This is very new work. And just a taster.
Crazy Man is an interview play. It is about the search for truth. It plays with the idea of whether or not a man who seems to be crazy is allowed to know the truth. It explores how the interview process permits some truths and denies others. And what is the role of the interviewer? What effect does it have if it's a doctor, journalist, psychologist, police officer or an "ordinary person" asking the questions?
It will help you visualise this play if you are at least a little familiar with Playback Theatre. In Playback Theatre the Conductor interviews a person - usually a member of the audience - and draws out a story which a group of Players then "play back" to the storyteller. Crazy Man plays with this format, using it to reflect on the notion of story and of how well or badly we listen to each other's truths.
The play also looks at questions of fatherhood, and the loss and damage suffered by absent fathers or fathers who have lost contact or connection with their children in whatever way. This is a story of fatherhood not often told, and worth giving some time to.
But basically it's a cop story. You have a guy who says he killed someone. Did he or didn't he? And if he did, how did he do it?
Enjoy.
Crazy Man
Characters:
Andy – male
or female – a relaxed-looking
professional: what you would expect of a doctor on his or her rounds, say, or a
detective conducting an interview with a relative of the victim.
“Lawrie” – male or
female – Lawrie’s shadow: the player of
Lawrie’s story. He wears comfortable plain clothing and has access to a shabby
coat similar to Lawrie’s. He/she doesn’t play Lawrie as if Lawrie believes his
own story, he plays it as completely real – as if nothing contradicts the
reality he inhabits. For example, when Lawrie says he is an assassin, Lawrie’s
shadow is an assassin, not a
person who believes he is an assassin. One result is that he will respond to “Andy”
at times as if he/she is crazy, with fear or pity or contempt or scorn, rather
than as if he himself is crazy and “Andy” is sane (respectable, wise,
enlightened, etc). He may apologise for killing people, but he will not
apologise for believing that he has killed people.
“Andy” – female
– Andy’s shadow: the player of Andy’s part and all the other characters
(animate and inanimate) that she feels engage with Lawrie’s story and need to
be represented. This includes Angel (Lawrie’s daughter) and Nicky (Lawrie’s
ex-girlfriend)
Preset
A bare interview room: a simple table (a side table, a desk
set between the two men or beside Andy, or a lunchroom table between them: all
would do), two chairs facing each other, a phone, a large clock on the wall.
There is a door at the back of the room. Perhaps it has a small window in it.
Beside the interview room there are two wooden boxes to be
used as seats, a coat rack (of props) and a third wooden box also full of
props.
Three scrims are set up for projection – one behind the
boxes and downstage both left and right.
Act 1
“Lawrie” and “Andy” march Lawrie through the auditorium,
onto the stage and to the back corner of the interview room, near the door.
“Andy”: Wait in there.
“Lawrie” and “Andy” sit on the wooden boxes.
Lawrie enters the interview room, alone and frightened. He
sits down. Stands up. Sits down. Waits. He is anxious for action but also
intimidated and overwhelmed.
Andy comes into the interview room carrying a coffee cup
and a file. Lawrie immediately jumps up. This causes him to wince in pain (he
has sore feet and a searingly painful headache). He grabs for Andy’s arm.
Lawrie: You have to believe me. Please. We – someone… It’s
getting dark. Someone has to find her.
Andy gets them both sitting down, puts his coffee cup down
and takes a breath.
Andy: Hello Lawrie. My name is Andy.
Lawrie: Can you tell me what’s happening? She’s only six.
Andy: Hi, Lawrie. My name is Andy. It’s good to meet you.
Lawrie: Hi. Are they looking for her? The police – are they
looking?
Andy gets some kind of recording device – a Dictaphone –
out of his pocket.
Andy: I’m going to record what we say in here. Is that okay with
you? You understand why, don’t you? It’s so that if we want to check it later
we have a record.
Lawrie: What? Sure –
Andy: (talking to the Dictaphone) Interview commenced at 7:35pm. In the room are Andy Newberry and… (turns
to Lawrie) Can you state your name please.
Lawrie: Lawrie.
Andy: Your full name please, Lawrie.
Lawrie: Lawry James Anthony Tung. (He gets up again.) We don’t have time for this – this shit. Angel’s out there, and we have to find her!
Andy: Sit down, Lawrie. They’re looking. Trust me. But you need
to talk to me so I can listen to your story. I need to work out what’s true and
what isn’t. Is that clear?
Lawrie: People are looking? You believed me – that I killed
him, the guy on the boat?
Andy: Lawrie I’m not going to say what I believe or what I
don’t, but I am telling you that people are looking… Can you state your date of
birth.
