The CTR Anthology Read online

  Son: You O.K. now? All warm! Ah baby! Why did you wanna kill yourself, huh? Why baby? I told you not to do anything silly like that didn’t I?

  She wishes he’d let go of her cheeks.

  Son is feeling very hurt as he stares deeper and deeper into her eyes.

  Son: I told you not to kill yourself. Didn’t I? I told you not to kill yourself. (Angrily grabs her by the shoulders and brutally shakes her around.)

  Why did you wanna kill yourself? (He stops shaking as she winces in pain. Son cuddling up again.) I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry. Sorry baby, sorry. (Tenderly places her head against his chest, arms holding her head close to him, protectively, tightly kisses her hair and starts to rock her gently.)

  But she won’t have any of it as she angrily tries to get out of his clutches, whimpering and wincing her impatient annoyance.

  He persists in his tender sentimental caresses.

  Son: C’mon baby, I’m sorry.

  Other Woman is suffocating as she winces loudly and manages to muster up enough strength to bite his arm and shove him away in disgust. “Leave me alone, don’t touch me,” scream her eyes.

  Son is very hurt as he slowly digests her reaction. He sadly, slowly moves off and away from her. He feels embarrassed and just moves around aimlessly for a while, too late to retract his sentiments now, he moves upstage right and flops on a crate by the window, threatening to cry any minute as he gives her a coupla pouting sidelong glances.

  Other Woman isn’t even aware of his existence at this moment.

  Monkey is, however.

  She has watched the turn of events, and of course having that soft spot for the Son decides he’s in the right and feels very sympathetic towards him. She does exercise caution though as she crawls over to him now, very timidly, inching her way slowly.

  The Son tenses as he sees her approach.

  She stops. They look.

  He murmurs, mutters weakly “Go away, leave me alone, get away.”

  Even though her tender sympathetic look softens him slightly.

  She cautiously inches for some more. He persists muttering “No, no.”

  Son is tense, but decides not to pursue a hostile course this time around, as he

  sits back, spent in his misery.

  She inches forward some more.

  Perilously within touching distance.

  Both get a little tense.

  Son: No, please, don’t. Please.

  She becomes shy as she timidly ventures to touch his knee.

  Son: Argh. No. Please.

  The contact rips like a sharp needle through him, but he grits his teeth, determined to be brave, determined not to be sick.

  Monkey is murmuring softly now as she smiles at the encouragement and hesitantly, like the unwanted child helplessly in need of affection, slowly climbs on his lap.

  Son backs off as far as the chair will allow, back straight as a rod, spine ready to snap, extremely tense, scared, breathing heavy, wanting help, looking weakly at Other Woman for aid who’s too immersed in her solitary moodiness to notice, now turns to look at Monkey, face quivering slightly, afraid to guess what she’ll do next, wanting her off, yet impelled, obliged somehow to try and fight his hatred and disgust for her.

  She gently touches his cheek.

  He moves away tense, weakly crying “leave me alone, please.”

  Monkey is hesitant, smiles, mumbles gently, sweetly, touches cheek again, very soft.

  Tenderly caresses his face.

  Her eyes well with tears as she slowly caresses his hair, murmuring, smiling, almost pleading with him to be friends.

  Monkey kisses him on the cheek.

  Son is still very tense but moved by her sweetness and truly guilty by his attitude, helpless, wanting to change, finding it impossible to, wanting, ordering himself to try.

  He stops his mutterings now.

  Deadly silent except for the sound of the gentle waves hitting the shore.

  With great effort he decides to touch her.

  He slowly moves his hand to her shoulder, within touching distance, but he doesn’t, he just holds his hand there, next to her shoulder.

  He slowly, slowly moves his tense hand closer, closer, closer, touching her now, touching her arm, pressing his hand against her.

  He almost sighs with relief as he masters his fear.

  It’s OK, he seems to say to himself. OK.

