20040206 Sympathy

Title:-   20040206 Sympathy     Author:-    Paul Clarke    

Subject:-   Performance of Sympathy  

Location:-   Sundon Park Community Centre     Date:-    6 February 2004    Time:-    7.30pm  

 Media:-   MiniDV, DVD      Duration:-   1 Mins  

Title: Sympathy
Type: drama
About: A nurse consoling a (pretend) old war veteran.
Cast:
Nurse - Grace Froggatt
Old Man - Tony Coutinho
Supporting: None
Scenes: (Adapted to look like) Hospital waiting room
Period: (Adapt to) Present
Script Size: 8 pages

A short play by Heldor Schäfer

CHARACTERS
NEL - a nurse
BERT - a hospital patient

The play is set in a hospital park.

NEL, a young woman in nurse's uniform, is sitting on a park bench, reading a book. Enter BERT, wearing a standard issue hospital bathrobe over his pyjamas. He shuffles to the bench and sits down.

BERT

Hi, I'm Alberto. (Pause.)   Well, it's Albert, but when you tell people that, they keep calling you "Bert." And who'd want a name like that. "Bert." Sounds like something after dinner trying to come up. What's your name?

NEL

Penelope.

BERT

Penel-- (Laughs.)

NEL

What!

BERT

No offence but I can just picture them old geezers in hospital yelling "Penelope! Penelope!" By the time they spit out that mouthful, they'd lose their teeth and pee all over themselves.

NEL

Them old geezers call me "Nel."

BERT

Okey-doke, Nel it is. (He shifts his position feigning discomfort.)   You do back rubs, Nel?

NEL

I wouldn't call it that. But I can slap you on the rump, feed you pabulum and burp you.

BERT

Oh, maternity.

NEL

And you? Why are you here?

BERT

Just got tired having to run to the john all the time. So they fixed me up with this little plastic friend here strapped to my leg.

NEL

A colostomy bag? What happened?

BERT

Got messed up inside, that's what happened. They even shoved a telescope up my backside.

NEL

A sigmoidoscopy.

BERT

Whatever. I felt like a submarine with all the hatches closed. But I guess I'm lucky. All I need to do is check every now and then that I haven't sprung a leak.

NEL

How did it... happen?

BERT

(Imitates sound of a grenade approaching and exploding.)   Shrapnel.

NEL

1812?

BERT

You making fun of me?

NEL

Don't take it personal. I just didn't realize we were still in a war.

BERT

There's always a war somewhere.

NEL

Of course.

BERT

Anyway, I'm not missing much -- except for a few parts. But that don¹t put me out of action, even if the women in my life would have you believe everything was blown off all together. Almost was too.

NEL

People are cruel enough even without a war.

BERT

Yeah, who needs war as an excuse?

NEL

But you were kidding -- about your injury?

BERT

No, really, I've got a bag. Want to see it?

NEL

About having been wounded in battle.

BERT

Why?

NEL

This isn't a military hospital.

BERT

I was transferred.

NEL

When?

BERT

Couple of days ago.

NEL

I saw you here last week.

BERT

Ah, you noticed me.

NEL

Well, you do have a striking face.

BERT

Thanks. You like me?

NEL

Not so fast. I was first.

BERT

Yeah, I like you.

NEL

That is not what I meant. You lied to me.

BERT

Okay, I was having you on about the shrapnel bit. But I still like you.

NEL

So why make up stories?

BERT

War sounds much more exciting than accident, don't you think? You try to blow somebody away, they get you first, and everybody gives you lots of pity -- for being a fool.

NEL

Or a hero.

BERT

Only hero I know is yea long and comes stuffed with cold cuts and cheese.

NEL

So an accident then? Car?

BERT

Bike. One beautiful babe she was.

NEL

Twenty-one-speed?

BERT

Huh? Oh. (Chuckles.)

NEL

What's the matter now?

BERT

Harley Davidson Sportster. Fifty-five horsepower, one thousand cc, high compression.

NEL

Oh.

BERT

Wiped out. Under the side of a van. The bastard couldn't find his brakes. A bloody milk van. Milk! The stuff is supposed to be good for you. (Pause.)   I come around this corner -- real smooth. Everything is clear, so I start revving up. I can't even remember seeing the guy pull out of the driveway. It's just there, right in front of me. A big white wall. (Pause.)   In hospital I have this dream: I'm drowning, in milk. Each time I'm trying to come up for air, I don't know which way is up. Everything is white and I can't breathe... And then I wake up, and this old guy from the next bed is standing over me, pinching my nose. Says I was snoring and his wife does that to him all the time. I guess she holds his nose shut till he stops snoring or blows up. Maybe that's what he was in hospital for. Busted his bowels, same as me. (Pause.)   I tried to get out of that place so bad. Everything white -- the sheets, the walls, the faces in the other beds. Once, I threw a glass of milk after a nurse but it hit the wall instead. Should have used tomato juice, huh?