Lawrie: May 14th, 1975.
Andy: A bit louder, please, for the tape.
Lawrie: MAY 14TH, 1975!
Andy: That’s fine, thank you. You’re a Taurus, yeah?
Lawrie: Yeah.
Andy: Me, too. Where are you living at the moment?
Lawrie: At St Mark’s.
Andy: The refuge?
Lawrie: Yes.
Andy: How long have you been there?
Lawrie: About ten months. Off and on.
Andy: How much off and how much on?
Lawrie: Mostly on.
Andy: You like it there?
Lawrie: Yes.
Andy: Yeah? What do you like about it?
Lawrie: I have a room in the corner. You have to walk down a
hall, up some stairs, along another hall, turn a corner and then go down a
passageway to get to my room. It’s small, but it has two windows.
Andy: Okay. That sounds nice. Tucked away. A place to get away
from it all. I bet it gets hot in summer.
Lawrie: Yes.
Andy: Do you go out much, Lawrie?
Lawrie: No.
Andy: When was the last time you went out before today?
Lawrie: A week ago. I went to the supermarket.
Andy: And before that?
Lawrie: A week before that I went to the supermarket.
Andy: So that’s your usual pattern?
Lawrie: Sometimes I meditate in the park, but I can meditate
in my room. I have bad feet, and get headaches, so it’s better if I don’t walk
too much. I only need to go to the supermarket.
Andy: You meditate a lot?
Lawrie: Yes.
Andy: I supposed it helps with the headaches? – and keeps you
from getting too angry – is that it?
Lawrie: It keeps me from thinking, which stops me from hurting
anyone, and that makes me happy.
Andy: Good. That sounds good.
Lawrie: Except that being happy gets me thinking about people
– people I love, people I miss, people I don’t like – and that’s dangerous, so
I have to meditate a lot, to keep going back to not thinking.
Andy: Who don’t you like?
Lawrie: Doctors. Prison officers. The police. Parking
inspectors. People who make advertisements. People who shout…
Andy: Yeah – ok – fair enough… So thinking is the problem – or
feeling: being excited – that’s what gets you into trouble, so you meditate, to
try to stay in that space where you’re not thinking. Is that it? Did I get it?
Lawrie: Not thinking is like trying to stand in the rain and
not get wet.
Andy: Or be in a relationship and not get hurt.
Lawrie: But even when it’s raining the gaps between the drops
are bigger than the drops themselves. I just try to focus on the not-drops.
Andy: Why did you decide to go out today?
Lawrie: Because I had to. You know why. I know why. Are we
talking just for the sake of the tape recorder? Tell me again that there are
people looking for Angel.
Andy: Why did you have to, Lawrie? What was the big deal –
Lawrie: Are there people looking or not?
Andy: There are people looking –
Lawrie: How many?
Andy: I don’t know, Lawrie. Some.
Lawrie: “Some.” It’s on tape now, you know. Recorded. How many
is “some”? Two? Three and a half? I’ve heard that the police can’t be charged with
negligence; is that true?
Andy: Lawrie… Today you went to a café – The Ocean View Café on
Beach Rd – and from there you called the police and you said, quote: “I need to
report a murder: I just killed someone.” Is that true?
Lawrie: Yes.
Andy: Why?
Lawrie: To make you look – to save her… You said a minute ago
that you believed me.
Andy: (searches for the words for a moment) People are looking,
Lawrie. When you call the police and say you’ve killed someone you get taken
very seriously.
Lawrie: But there’s a difference between taking me seriously
and believing me.
Andy: I’m listening to you now, Lawrie. And people are looking
for the boat you described, and looking for the man you say you killed.
Lawrie: And if they find him they’ll find her.
Andy: I can’t see any evidence yet, Lawrie. You called us from a
café with no marks no wounds no weapons and no body, but saying you’d just
murdered someone on a boat –
Lawrie: “The Treasure Chest”.
Andy: “The Treasure Chest” – a black yacht with a silver
spinnaker belonging to Richard Jordan, the plastic surgery billionaire – which
you said was sailing somewhere in the middle of the bay.
Lawrie: I pushed him overboard.
Andy: You pushed him overboard –
Lawrie: Wrapped in his spinnaker.
Andy: Wrapped in his big silver spinnaker… From inside the Ocean
View Café? On Beach Rd? Miles away? While reading a newspaper?
Lawrie: You don’t believe me.
Andy: I’m taking you seriously. I’m listening to you and trying
to make sense of it.