  He starts to caress her shoulder slowly, her neck, her cheek, telling himself each step of the way, it’s OK, reassuring himself, urging himself on.

  Almost happy and proud that he’s slowly able to master his fear.

  He urges himself onwards, he knows he must go much, much further to be able to really master it.

  He slowly caresses her breast, along the side of her body, down her waist, down, he feels the tension mount, his hand can’t go down any more, refuses to.

  He looks up at her who looks back innocently, friendly, unaware.

  He looks down at the leg.

  Very tense again.

  Holds the leg.

  Feels it.

  Feels a revulsion.

  Fights it, makes himself feel the leg.

  Makes himself slowly raise the skirt.

  Eyes filling with tears of fear.

  The leg, the fur, the black fur, bare, visible.

  The revulsion, can’t, can’t, don’t want to.

  Must, makes, forces himself slowly.

  Touch the fur.

  Brow perspiring.

  Head, face, body quivering with pent-up held-in held-back revulsion.

  Too much.

  Can’t.

  Shaking all over.

  But must.

  As he forces himself to hold on to the fur

  The palm of his hand pressed tight against the fur

  Rubbing on that fur.

  The fur.

  Fur.

  Blind with tears.

  Wanting to be sick.

  Disgust.

  Puke.

  Touching the fur.

  Caressing hand tight against the fur.

  Can’t.

  Forcing himself.

  Can’t.

  Can’t.

  The disgust – too much – disgust.

  He screams violently with all his might, screams like a lunatic, screams as he brutally pushes her, throws her off his lap, screams, screams as he pounces back up far away against the wall his whole body quivering with disgust, screams, screams.

  Lunges forward like fury, lunges at her, grabs her by the neck, grabs her from behind as she tries to escape, wrings it, wrings it, wrings it furiously wrings it, wrings her neck, wrings it, tears it off her body.

  She screams in agony, panic, unaware panic, pounced on her, her whole body moving side to side to side like straw, her head, her arms, her body, flying around out of control.

  He knocks her forward against the back of the couch.

  His grip fails.

  A moment.

  She lunges up forward on couch grasping for escape for life.

  He lunges over her again from behind her wringing her neck, strangling strangling furiously.

  Her body fluttering about helplessly, choking.

  Over the Other Woman, who screaming tries to scramble away in panic, falling on the ground, crawling away.

  The bedroom door flying open.

  The Man, the Mother rushing in.

  The Mother petrified.

  The Man trying to grab Son.

  Son furiously thrashing him, knock him off.

  Screaming back to strangle Monkey.

  Monkey choking breath, face terribly contorted, eyes bulge, squash noises, escape, frenzied trying.

  Monkey falls limp in his hands – Motionless.

  Son still wrings her neck and screams like a maniac.

  He suddenly realizes she’s dead as he stops dead for a second.

  With a huge scream of disgust, violently hurls her up and against the wall, tossing her by
the neck.

  She flies up in the air and lands, crashes, flops down on the floor like a rag doll.

  Dead.

  A one second pause.

  Music: Paint Her Mouth Very loud.

  Three violent screaming crashes of strings and chords.

  Son lunges downstage to the couch, crying in huge gushes, crying, sobbing off his disgust, wiping the contact of the fur off his palms onto the couch, wiping the touch of her, the disgust still fresh on his hands off off off.

  A long extended rise rise on the strings unbroken slowly slowly leading up.

  The Son, whole body shaking with horror looks at the Mother, who looks away in shock at the limp body of Monkey.

  Sharing his disgust of her, yet shocked at what he’s just done.

  The Son turns away in guilt.

  She was harmless, why did he, why, why couldn’t he help it, why did he have to, but the disgust, unbearable.

  The Man slowly walks over to Monkey, crouches by her and feels her pulse – dead. He holds her in his arms and tenderly lifts her up as he stands, her lifeless body splayed in his hold.

  He slowly walks towards downstage right door.

  As he passes Mother, Mother backs, not wanting to be touched by Monkey.