NEL

It must have been awful.

BERT

Yeah. One percent skimmed.

NEL

Right. And I suppose your morning cereal hasn't tasted the same ever since? I'm sorry.

BERT

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That's all anybody ever has to say. What are you sorry for? That I wasn't shot in the gut?

NEL

Now that isn't fair.

BERT

Fair, my foot. I thought you nurses are tough. You should know life aint fair. Or were you one of them preppies? Tea and cheesecake every Sunday? Boyfriend pick you up in his Porsche? By the time you're twenty you're bored out of your skull. So you've got a choice: you either hit the skids or become Florence Nightingale.

NEL

Nice going, Socrates.

BERT

The name is Alber--

NEL

Why don't you come off your high horse, Alberto with an "o"?

BERT

I already did. Out of the saddle and on the asphalt -- ass first.

NEL

You really feel sorry for yourself, don't you? (In a more conciliatory tone.)   Just a little?

BERT

Hell, no. Because of this? Ha, could be worse.

NEL

Yes, you could be like the queer little lame balloonman of e.e. cummings.

BERT

Huh?

NEL

(Indicates her book.)   e.e. cummings, the poet.

BERT

He was a queer?

NEL

The balloonman in one of his poems is a queer old man, and he is lame.

BERT

Hey, there's an idea. Instead of this plastic bag I could stuff a party balloon down my pants. Much cheaper. More color too. And when I'm done, I'll just fill it with helium and--

NEL

Hold it. Up there, sooner or later, it'll burst. And then... Yech! You're weird!

BERT

Yeah, but not lame or queer. So what about this balloonman?

NEL

It's spring.

BERT

I know.

NEL

In the poem by cummings it's spring. And the balloonman comes along and whistles. You can hear him from far off. And you and Eddie and Bill stop playing marbles, and Betty and Isbel stop jumping rope and hopscotch and you all come running.

BERT

And?

NEL

And nothing.

BERT

Come on.

NEL

That's it. That's where the poem ends.

BERT

You're kidding!

NEL

But if you use your imagination you can see it in your mind and hear and feel: "when the world is mudluscious" and "puddle-wonderful."

BERT

Yeah, mud puddles.

NEL

Ah, you just have to read a poem like that to appreciate it! And you need to listen also‹from deep inside of you.

BERT

Poets are crazy. Everything has to rhyme.

NEL

Not true.

BERT

Name one who don't-- (NEL smiles as she waves her book.)   Nuts, not him again. Anyways, in my days poems rhymed.

NEL

He wrote that one in -- let's see -- 1923.

BERT

No kidding. (Pause.)   In school they always tried to make you look for something deep. It was like a bloody Easter egg hunt. "People..." This one teacher, she never called us "children" or "kids." "People: in this poem, what is the meaning of light?" Beats me, I thought. The only reason I could see was that it rhymed with "fight."

NEL

Or "might," "sight," "night"--

BERT

(A drunken voice.)   And tight as a kite. (In his normal voice.)   Man, she was always making up something weird.

NEL

Trying to make you think, no doubt.

BERT

But what are poems good for anyways?

NEL

They give you something that makes sense out of this whole mess we live in.

BERT

It's only words.

NEL

First there are only words.

BERT

That's what I said.

NEL

And then, after a while, you find it -- tucked away somewhere an idea, or a word that reminds you of something.

BERT

After a really long while.

NEL

You can take your time. It's your poem now, as much as anybody else's.

BERT

Yeah, what's the rush. Everybody's always in a hurry. (Pause.)   She even made us recite them; long ones too.

NEL

I gather you didn't care for that?

BERT

None of the guys did. (Stands up ramrod straight)   "I wandered lonely as a cloud / That floats on high o'er vales and hills, / When all at once I saw a crowd, / A host, of golden daffodils..."

NEL

Bravo! You see, you do remember.

BERT

Nel, you should have been our teacher. Maybe we would have got something out of them poems.

NEL

Don't we have a little age problem here?

BERT

Instead here we are -- you in white--

NEL

Hateful color, isn't it?

BERT

And me all messed up--

NEL

But not impotent.

BERT

My mind still splattered all over the side of a milk van.

NEL

You think you'll ride again?

BERT

Soon as I get my strength back. Meanwhile I'll need a chauffeur. How about it, Nel?

NEL

Me? You're crazy?

BERT

I'll hang on like crazy. And when the wind tickles my plastic friend here, I'll keep giggling in your ear, "Faster, Nel, faster!"

NEL

Maybe it would be safer for both of us if we stuck you in a side car.

BERT

Yeah. (Bleats.)   With cheesecake and tea, / Reading a book of poetry.

Produced 6 Feb 04