Читать книгу Hope and Joy & The Return - Ellie Stewart - Страница 9

PART 1

The beating wings of a large bird increase in frequency and decrease in volume until it sounds like a foetal heartbeat.

***

Summer.

A room in a hospital.

HOPE is in labour. She’s in the middle of a contraction. She is groaning.

JOY is supporting her physically.

JOY: Keep moving. Keep breathing. You’re doing great.

A wee while. The contraction passes.

JOY: There you go. That’s better, isn’t it?

First time?

HOPE: Last.

JOY: They all say that.

Till the next time.

What are you having?

HOPE: What am I having?

JOY: Girl or boy?

HOPE: I don’t know. It’s … unexpected.

JOY: One night stand?

Beat.

HOPE: Kind of.

JOY: Pished were you?

HOPE: No!

Pause.

HOPE: It was …

I think there might be complications.

JOY looks at HOPE’s notes.

JOY: Nothing in your notes, Hope.

HOPE: No. I didn’t …

But I think it might be …

I don’t know what to expect.

JOY looks at the notes.

JOY: None of us knows what to expect.

Pause.

HOPE: The circumstances of conception were … unusual.

JOY: None of our business how the wean got in there. The main thing is, it gets out safe.

HOPE: I think it might be a wee bit unique.

JOY: Look, if you’ve got a medical history just write it in your notes.

JOY passes the notes to HOPE.

JOY: Write it in some kind of squiggly handwriting – makes it look like a Doctor’s.

HOPE: I can write my own notes?

JOY: Somebody has to. No one else has time. But do it quick before the next contraction.

Too late. The contraction has started.

JOY: Is the Father coming in?

HOPE breathing. Shakes her head.

JOY: Anyone you can call?

HOPE groaning.

JOY: Girlfriend?

HOPE groaning.

JOY: Mum?

HOPE groaning.

JOY: Pal?

The contraction is passing.

JOY: You won’t be long now. That’s my shift finished.

HOPE: What?

JOY: I don’t get overtime for this.

HOPE: But I don’t know what’s happening!

JOY: You must have some idea.

HOPE: No!

HOPE shakes her head.

JOY: From the telly?

HOPE: No.

JOY: You’ll be fine. There are four born every second. (Claps four times quickly.) Just like that.

HOPE: Not like this one.

JOY: You’ll be fine.

HOPE: When does the next midwife start?

JOY: Midwife?

They don’t call a midwife till you’re at least seven centimetres dilated.

If it all goes to plan you probably won’t even see a midwife.

HOPE: But you’re a midwife.

JOY: I’m not even an auxiliary. I’m just the cleaner.

But I’ll get someone to bring you a nice cup of tea and a biscuit. Plenty of sugar.

HOPE: I don’t take sugar. It makes me sick.

JOY: You’ll be sick anyway. At least you’ll have something to bring up.

***

JOY at home. She is on the sofa with a goldfish in a bowl. She has a bag of crisps.

She talks to the goldfish.

JOY: What do you think? Flying Doctors? How to Train Your Hamster? Grand Designs?

…

I know, it’s not your favourite.

…

It is a special though … it’s on stilts.

JOY opens the bag of crisps and crumbles a wee bit of crisp into the goldfish bowl.

JOY: ¡Que aproveche!

Banging on the wall from the next room.

JOY puts the bowl down.

JOY: (To goldfish.) Don’t go away.

***

The next day in the hospital room. HOPE and JOY. JOY is cleaning.

HOPE tries to move. She winces.

JOY: Sore, are you?

HOPE: Only when I move. Or cough. Or pee. It’s worst when I pee.

JOY: You should pee in the shower. It really helps. You have to …

JOY mimes hosing her own fanny with a shower head.

JOY: But it really helps.

HOPE: How long does it last?

JOY: Which bit?

HOPE: The stingy as fuck bit.

JOY: Not long.

Pause.

HOPE: Are they talking about me?

JOY: A bit.

HOPE: What are they saying?

JOY: That you’re a grunter.

HOPE: A grunter?

JOY: Don’t worry about it. Everyone does something. There’s the grunters, the honkers, the growlers, the beaters, the screamers, the whoopers, the greeters, the ones that bellow, the ones that low.

You are a grunter.

Beat.

HOPE: It’s not what I expected.

JOY: They all say that. I don’t know what they expect.

HOPE: Well I wasn’t expecting … an egg.

JOY: An egg?

HOPE: No one’s saying anything but it’s clearly an egg.

JOY: An egg?

JOY looks in the incubator.

JOY: Oh.

So it is.

HOPE looks at JOY.

JOY: It’s a beautiful egg.

HOPE: Is it?

JOY: Gorgeous.

They look at the egg.

JOY starts talking to it in a high pitched voice.

JOY: Are you coming out? Are you? Are you?

JOY makes cooing noises to the egg.

HOPE: Joy. I’ve had an egg.