Lawrie: But the difference matters. If you “take it seriously”
you put it on a list. If you believe me
you run; you don’t just wander
around hoping she’ll turn up; you search! She’s a six year old girl floating in the ocean at night. If you
believe me you feel in your chest, in your guts, what it’s like to be her right
now – to be in the water: cold and tired and scared and alone, a long way from
shore. You feel it, so you hurry!
Andy: Who is she, Lawrie?
Lawrie: She? She’s the daughter of a girl I used to know.
Andy: What’s her name?
Lawrie: Angel.
Andy: Is that her real name or a pet name?
Lawrie is silent. Wounded.
Andy: Who’s the father?
Silence.
Andy: Are you the father, Lawrie?
Lawrie: Yes. I am. I was.
Andy: When did you last see her?
Lawrie is silent. The question hurts.
Andy: Lawrie, you have to explain it to me. Can you walk me
through it? From the beginning.
Lawrie looks around. The beginning is mysterious and
elusive, in corners, under beds, in clouds, lost and impossible to gather up
again.
Andy: Just today, Lawrie. Can you just describe today? The time
leading up to the phone-call from the café?
Attention shifts to "Lawrie." Both Andy and Lawrie are watching, too.
Andy: Ok. So you woke up in your little room at St Marks, the
hostel for homeless men. Then what?
“Lawrie” places a thin mat on the ground and a pillow on
the mat; he lies down and pulls a blanket over himself. He acts out (dances)
the story as Lawrie tells it.
Lawrie: Normally I feel safe at St Marks. I feel hidden, like
a trinket wrapped in tissue paper then stashed in a drawer: a good feeling. But
today I felt different.
I woke up. My eyes were sticky. Things took a while to
come into focus. I lay there looking at the ceiling, watching the ceiling
looking at me. The walls, the door, the coat, me in the bed: we all looked at
each other, blink blink blink, like a lot of nervous people in an elevator.
Lots of energy.
In the pocket of the suit coat hanging on the back of
the door is a photo. I want to get it out and look at it. I want it so badly.
My mind creeps into the pocket and caresses it. The image of the photo in my
hand slips into my head gently, like a dream. Everything is whispering that
it’ll be okay, but I know it won’t. Or I think I know. I tell myself “Don’t!” –
fast and slow – “Dooooon’t” I imagine a sign saying: “Do Not Touch.” I’m
tempted, but I know I can’t give in to it.
Andy: What’s the photo of?
“Andy” goes to the coat hanging on the coat rack and rifles
through the pockets until she finds a photo. She takes it out and looks at it.
A picture comes up on one of the scrims: it is a blurry
picture of a sea dragon. The sea dragon, still in the photo but obviously
drifting in the water, also drifts in a space of not-quite-reality. It is an
unbelievable creature, so it makes sense that it cannot quite be brought into
sharp focus. It remains a kind of dream image.
“Andy” goes across to the interview room and, ducking in
through the door, quietly slips it into Andy’s evidence folder.
Lawrie: It’s a sea dragon.
Andy: A sea dragon?
Lawrie: I got it from the post office a week ago. I have a
Post Office box there. My ex sends me one photo a year. It’s a photo of what
they did to celebrate our daughter’s birthday. I guess they went to the
aquarium. She’d be about six now.
On another scrim (or overlapping the first image) there is
a picture of a young girl. “Lawrie” is up now. Everything aches, but especially
his feet and his head, and his movements express the battle he feels between
his head, which tells him not to do it, and his heart, which aches to see the
girl in the photo. His heart wins. He moves towards the jacket, reaches into
the pocket, clasps the photo (a parallel, rather than second, photo) and draws
it out. Once he has it he returns to the bed and sinks his whole being into
looking at it.
Lawrie: (Cont.) So I give in. I look at the photo. It’s like I can dive
into the photo and then turn around and look at the person holding the camera.
It’s Angel. She standing there looking at the sea dragon, only now I’m there in
front of her. And then it happens. I’d told myself it wouldn’t but I knew it
would: she looks at me. She sees me.
“Andy” plays the part of Angel. She and “Lawrie” stand
opposite each other, eyes locked.
Lawrie: She’s like me – she has the gift – so she feels me
there, senses my presence and reaches out to me. We connect. It’s funny how our
meeting is so plain, almost formal. We’re polite. She speaks first.
“Andy”: Hello Dad.
“Lawrie”: Hello Angel.
“Andy” and “Lawrie” put their arms out towards one another
and begin to move forwards to embrace each other.
Andy: That sounds nice.
Lawrie: But I didn’t want to look at it because I’m dangerous.
Because I hurt people and I don’t want to hurt her. More than anything else in
the world I want to make sure I don’t hurt her.
Do you have any kids?
Andy: No.
Lawrie: Maybe you won’t understand, then. She looks at me and
sees me and I know what’s happened.