  Man looks at her strangely, contemptuously.

  He stops and stares down at the Son on his knees.

  He looks up at him, crying in gasps, gushing huge chunks of air.

  Man just looks at the Son.

  The Son bites his own hand as he growls trying to keep his emotions hidden, feeling naked, bared, guilty, apologetic, and yet not because he couldn’t have helped it, turmoil, internal turmoil, private now being paraded.

  The Son stares back at the Man and angrily rises and backs slowly, but with a dangerous look in his eyes.

  Music climaxes.

  Angry chords clash.

  Black.

  A last angry chord and

  music dissipates in

  Black.

  SCENE TEN: VULNERABLE

  Very late at night.

  Very hot.

  Very windy outside.

  The sound of waves raging outside.

  Inside – a deathly silence.

  The Other Woman seated on couch, scared and cold, shivering uncontrollably.

  The Man, standing by the cage, holding the bars, looking grim, feeling hot and sweaty, not wanting to speak, tired, sad.

  Thirty seconds.

  Wind rages outside, shutters move.

  The Other Woman, feeling alone under her blanket, whimpers a little.

  The Man turns to look at her and is almost surprised at seeing her there.

  He slowly walks over to her, giving an unconscious glance at the window, trying to connect her, place her from somewhere.

  The Other Woman looks at him intently through big wide innocent eyes.

  The Man is scared.

  The Other Woman pulls blanket tighter around her shivering helplessly, as she continues to look at him, through her hypnotic waif like eyes.

  The Man can’t resist her eyes.

  He shakes himself out of his reverie, however, as he realizes she is indeed shivering a lot and hesitantly walks over to her behind the couch and tentatively touches her shoulder.

  The unresisting Other Woman looks deep deep in his eyes.

  He slowly starts to rub her shoulders.

  A little faster.

  Slowly takes a seat beside her and rubs her arms and back, feeling her body very close to his, smelling the salty sea in her hair, staring back at her wide-eyed attentiveness, noticing her stop shivering as violently as before, touching the soft flesh of her arm.

  He slowly stops rubbing and just looks at her, seated close to her, entranced by her gaze.

  He doesn’t realize the gentle move forward that he’s unconsciously making. Almost imperceptibly his face moving closer to her slightly parted moist lips.

  He’s hardly aware of the Mother who has silently crept out of the bedroom and is silently taking it all in.

  Neither he nor the Other Woman notice her as she silently walks to the window and leans there looking at them, not accusingly but almost guiltily, feeling sad and very out of place; feeling like the intruder she is, wishing she hadn’t stepped out in the first place.

  The Mother tries to look away, when the Other Woman notices her and now stares at her.

  The Man senses a presence and turns to see the Mother as well.

  He doesn’t know why he feels so guilty as he uncomfortably sits back away from the Other Woman and tries to be unobtrusive.

  The two women stare at each other for a while, silently.

  The Other Woman tiredly clutches her blanket, weakly gets up and dazedly walks off into the bathroom (downstage left), above all not wanting to complicate things or get involved. She doesn’t even look at the Man on her way out.

  She just goes.

  The Man is beginning to get angry as he looks accusingly at the Mother, who returns the accusation with a look of contempt and mistrust and betrayal.

  The Man, boiling, seething inside, feeling suddenly shackled quickly gets up, gives her another look, a look that dares her to say anything and spitefully starts out to the bathroom himself.

  Grim, confused, outraged – he exits.

  The Mother looks down at the floor and doesn’t follow his exit. Not angry, hiding that under her uncaring show of pride.

  She slowly turns around to face the window and listlessly peers out through the shutters, trying hard not to cry.

  Music: Fujiyama Very, very soft.

  The music fades in from the distance, the lonely wail of a sax, later accompanied by a subdued piano.

  The Mother slowly turns around, back against window and stares blankly ahead of her.

  Thinking, feeling bitter, sad, alone.

  A helpless smile fading into a silent cry as a tear flows down her cheek.