JOY: It still likes regular baby stuff.

(To the egg.) You like that sort of thing.

Don’t you?

Yes you do.

Yes you do.

Beat.

JOY: Go on … give it a cuddle.

HOPE won’t take the egg.

HOPE: I’m scared I might drop it.

JOY: Course you won’t drop it.

Pause.

HOPE: I’m scared I might drop it deliberately.

JOY puts the egg gently back in the incubator.

HOPE: What if we don’t bond. What if it’s ugly?

JOY: Oh it’ll be ugly all right. Newborns are always ugly. But you won’t think it’s ugly.

Pause.

HOPE: But it’s … different.

JOY: Hope doll, it is hatching out of an egg. There is a strong chance that it’s going to be different. But all it’ll need is love … and somewhere to spread its wings.

HOPE: How do you know that?

JOY: Eh?

HOPE: How do you know it’ll have wings?

JOY: What?

HOPE: ‘Somewhere to spread its wings’?

JOY: That’s just something people s…

Beat.

JOY: It’s going to have actual wings?

A big moment.

JOY: It was a bird?

…

A biggish bird?

HOPE: …

JOY: Goose?

HOPE shakes her head.

JOY: Stork?

A look. (Do you think you’re funny?)

JOY: Swan?

HOPE: Whooper Swan.

A moment.

JOY: What was he like?

HOPE: They’re bigger than a Mute Swan, and the beak’s a bit more pointy.

JOY: I actually meant the sex. What was the sex like?

HOPE: It was … fine.

JOY: …

HOPE: He was … unbelievably graceful.

JOY: Unbelievably graceful? There’s a thing you don’t hear every day.

So where is he now?

HOPE: Langisjór in Southern Iceland. Sixty-four degrees, ten minutes and one second North, Eighteen degrees, nineteen minutes, fourteen seconds West.

I’m tracking him with a forty gramme solar powered satellite transmitter.

A look from JOY.

HOPE: Oh … I’m not stalking him.

It’s my job.

At least it was my job.

Researching the impact of climate change on the migratory habits of Icelandic Whooper Swans.

…

I was meant to be going to Iceland. To visit the Highland Meadows.

JOY: Maybe he’ll come back and see you.

HOPE: I doubt it. Last year they nearly didn’t come back at all.

A moment.

JOY takes the egg out the incubator.

JOY: Here … have a wee cuddle in.

HOPE: What if I crush it? What if I roll over and it falls out the bed?

She gives the egg to HOPE.

JOY: Here.

See?

It’s like a wee warm stone, eh?

***

JOY at home with her goldfish. Her mother is in the next room. She takes a shopping list from her pocket. Reads.

JOY: Fish food.

Paracetamol.

Daz.

Neutradol.

Tomato soup.

Tomato soup.

She adds ‘stain remover’ to her list.

JOY: Stain remover.

Potatoes.

Milk.

Bread.

Eggs.

…

Crosses out ‘eggs’.

Beer.

Crisps.

Banging on the wall.

JOY: OK Mum, OK.

***

Morning. HOPE has a knitting pattern, a circular needle and a tangle of wool. She’s distraught.

JOY: What are you doing?

HOPE: I don’t know. I’ve never used a circular needle before.

JOY: Well what’s it supposed to be?

HOPE: It’s an egg warmer. Apparently it’s not safe to have him in the bed beside me.

JOY: Who told you that?

HOPE: The experts.

JOY picks up the knitting pattern and rips it up.

HOPE: Now I’ll never know what I’m doing!

JOY: (Shouts.) None of us knows what we’re doing Hope!

Least of all the experts!

A moment.

JOY: Sorry. I’m really sorry. I haven’t slept. I think I’m losing it.

Pause.

HOPE: I can ask the psychologists for a questionnaire if you like.

To see if you’re feeling shite.

JOY: I can tell when I’m feeling shite.

HOPE: They’ll be able to tell how shite you feel … a wee bit shite or a big bit shite. And if you’ve always felt shite. Apparently I’m feeling shiter than before but not clinically shite.

JOY: You’ll feel different when it hatches.

Beat.

JOY: Do you smoke cannabis?

HOPE: No!

JOY: Pity.

Do you have a bath?

HOPE: Shower.

JOY: You’ll need to get a bath put in. It’s the next best thing after cannabis. And probably better for you in the long run.

HOPE: How do you relax?

JOY: Give my mum a sleeping tablet, open a bottle of beer and watch ‘So You Want to Be a Midwife’.

HOPE: ‘So You Want to Be a Midwife’? Is that a thing?

JOY: It’s like ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ meets ‘The Apprentice’ meets ‘DIY NHS’.

‘I liked the way Team A handled the ventouse, but let’s face it, they really fucked up on the stitches.’

HOPE: Ouch.

JOY: It sounds better on the telly.

HOPE: You should go on. You’d be great.

JOY: Pedro’s not keen. He thinks I should have stuck in at school and been a real midwife.