At the last instant “Lawrie” pushes her violently away and
tumbles back onto the bed shocked, frightened and appalled at what he has done.
“Lawrie”: Shit! Oh shit! Fuck. God. No!
Andy: I don’t understand. What’s the problem? What’s happened?
Lawrie: I told you: I hurt people. When I make contact with
people bad things happen. I never wanted to hurt her, and now that I’ve made
contact – now that we’ve connected – she’s in danger.
The photos click through on the scrims, mixed in with
random photos of “danger”. They are all bright but separate and not logically
connected.
Andy: What? I don’t understand. You looked at a photo of a sea
dragon, and through that (you believe) you made some kind of psychic connection
with her – your daughter – and that’s put her in danger…?
Lawrie: Chaos theory works, yeah? Little changes in the
arrangement of particles in the universe can have big consequences. A tiny gust
of air shifts a single particle of dust, which sends a drop of water down one
side of a hill rather than another. That drop of water is the one that cracks
open the dam, which floods the village and kills thousands of people.
And the world is wrapped in energy, yeah? Solar,
gravitational, electrical, thermal, magnetic: it’s all energy and it’s all
changing back and forth from one form to the another. All these energies wrap
the world in an energy-field. It’s like the internet, only the internet is just
a cheap copy running about a billion times slower than the earth’s energy-field.
That energy field is called The Relay.
Whether or not The Relay is conscious doesn’t matter. It
doesn’t matter if the raindrop intended to break the dam and kill all the
people, the outcome is the same.
But when I was eight I got bitten by a wasp and my face
swelled up and closed off my airways. I thought I was going to die. Everyone
around me thought I was going to die, too, because I was having an allergic
reaction that none of them could do anything about.
And then, without knowing how or why or even what it
was, I accessed The Relay. I became aware of it and began to feel it, to
explore it and sense what it was – what it is: the interconnected oneness of
every particle of matter and kind of energy on earth. And when my consciousness
entered into it The Relay and I became one indistinguishable thing, so in a
sense it became aware of me. And it
didn’t want me to die.
Miraculously, I healed myself. At least, it was a
miracle to everyone else. But I knew what had really happened. Energy and
matter had interacted, and shifted, and allowed me to begin breathing again. As
I came back to life I knew that my life would never be the same again.
I started talking to The Relay more and more as I grew
up and by the time I was twenty I was able to make things move around. By the
time I was twenty-four I was working full time as an assassin.
People would bring me situations they needed solved –
husbands or business partners they needed eliminated, a pimp who needed to be
put back in his places, a developer who needed to be tapped on the shoulder by
a bulldozer and accidentally buried in one of his own drain holes – and I would
do the job. I simply accessed The Relay and the job would be done. I could do
it from anywhere. I made money. I was successful. I was a young man doing well
for himself. I was happy. Once I could tap into The Relay, moving a car this
way or that, causing a ladder to fall or a mixer to tip over was easy. It was
like sinking a pool ball that’s already resting on the lip of the pocket.
But eventually, I got too good. I was too connected. I
was like an internet hacker that never sleeps, and who gets so tired and wired
that he makes mistakes.
A woman brushed past me in the street, bumping my
shoulder. Just lightly. And she wasn’t big or mean or intimidating; she was
just an ordinary person in a hurry who happened to bump into me. And then she
kept going without saying sorry, which was rude. I remember the voice inside my
head that used to just react quick as anything, before I’d even had time to think,
saying something: “Hey! Watch where you’re fucking going, Lady!” or something
like that.
"Andy" walks past and bumps into "Lawrie". "Andy" exits.
“Lawrie”: “That hurt, Bitch. Watch where you’re fucking going.”
Lawrie: …and I remember my face turning into a little fist for
a second. But it was just a split second. Just the moment before I started
thinking again and then I was fine. It was okay. It wasn’t a big deal.
I turned around when I heard the pane of glass hit the
footpath. There was a tiny wet sound as it sliced her into two pieces. It was a
big window sheet from the construction site above her. It went in near her neck
and severed her left arm, shoulder and most of the side of her chest from the
rest of her body. Glass and blood exploded everywhere. Her insides spilled out
onto the verge like someone was emptying a net full of squid and fish and
entrails.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the window of a
building. My face was white. I knew that my thoughts had caused that pane of
glass to fall.
I killed that woman on the footpath without even really
thinking about it.
Do you understand now how dangerous I am?
Andy: I think so. The Relay is a billion times more complicated
than the Internet. Because of what happened to you when you were little you can
access it, and shift things – even just little things – but little things can
have big consequences, like a drop of water breaking a dam or a pane of glass
falling twenty-two storeys and killing a woman who happened to be walking
underneath a construction site with low safety standards.
