trying gnomes again....

Coughing.

Morning, Greta’s flat. An Australian city. The room contains a computer desk with computer and chair, plus a couch and a tv. A shopping list- butter and coffee- is pinned somewhere visible. Greta- an attractive woman in her early 50s- enters, coughing. She turns computer on and exits.

Coughing continues offstage.

Computer monitor comes on to show a frozen image from an old black and white film- a couple embrace theatrically.

Greta enters carrying coffee.

Retrieves phone from under couch and calls someone.

VOICE OF J: Mmnello?

GRETA: Good morning sunshine, is it too early for you?

VOICE OF J: I don’t know- is it early? Looks like daytime to me- it’s bloody bright, anyway. Ow.

GRETA: Poor petal. Don’t worry J, by the time you’re my age you grow out of hangovers.

J: So I’ve noticed. You just give other people hangovers.

GRETA: I claim no responsibility for your inability to hold your liquor.

Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for the project, you know, quite, well, sincerely.

It would be much harder if you hadn’t lined this up for me, and to be be frank with you kiddo it’s hard enough as it is really. But. Thank you.

J: Hey, forget it Princess, all I did was recommend someone who I know is capable of doing the job. It’s YOUR work, you’re great, Kate knows it as well as I do.

GRETA; (laughing) yeah, sure she does

J: Well, she might’ve needed reminding. But Greta, it’s the least they owe you, we all know that. And I owe you more than anyone.

Greta: more hangovers.

J: Very funny. I hurt. Damn you and your wicked ways woman.

GRETA: Why don’t you go get yourself a coffee sunshine, and I will get me a workin’. You can call me back when you’re alive.

J: Ok Princess. We’ll talk later- and… work hard, won’t you? I know it’s as riveting as Auntie Lorna’s slideshow nights, but

GRETA: Have no fear, sunshine, I could translate this mush in my sleep. Computer’s on, coffee’s in hand… I’m gone and working.

Hangs up phone.

GRETA: J, you are an angel.

And so to work.

Finishes coffee

To work, to work, like a good little chicken- prove your worth and you get to keep laying- of course, you must work securely within your own flat, where you cannot offend people anyone with your ageing face…. Out of the public view… (laughs)

She sits at computer.

GRETA: Brain off. Bullshit detector off. Away we go.

The film plays, the couple embrace passionately. Greta snorts. A shadow across the stage catches her eye.. film pauses…she dismisses it and returns to screen, which continues.

GRETA: My love, I’m yours!.. let me wear an apron and wash your dirty socks forever… No, have as many women as you like my love, please, just let me iron your shirts!...

Alright, that’s quite enough for one day. There’s only so many brain cells I’m prepared to sacrifice in one go.

Exits, followed by shadow.

Film paused with image of a woman crying. Lights down.

Singing, initially too soft to distinguish, but as it becomes louder later in scene we can hear that men’s voices are singing hi-ho, over and over again. Lights up. Stage is scattered with dirty cups, monitor on with frozen image, but a different one. Greta enters and listens to singing, puzzled. After a few minutes it stops.

She goes to computer and stares at screen, preparing herself to begin.

GRETA: What am I doing? Translating awful, truly awful films to be watched by miserable housewives with their heads already full of enough romantic rubbish to fill an open cut… better to be unemployed. Except then I’d be watching the daytime movies.

Fifteen years… fifteen years for Christ’s sake! The longest I’ve ever committed to anything- three times my longest relationship, and a lot more effort put in. Trashed. I should probably be grateful they kept me that long, one of the last I am- was- a dying breed. The world doesn’t need journalists, not anymore. Our news is written by the corporations that can afford it, government-stamped, and presented to the public by some private-school dropout with a bouncy pair of tits and a colgate grimace. If you’re going to spoonfeed people fear you need that crunchy sugar coating. Goes down easy. So to speak.

She starts coughing, has to sit until it passes, then pulls herself together.

Ungrateful brat Greta, you should consider yourself lucky having any kind of job to walk into. If I was a horse I’d be glue by now.

She breathes deeply, not looking at computer.

GRETA: Ok. Coffee.

Another deep breath, then she exits with one dirty cup. Phone rings, then machine cuts in.

GRETAs(voice on machine): Hi, you’ve failed to reach Greta, but you can talk to her machine.

(tone)

J: Hey Princess, working hard? I won’t hold you up long, just wanted to see how it’s all going mostly, see if you need anything- not that I think you need help, but you know… ah shit, listen to me! Sorry Princess. But if you do need anything, call me, yeah? Or if you don’t..