  Thirty seconds.

  The Man slowly comes out of the bathroom, stands there and sadly looks at her.

  She glares at him accusingly, angrily, in pain, in love.

  He looks down, he’s very sad, sad that he hurt her. He slowly walks over to her, but still can’t look at her. He stands there beside her trying to muster up some face, wanting to be vulnerable with her, wanting to explain, trying to explain why he needed to hurt her, angry, lonely. He, standing facing window. She, standing, leaning against window facing room. Both silent. Both immobile. Both wanting, needing so much to love each other, to be loved. Both already very much in love. Both needing to say it. The Man slowly turns and leans against the window beside her.

  (The following dialogue is only barely audible and most of the time not audible at all. It’s all whispered sounding like soft murmurings. Very private, said very slow, laboured. At times passionately fast, but more often said with difficulty and weakness and helplessly saddened by what is said)

  Man: I’m sorry. (Pause. No answer.) Hey c’mon … I’m sorry. (Slightly touches her arm.)

  Mother: (Shrugs him off.) Leave me alone. (Pause.)

  Man: (Touching her again.) C’mon …

  Mother: (Shrugging him off moving a step away.) I said leave me alone.

  (Long pause.)

  Man stays by the window, sadly looking at her.

  She tries to avoid looking at him.

  Man slowly walks over beside her, hands in pockets, stands there awkwardly next to her.

  Looks at her, but she won’t meet his gaze.

  Gently touches her shoulder. She’s about to be capricious again as she prepares to resist, but he won’t allow it this time as he holds her by both arms and turns her to face him.

  She tries to get out of his grasp, as she winces.

  Man: Hey.

  She stops and looks at him angrily.

  He looks at her with sad sincere loving eyes. Eyes that repeat “I’m sorry.”

  But she refuses to believe him as she looks away once more.

  He holds h
er cheek and turns her face to him once more, softening as he looks deep in her eyes, and softening her too.

  She looks at him poutingly, her sad eyes still persisting in saying “You’re lying.” Still refusing to believe.

  Man: (Tenderly caressing her cheek.) Baby.

  Her moist eyes can no longer resist. The need in her heart overpowering all, not caring any more for the truth, as he draws her close to him, and they kiss passionately, hungrily, desperately.

  She draws him close to her, holding him tight, as she now hugs him fervently, crying and needing him close, very close.

  She kisses his cheek, small furious kisses, cheek, neck, mouth, holding his cheeks in her palms now, tightly holding his face close as she looks at him, needing him so desperately, and trying to get one more reassurance.

  Mother: Oh baby … baby … don’t leave me.

  Man: I won’t.

  She gently caresses his face and buries her head against his chest, letting him hold her close to him, wanting him never to let go.

  Slow blackout.

  Music fades in

  Black.

  SCENE ELEVEN: TIME

  Early morning.

  Dim rays of sunshine coming into the room through the many cracks in the walls.

  The distant sound of waves.

  The Man, seated on the couch, arms around the Mother, curled up against him, half asleep.

  The Man is awake as he tenderly caresses her hair.

  In the distance, very faint, the sound of a siren wailing persistently.

  The Man tenses as he gradually becomes aware of the siren.

  The Mother wakes up as the sound of the siren once again fades away in the distance.

  They look at each other, both a little scared. He gently pushes her aside, gets up and tries to peer through the shutters.

  He looks grim as he decides to go into the bedroom for his gun.

  Music: The Lost Man

  The creepy window music gently wafts in once more as the Mother sits tensely at the edge of the couch, terribly frightened and lost.

  The Man re-enters the room checking his gun and leans against the wall by the window, once again trying to detect some movements outside.

  The Mother gets up, about to look as well, when the Man motions her tensely to get away from in front of the window.

  She quickly does as she leans against the wall on the opposite side.

  Both’look out anxiously as the Man very carefully undoes the latch and very, very slowly begins to part the shutters, very slightly.