Lawrie: How did you know it was twenty-two storeys?
Andy: (Waving the question away – meh, whatever…) It was a famous case. There was no net below where
the glaziers were working and no barriers keeping pedestrians from walking
underneath them. The woman’s name was Marge Casey – her family sued the company
for negligence and won. And that led to lots of changes in health and safety
regulations on building sites. But the judge ruled that it was an accident and
that the two guys who were handling the piece of glass weren’t to blame.
Lawrie: They weren’t.
Andy: Right…
Lawrie: I was.
Andy: I get it: I understand that connection scares you – that
you feel guilty and responsible when bad things happen to people –
Lawrie, frustrated, begins to meditate.
Andy: …but you only want good things to happen to Angel, don’t
you? How does you imagining her put her in danger?
Lawrie: I didn’t “imagine” her; I connected with her. She was
there, too.
Andy: Okay. You connected. I still don’t see how that puts her
in danger.
Lawrie: When we connected I was inside her consciousness: I
could feel what she was thinking. It’s not crazy stuff; it’s logical. She’s
six; I am where the sea dragons are, but further in, sort of on the other side
of the sea dragons. And I’m her dad and she wants to see me, to get to me, so
if you were six and knew that your dad was where the sea dragons are – where
they really live – where would you go?
Andy: To the water.
Lawrie: Exactly.
Andy: Why didn’t you just call the police straight away? Get
them to find her?
Lawrie: And say what?
“Lawrie” picks up a phone and dials.“Andy” picks up another
phone and answers.
“Andy”: Police.
“Lawrie”: Hi. There’s a girl – my daughter is missing.
“Andy”: What’s your name?
“Lawrie”: Lawrie James Anthony Tung.
“Andy”: Thanks Lawrie. How old is your daughter?
“Lawrie”: She’s just turned six.
“Andy”: And how long has she been missing?
“Lawrie”: A few hours, but she was last “seen” walking towards
the beach. I’m worried she’s in the water somewhere.
“Andy”: What’s her name?
“Lawrie”: Angel.
“Andy”: Angela.
“Lawrie”: No. Angel.
“Andy”: Ok. Sorry. Angel.
“Lawrie”: That’s okay. Yes. Angel. (Pause.) I don’t know if that’s her real name; it’s just
what I call her.
“Andy”: You’re not sure if it’s her real name? Did you say it
was your daughter who’s missing?
“Lawrie”: Yes.
“Andy”: But you’re not sure what her real name is?
“Lawrie”: Yes.
“Andy”: Sir, I need to inform you that making prank calls to
emergency services is an offence under state and federal law and carries sever
penalties up to and including imprisonment.
“Lawrie”: I know. My daughter is missing. I need your help.
“Andy”: When and where did you last see her?
“Lawrie”: I’ve never met her. I’m sorry, I don’t know where
she lives or what she looks like or what she’s wearing or if her hair is black
or brown or long or short. I’ve never even seen a photo of her – only of things
she’s done or seen. I know what she looks like inside – I know what her spirit
feels like; I know how her imagination works; I know she’s an angel – my angel
– and I know she wants to see me and thinks I’m under the water, near where the
sea dragons are… Can you please stop her?
“Andy”: Are you serious?
“Lawrie”: Deadly. Yes. I am. I really am.
“Andy”: You said a minute ago that someone saw her walking
towards the water. Who saw her?
“Lawrie”: I did, but I didn’t physically see her. I travelled
through a photo and our consciousnesses met inside the earth’s energy field, so
I know that a few hours ago that was where she was heading.
“Andy”: Sir, before I transfer your call I’d like you to tell me
the name and dose of the medications you normally take and when you last took
them.
Lawrie hangs up.
Andy: You’ve never met her?
Lawrie: No.
Andy: Never?
Lawrie: When her mother became pregnant, we decided it was
best if I stayed away.
Andy: What was your partner’s name?
Lawrie: Nicole: Nicky. Nicky Roberts. She wanted us to be
together but I thought it was best if I went away. At that point I was really
dangerous. I’d just killed the woman in the street and the next week I got
angry at a story on the news and a building blew up in Bali. It was best for
them if I left, and the most loving thing I could do. We agreed that I should
never see them or speak to them again, and I promised to try to forget about
them.
Andy: Yeah, okay. Wow. That’s a tough “best option”.
Lawrie: At first I thought maybe I could join the army and
just disappear into that, but that was a crazy idea. So I just kind of hung
around. Drifted. It was a bad time, then I found a book about meditating, and
that helped me. Gave me a focus.