(tone)

GRETA (returning): Goddman it, damn it, damn it. (coughs) Should I go buy some? I could just run to the shop… you don’t need it Greta, you drink too much coffee anyway. Stains your teeth- not that you’ll be flashing your pearly whites at a camera again, but- I think I need other stuff anyway- when did I last buy food?

She retrieves a pair of runners from under desk. Puts one on, then takes it off again.

GRETA: No need to look like a sad old forced retiree- where are all my shoes anyway? The red ones, the little boots..

She looks under couch, pulls out a pair of high heels.

Overkill. Damn, where are they??

Looking for shoes, notices message. Presses play and sits down.

Greta (voice on machine): Hi, you’ve failed to reach Greta, but you can talk to her machine.

(tone)

J: Hey Princess, working hard? I won’t hold you up long, just wanted to see how it’s all going mostly, see if you need anything- not that I think you need help, but you know… ah shit, listen to me! Sorry Princess. But if you do need anything, call me, yeah? Or call me anyway, I’m going to grab some dinner later if you go crazy staring at the same walls all day

(tone)

Greta: J, you beautiful child.

She finds pen and adds to shopping list without moving the list.

GRETA: Ok. Toilet paper, kilk, some kind of vegetable matter. Shoes…

Looking for shoes, A shadow moves across stage, she turns to see. Watches, very still, as shadow disappears.

GRETA: I thought so.

She waits, after a long moment shadow returns.

What are you doing in there?

You shouldn’t be in there- I think you’re making me sick…

Are you trying to make me sick? Why?

I know you’re in there. I heard you.

Shadows have gone.

GRETA: Christ Greta, get a grip. You’re talking to invisible chest gnomes- bloody hell, I’m going senile as well!

Phone rings.

GRETA: Go away.

Exits while phone continues to ring, and then stops ringing before machine can answer. Greta returns with a tin of Milo, which she proceeds to eat, sitting on couch.

TV comes on suddenly- footage from inside Greta’s airways, gnomes point of view.

GRETA: Christ. It really is them. The little bastards.

For a long time, Greta doesn’t move. Lights down.

Phone ringing, lights up on Greta in same position with Milo tin at her feet. Shopping list now has bread and shampoo added to it. She doesn’t answer phone, but lets machine take it.

Greta (voice on machine): Hi, you’ve failed to reach Greta, but you can talk to her machine

(machine tone)

J: Greta, answer your phone. I don’t care how hard you’ve been working, I need to talk to you.. five minutes for God’s sake, it’s been days. It’s not just the project I’m concerned about. Are you ok/ At least call me and let me know that you are-

I’m going to be in meetings all afternoon, but I’m leaving my phone on, ok? It’s important that I talk to you today. Call me, Princess, please. Seriously. Otherwise I’ll give Kate your home number, I know how much you’d love that.

(tone)

While J’s talking, she remains on couch, watching tv. Lights down.

In darkness, singing starts up again, louder than before. Lights up with Greta still on couch. TV plays a slow tour of her airways, like footage from an operation.

GRETA: What are you doing in there? Are you trying to kill me?

I know you’re in there- I can bloody hear you, you may as well answer me

(singing stops)

GRETA: Clever. Well? What do you want? (silence) What do you want??

Shadow swoops past close, she picks her feet up, scared. Another shadow joins the first. Greta reaches for the phone without leaving couch, and dials, shaking.

GRETA: Hey J, are you in?

I’d like to talk to you.. I’m sorry I haven’t been answering. I haven’t got much work done, I’ll be struggling to finish in time- I know that’s not what you need to hear. I’ve been trying, but these gnomes are one hell of a distraction… I haven’t left the house since Wednesday- no Tuesday- I’ve got no fucking toilet paper

(she’s crying)

they’re really getting to me to J- not just the cough, that’s allright- I can HEAR them…

They SING J… Singing goddamn gnomes, and it’s the scariest sound I’ve ever heard. Worse than the gunfire, because you know at least the damage that a gun will do, but now I just don’t know, and it’s like being a frightened little girl again, only worse, because…

I have singing gnomes in my chest, fucking gnomes, and I don’t know what they want- they won’t answer me….

(a shadow passes)

GRETA: Answer me!!

I don’t know what they want.

(She is crying)

I think they’re working- excavating- that’s what it feels like- but I don’t know why, and I can feel them and… I just want them out, then I’ll be able to work.

Maybe you could come over? See if they’d talk to you, or..

I don’t know why, but… I’d like you to come over J.

more shadows, she hangs up and curls on the couch, crying while singing continues.

A shadow, she confronts it.

GRETA: Listen to me, you ugly little freaks- are you listening?