HOPE: It’s never too late.

JOY: I thought about it, but you need Higher English.

HOPE: You should go for it. You show Pedro it’s never too late.

Pause.

HOPE: They want to do tests.

JOY: What for?

HOPE: I don’t know. I don’t think they know.

JOY: They’ll probably all want a bit of him right enough. To prove how clever they are.

The room is suddenly too small for HOPE.

A moment.

JOY: Here … give me that knitting.

Exit JOY.

***

JOY at home. Her goldfish is beside her. Her mother is in the next room. She reads a letter.

JOY: Dear Service User, in line with the government’s independent living reforms, we are reducing your mother’s care package from seven minutes to four minutes a day. This does not apply at weekends or on public holidays when no service is provided.

JOY puts the letter in her pocket.

JOY: (To goldfish.): ¿Qué vamos a hacer?

JOY picks up the knitting.

Banging on the wall from the next room.

***

The egg hatches.

***

The hospital room. The next morning. Enter JOY.

JOY: So … ?

HOPE: So?

JOY: So … what is it?

HOPE: It’s got wings.

Webbed toes.

Slight fusion of the nose and jaw, but not so you’d notice.

JOY: Is it a girl or a boy?

JOY looks in the incubator.

HOPE: Boy.

JOY: Oh my! Look at you! You are GORGEOUS!

(To the baby.) You are gorgeous. Yes you are. Aren’t you gorgeous? Did you tap your way out? Did you? Did you?

HOPE: The tapping thing is a myth. They uncurl.

JOY: (To the baby.) Aw that is cute. Isn’t that cute?

HOPE: It’s actually quite messy.

JOY: Can I hold him?

HOPE: If you like.

JOY lifts the baby.

JOY: (To the baby) You are lovely. Aren’t you?

What’s your name?

What’s your name?

What is your name?

JOY looks to HOPE.

HOPE: I thought maybe Magnus?

JOY: (To the baby.) You look like a Magnus. Yes you do. You look like a Magnus.

HOPE: He looks like an alien.

Pause.

JOY: (To HOPE.) Are you OK?

HOPE: It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, is it?

Pause.

JOY: Here.

JOY gives HOPE the baby to hold.

HOPE holds the baby.

JOY: Look at you.

You will both be grand.

Trust me.

A moment.

The baby starts crying. A miauling cry – like a cat. Or a seagull.

HOPE: He’s hardly stopped crying since he hatched.

JOY: Have you tried a dummy?

HOPE: They said it’s not good for him.

JOY: If it’s good for you, it’s good for him.

She takes a dummy out of her pocket and puts it in the baby’s mouth.

He stops crying.

HOPE: How long will he cry for?

JOY: Ear plugs are good. Industrial ear protectors are better.

HOPE: I can’t even hold him right.

JOY: New babies are hard to hold.

JOY takes the baby.

JOY: Especially when they’ve got wings.

HOPE: He looks like a pterosaurus. Hundreds of thousands years of human evolution and I get a pterosaurus.

JOY: Aye. Hundreds of thousands years and look where it got us!

(To the baby.) You are lovely. Aren’t you? Yes you are.

HOPE: They won’t let me out till they’ve done the tests. But they don’t know when they can do the tests. I don’t think they even know what they’re testing for.

JOY: Has anyone even asked about his father?

HOPE shakes her head.

JOY: Geez.

HOPE: And he’s under the weight threshold. I tried telling them that his bones are probably hollow. That maybe he needs a supplement of algae and tadpoles. But that’s not part of their post-natal care package.

JOY: You are going to be a great mum.

HOPE: Do you think?

JOY: Definitely.

…

But maybe you’d both be better off outside. He needs water and air and ….

HOPE: They say they can remove his wings straight away.

JOY: They what?!

HOPE: Apparently it’s a simple operation if it’s done early enough. And he could grow up more or less normal.

JOY: Normal?

HOPE: You know … so he fits in. Doesn’t stand out.

JOY: Hope … everyone … at every time … in the whole of human history has dreamt of being able to fly and they want to remove his WINGS?

You will definitely be better off outside.

HOPE: I asked to go home. But they won’t discharge me.

JOY signs HOPE’s notes with a flourish.

JOY: There. Discharged.

HOPE: Won’t you get into trouble?

JOY: Probably. And you’ll have to go out the window.

JOY starts tying the baby to HOPE’s front.

JOY: You’ll have to be quick. They don’t like people opening windows.

JOY is tying the baby to HOPE’s front with a blanket.

JOY: Soon we’ll all forget how to fall and jump and breathe.

…

There’s a tree outside. If you sit on the sill you can reach the big branch and dreep down.

JOY unlocks the window.

JOY: OK?

HOPE: I’m not sure.

I don’t really know what I’m doing.

JOY: Most things aren’t that complicated.

…

Ready?

JOY opens the window. An alarm sounds.

Blackout.