Andy: So this morning: you give into temptation and look at the
photo, then through the photo you connect with her. Then you realise what
you’ve done and that she’s heading for the water, looking for you. You decide
you can’t call the police and ask for their help. Then what?
“Lawrie” moves back into the set-up/pose he was in earlier.
Lawrie: I had to get ready to go outside.
Andy: Get ready?
Lawrie: I was scared.
Andy: Of what?
Lawrie: First, it’s busy – always very emotionally charged –
and I don’t want to react and hurt anyone. And second: I don’t want to go back
to prison.
Andy: Prison? When were you in prison?
Lawrie: Yeah. When I was an assassin I ended up in prison a
few times. Bad food. An ugly place. They held me but they could never keep me in
there. They knew I was doing it but they couldn’t prove it, could they? None of
them had even heard of The Relay. I was untouchable. And I was cocky about it,
too. So even thought hey couldn’t charge me with anything they held me as long
as they could. They said it wasn’t safe to let me out. Said that I needed their
help. Started giving me drugs to calm me down.
Andy: What did they give you?
Lawrie: “Anti-depressants” – Celexa, Valium I think. Maybe
some other things. They didn’t tell me. Have you ever been on anti-depressants?
Andy: Only alcohol.
Lawrie: You a smoker, too?
Andy: I was.
Lawrie: Hard to give up?
Andy: No: easy. What did Mark Twain say? “Quitting smoking is
easy, I’ve done it a thousand times.”
Lawrie: For me taking AD’s was like having fat injected into
my brain. My thoughts became blubbery, my feelings came to me as if they were
swimming through lard. I slept better, I had fewer panic attacks and I was
definitely less dangerous, but when I got out I stopped dead every time. Off it
straight away. And even now I get
these flashes, like a light bulb has gone on and popped inside my head. Then
there is this slow pain, as if each little bit of glass is slowly ripping its
way towards the surface, as if one day splinters of blown light globe are going
to start falling out of my scalp like dandruff.
Andy: The flash is just for an instant? (Lawrie nods.) How long
does the tearing feeling last?
Lawrie: An hour, usually. Sometimes it’s quick, almost
nothing; sometimes it lasts the whole day.
Andy: What do you do?
Lawrie: Meditate. Hope I can sleep through it. Cry. Get angry.
Think nasty thoughts. Hit things. Cut myself.
Andy: Does cutting yourself help?
Lawrie: No. But sometimes it’s better than not cutting myself.
Andy: Oh.
Andy and Lawrie turn to watch “Lawrie”.
"Lawrie” gets up from where he’s been lying (shocked at what
he’s done), slowly holding his head. He stands up, clasping the photo, and
walks “out” (wherever “out” seems to be in the space).
Lawrie: Wait.
Andy: What?
Lawrie: That’s wrong.
Andy: What?
Lawrie: That picture of me. His feet… I don’t walk like that.
My feet hurt.
Andy: Your feet hurt. Why do your feet hurt? What happened?
Lawrie: That’s how I ended up at St Mark’s the first time.
Before that I’d been just doing the rounds. Couches, beds, friends, strangers,
then parks, under bridges…
Andy: The rounds.
Lawrie: I’d had a bad day. Lots of headaches. I’d tried to get
to a doctor to see if there was anything I could do and I went there and he was
good and wrote me out a script, and then I had to go and find a chemist. But
the only one I could find was inside this shopping complex, and it was noisy
and full of hatred and I got so stressed I thought the whole place was going to
cave in on me. I had this image of glass falling down on everyone. It was a
rainy day, with thunderclouds rolling and twisting in on each other, and low,
so low it felt like the weight of them was pressing on my shoulders and the
back of my neck. I could feel all this energy turning over in my own body and I
had to get out, so I went and sat under a bridge. I tucked myself right up but
it was windy and the concrete was cold and flowing with water. Still, I felt
safe and tucked away, so I stayed there and started meditating.
I was there for about thirteen hours, I think. The whole
time I was there I sat in thunderbolt. My eyes were closed. I was focused on a
an image in my head of a candle burning steadily and quietly, undisturbed by
even the gentle movement of my breath. I was focused. I was good.
When Jeff found me – Jeff the Jogger was just a guy who
happened to be running past early the next morning – but when he found me my
feet and half way up my shins were black from cold. There was a frost and ice
had formed around my toes. I couldn’t walk. He carried me out from under the
bridge and called his wife and they drove me to hospital.
My toes were fucked. And since then walking has been
painful. Hard. I don’t walk like that (he points to “Lawrie” who is
watching, listening, taking direction)…
more like this.