I don’t know why you’re in there, ripping me to pieces, but if you’re trying to tear me apart it’s a pointless mission. I won’t let you. So you may as well just go back wherever and tell the person who sent you that you can’t finish the job, not this one. Not ever. So fuck off.

(Singing has stopped, but her coughing is worse)

GRETA: I’ve fought off uglier men than you lot even, and more of them, and I’m not old and frail yet, even if I am too saggy for tv I’m capable of beating you.

(Coughs up mucus into hand. Holds it out, disgusted.)

GRETA: That’s right, get out.

This body is mine. Disintegrating or not, it’s my body and I need it and you can’t have it.

(coughs so hard she has to sit down)

GRETA: You can’t stop me working if I don’t let you. Pick away you little fuckers, get your job done if it’s so important- so is mine.

She sits at computer

GRETA: Are you watching? Can you see this?

She types, film plays

GRETA: Working, working working…. See?

(in a sing-song voice)Working-working……

working

The singing has been growing louder, now it drowns her out.

GRETA: (dropping playful tone and shouting)WORKING WORKING WORKING…..

Film stops and starts jumpily. Singing continues

GRETA: WORKING!!!!

Shadows swirl close and dark. Greta gives up, film pauses with grinning faces. Coughing/ crying, but we can’t hear over singing.

GRETA: WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?!?

She faces TV. Camera is racing all over the place now, roller-coastering through her airways.

GRETA: SHOW ME!!!

TV goes black. Singing stops abruptly, and we hear only her breathing. Shadows on either side are still, but remain present.

After a long moment, darkness.

After a minute or so of silence, phone rings. Lights up. Stage is empty except for broken glass from tv and empty Milo tin. Shopping list now fills a page, pinned in same place. Computer monitor is dark.

Ringing continues, machine answers.

GRETA: Hi, you’ve failed to reach Greta, but you can talk to her machine.

(tone)

J: Greta, answer your fucking phone, NOW. This isn’t fair, you’ve got me really worried… GNOMES? What the hell is going on in that head of yours? Why gnomes, where’d you get an idea like that, and what is really going on?

Come on Greta…

I’ll come round- I’ll bring fucking toilet paper, but you have to pick up the phone now and tell me you’re ok. Or you’re not ok, but there.

Princess?

rant

I can't accept these gifts graciously (bad form I know) when they are
stolen goods. The most successful black market there is, futures
traded from third- to first-world, a daily business with no regulatory
body and hefty tax cuts.

Except that even the winners lose.

The privileged brats of the global family grow into troubled
teenagers, inevitably lost without spirit or values to guide us. Some
of us emulate our "respected' leaders- enough to perpetuate the old
bullying cycle. Like all teenagers we seek diversion. Some choose
drugs; for countless others television kills the pain and brain just
as effectively. The habits, like bullying, are hard to break.

We choose to remain ignorant. Like year eights who know that natural
intelligence is uncool, the pursuit of knowledge even more so, we
outright refuse to think. Presented with learning opportunities our
poorer cousins haven't even the free time to dream of, we close our
eyes stubbornly. Or turn our heads to the newest, glossiest ad for the
newest, glossiest product which will (we hope) substitute soul.

Those of us who refuse-in time-honoured tradition- to walk the path of
our parents are as isolated as the kid in her locked room, studying
her reflection with dismay (what are we becoming? Do we like the way
it looks?). In a powerful nation it's surprisingly easy to feel
powerless.



And it's easy to be buried under shame, guilt and frustration. At
times the combination is enough to paralyse me. The sense of
overwhelming dread and shame that accompanied my first true
realisation of the rottenness of this society hasn't been blunted much
(actually, for this I am grateful- if my indignation ever dissipates
I'll consider myself dead, or as good as)

An illegal, evil and utterly pointless "war" (yeah, like a rape is
"war", or the massacre of an indigenous population "war") couldn't
possibly have the support of my homeland, my family, the government
supposedly acting in my interests- wait- could, did and probably will
again. The pain of this took a while to sink in. Sure, I knew this
nation has some pretty serious stains on her conscience, and yes I had
been noticing an increasing number of flaws in my perception of the
world, but THIS??! So difficult was this information to assimilate
that I didn't know where to begin.

I know I'm not the only one to have woken to the same nightmare; a
story that has only grown uglier the closer I look.

Violence and intimidation; utter disregard for life in any form;
devastation of ecosystems and human societies through economic
rationalism, so-called globalisation fuelled by greed- these cannot be
instinctive, pre-written human traits. I refuse to believe that. The
ugly twist our society is taking is unnatural. It is caused by a
sickness, a cancer, and it can be healed. We can choose a healthier
path.

hey to phoebe!!!!

good to hear fromya- and you're quite right, they ARE aubergine, my apologies...