggle. GAYLE MOSS enters.
GAYLE: Oh. Sally.
JOHN MOSS’s voice can be heard from a distance.
JOHN: [offstage] For fuck’s sake, Gayle. What’s wrong with you?
GAYLE: Quiet, John.
JOHN MOSS enters.
JOHN: Oh.
SALLY slowly turns her head to them. Her arms are outstretched.
GAYLE: I thought I saw Phil.
JOHN: You stopped the car for that? Jesus. I am waiting in the car for you. Three minutes. That is all. I can survive without you, you know. Three minutes; that’s it.
He leaves. SALLY grunts.
GAYLE: I planted that tree.
A petal falls from above.
It still grows. Amazing. Beautiful landscape.
SALLY grunts at GAYLE.
I don’t have anything.
SALLY grunts again, fearfully. One foots makes a clumsy lunge in GAYLE’s direction.
[Backing away, frightened] Don’t ask me for anything. I told you. [She steadies herself before leaving. In a harsh whisper] You kids brought it on yourselves.
GAYLE exits. SALLY, wild-eyed, stands rooted to the spot, panicking at the slightest twitch either of her outstretched arms make. Petals begin to fall around at a very fast and steady rate, almost like water from a waterfall. SALLY breathes very hard. Ashes and white dust fall down, too.
SALLY: No.
She takes one last gasp and holds her breath, eyes bulging. Blackout.
THE END
COPYRIGHT PAGE
First published in 2003
by Currency Press Pty Ltd,
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in association with Playbox Theatre, Melbourne
Revised edition published 2006
Reprinted 2009, 2012
Copyright © Ben Ellis 2003, 2006.
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NATIONAL LIBRARY OF AUSTRALIA CIP DATA
Ellis, Ben, 1974–.
Falling petals.
rev. ed.
ISBN 9781921429767 (ePub) 9781921429774 (.mobi)
I. Epidemics—Drama. I. Playbox Theatre (Melbourne, Vic.)
II. Title. (Series: Current theatre series).
A822.3
Typeset by Dean Nottle for Currency Press.
Cover design by Katy Wall for Currency Press.