“Lawrie”: Ok. Got it.
Lawrie: Yeah. That’s better. Yes. That’s it.
Andy: So now you’re heading… where? Did you have a plan at this
stage?
Lawrie: Just to the water. Closer to where Angel was going… We
are going to find her aren’t we? Someone’s out there looking?
Andy: It’s okay, Lawrie. Yes. People are looking. This is the
best thing you can be doing. Being here explaining it – making it make sense.
You were heading towards the water…
Lawrie: I could feel her. I knew that was where I had to go.
Sometimes you just have to trust that the next step will present itself. And
what other choice did I have?
Andy: Exactly.
“Lawrie” walks “down to the waterfront”: feet in agony,
body aching from tension, withdrawal and badly treated frostbite. He is racing
her. (In his imagination – projected onto the scrims – in his reality: the
little girl is walking to the waterfront, too. She looks determined. In his
version of her imagination she will find him under the sea, where the sea
dragons are.)
Lawrie: And then there was a moment when I suddenly felt wet.
Drenched. Freezing cold. And I knew I’d lost the race. She was in the water.
Andy: What time was this?
Lawrie: I don’t know. I have no idea. I’m sorry. I know it
would help.
Andy: It’s okay Lawrie. How long before you got to the café was
it? We can work back from there.
Lawrie: I don’t know. Not long. I panicked then. I ran. First
time since the night under the bridge I’ve run. I was very scared. Terrified. I
thought I’d lost her. And then when I reached Beach Rd I just had to stop.
Andy: Because of the pain?
Lawrie: Yes. But also just because I had to.
Andy: And you stopped at the café?
Lawrie: Yes.
Andy: The Ocean View café. I think I understand why. From there
you can see most of the bay.
Lawrie: Yes.
Andy: The waitress said you sat at one of the bar stools they
have, facing out towards the water.
Lawrie: Yes. And near the newspapers.
Andy: You stopped to read the paper?
Lawrie: Not exactly. No. But I had a feeling – an idea – a
sensation that told me I should read the paper – that I’d find something in it,
some sort of direction.
“Lawrie” stops and sits down, exhausted but still
determined. (He is still desperate and anxious, but his desperation is more
under control now that he is doing something.) He picks up a newspaper and
begins searching through it. He puts it aside and picks up another one. It is
more like he is divining his way through them rather than reading them: feeling
the energy on each page rather than looking at them.
Andy: Did you?
Lawrie: Yes. I found the article about Richard Jordan and his
favourite yacht: The Treasure Chest.
Andy: I saw the picture: him and two girls in bikinis whose
boobs he “enhanced”.
Lawrie: So I sat and sensed for him.
Andy: You searched for him.
Lawrie: Sensed.
Andy: In the world.
Lawrie: I searched The Relay. He was right – he was the target
I had been led towards. I had no idea where Angel was, but I could find Richard
Jordan and his yacht. I moved one atom here, another atom there. I made the
wind blow. Patches of sunshine opened up. He made choices but I informed them.
He headed where I needed him to go: where Angel was headed.
Andy: And then you killed him.
Lawrie: Tangled him in his spinnaker and helped him fall
overboard. There was nothing anyone could do. It was an accident. A tragedy. Any
skipper will tell you – it does happen – packing away a spinnaker is tricky –
but you’re bloody unlucky if you’re the one who ends up sinking wrapped up in
40 square metres of sailcloth.
Projections are of splashes, viewed from under water, and
then of a body falling down through water, looking like an angel with long
trailing silver wings catching the sunlight and leaving trails of bubbles as it
flows downwards and disappears into the dark depths.
Andy: How does that help?
Lawrie: First: It helps rid the world of an arsehole.
Andy: Ok…
Lawrie: And second: It’s all about her, Angel, not him! He’s
the means to get people to look in the right place for her, and for her to stop looking for me and allow
herself to be found. They just have to be where his yacht is.
Andy: You think she’ll be there?
Lawrie: I know. I know she went looking for an angel, or a
dragon, or a fish, so I sent one to her: a man with giant silver wings flapping
as he flew down past her into the depths. I gave her enough. The angel flies
by, she sees it. The angel doesn’t stop and – I know her – she realises it’s
okay to turn around. He isn’t there anymore. He/me… I’m gone; I can’t stop; so
she might as well go home. Only she’s a long way out now, and cold and tired,
and won’t make it back unless someone gets there to help her.
Andy: And you and I both know that if Boob-job Jordan is missing
there’ll be every sea-rescue boat and helicopter in the country out looking for
him.
“Lawrie”, sitting at the café, looks around. “Andy”
responds like a waitress: she stands up and comes over.
“Lawrie: Excuse me, waitress.
“Andy”: He honey, how you going there? Can I get you something
to drink? A coffee?
“Lawrie”: Ah. I actually need to make a phone call.
“Andy”: Oh.
“Lawrie”: Have you got a phone I can borrow?
“Andy”: And a coffee?
“Lawrie”: Sure. A latte.
“Andy”: Ok. Cool. I’ll see what I can do.
“Lawrie:” Ah. It’s urgent. It’s my daughter. She’s missing.
“Andy”: Oh my God that’s terrible! We’ve got a hands-free. I’ll
just grab it for you.
“Lawrie”: Fantastic. Thank-you.
Andy: So why did you have to call the police?
Lawrie: To get them to look.
Andy: Sorry, yes. I know that. But why confess? Why say you had
killed him? Why not just say you knew he was missing – or that you’d heard he’d
fallen off his boat out in the bay somewhere?
Lawrie: You know –
Andy: I know you’re going to say it’s not credible… but –
“Andy” (returns with a phone): Here you go. Oh my God I hope you find her I hope she’s okay that
would be terrifying you must be so terrified are you okay?
“Lawrie”: Thank you. I’m ok. I’m ok. I just need to make this
call.
“Andy”: Oh sure of course if there’s anything you need just let
me know I’ll go and see how they’re going with your coffee.
Andy steps away but stays to eavesdrop on “Lawrie”’s
conversation. She is increasingly shocked by what she hears.
“Lawrie” dials a number.
Andy: Emergency response: Police, Fire or Ambulance.
“Lawrie”: Police.
Andy: Putting you through now. (A beat. Andy and Lawrie
exchange a look.) Police. How can I help?
“Lawrie”: Hi. My daughter is missing.
Andy: You again.
Lawrie: No. That isn’t what I said. I knew all that. We’ve
been through that.
Andy: What did you say?
Lawrie walks over and takes the phone off “Lawrie” (which
confuses “Andy” but she’s startled by the whole thing anyway).”Lawrie” and
“Andy” back away and give Lawrie space. Lawrie locks eyes with Andy.
Lawrie: I need to report a murder. I just killed someone.
Andy: Who?
Lawrie: Richard Jordan.
Andy: Where?
Lawrie: Aboard his yacht The Treasure Chest.
Andy: And where are you now?
Lawrie: My name is Lawrie James Anthony Tung.
Lawrie hangs up.
There is the long stunned sound of the dial tone. Andy
looks at his handset. He hits a button. The phone in Lawrie’s hand starts
ringing. He puts it down quickly. “Andy” rushes to pick it up.
“Andy”: Hello!... Yes. He’s right here I heard everything he
just said oh my god he said he killed someone… We’re at the Ocean View Café on
Beach Rd near the pier well opposite the pier sort of what should we do he just
looks like a harmless old guy? Ok. Ok. I’ll be here. Ok.
“Andy” steps back and puts the phone away. She and “Lawrie”
just watch Lawrie, who stands there with his shoulders hunched, looking down
and then occasionally out to sea.
Andy: In order to get them to start the search… so that they find
your daughter: your Angel… you didn’t need to do this. You didn’t have to say
you’d murdered him.
“Lawrie” and “Andy” arrive as the arresting officers,
arrest Lawrie and walk him into the interview room with Andy.
“Andy”: Oh my God this guy is such a crazy dude I just heard
what he said on the phone when he called.
“Lawrie” (whispering): You’re playing a policewoman now. You
and I just arrested him.
“Andy” (whispering): Oh shit! Right. (In a sterner voice, to
Lawrie.) Wait in there!
Lawrie goes in, sits down, then jumps up and begs:
Lawrie: You have to believe me. Please. We – someone… It’s
dark now. Someone has to find her.
Andy: (working it out – having an “A-ha!” moment) …unless of course you want to be held responsible. You confess to the murder if
you want someone to see – to know that you did it. It’s a show, isn’t it,
Lawrie? It’s your way of showing what a good dad you are. No point saving her
and her not know it was you. You’re still reaching for her aren’t you, Lawrie,
still trying to get to her and establish some sort of connection. That’s quite
a plan. I’ll give you that: quite a plan.
Lawrie: You have to believe me! Please! We – someone… It’s
dark now. Someone has to find her!
Stand off – waiting… Andy disentangles them again and sits
Lawrie down.
Andy: I have to make some calls, Lawrie. I’ll be back in a
minute.
Andy exits.
[1] Lawrie could
be slightly older, but the time that has passed since he has seen his partner
and therefore the age of his daughter would perhaps need to be altered to
maintain credibility.
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