My Little Black Bird

Andre J. Kershaw Bianca Ludik Christen Torres Dean Erasmus Jane De Wet Robyn Murray
DRAMA PRACTICAL ASSIGNMENT
October 2013

The stage: Back left corner of stage has a table with a chair on each side. On the table is a large black bird cage with origami birds flying out if it. Actors begin in a lift centre stage (Andre and christen stand at the table to play instruments) 1. Opening movement piece: Beethovens 5 secrets (played by christen and Andre) After movement actors end in scattered around the room. Actors begin with opening lines and move forward whilst saying lines. Bianca: smetloos en suiwer soos n kind Andre: a mind at peace with all below Robyn: when you grow big you actually grow small Jane: maar winter bring realiteit en krag Christen: its psychic its the age its chemical Dean: the bland comforts of home and marriage. The comforts that never were All: innocence Actors end opening lines standing in a line at the front of the stage. And simultaneously say innocence Actors begin prologue. Music link: do you think there is a heaven by Mychael Danna/ deVotchka (begins on the word innocence) Written by Andre Kershaw: Andre: that fleeting state of existence. Jane: One might say our passage from birth to death is little more than the gradual corruption of our innocence. Christen: Like white satin sheets, are pure, now stained in bloody crimson or utter black. Bianca: Say what you will about the original sin, but we are not born guilty. Dean: The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father. Yet we seem to be trodding an inevitable path. Robyn: Innocence ignorance. How different are they really? Both give way under the duress of knowledge and experience. Christen: Just as it was with our unfortunate ancestors who became wise even as gods - but lost paradise. Jane: Is this avoidable? Can knowledge come without transgression? Bianca: Or is the whole world just a perpetual Gethsemane? Actors walk back after first lines and stand looking down at birds, cradled in hands, scattered around the room. After last line actors turn in a display birds. Andre poem (she walks in beauty by Lord Byron): She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all thats best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens oer her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and oer that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent! 2. Movement piece: free and untorn by Matthew mole All actors end in a semi-circle around christen, cradling birds in their hands. Christens monologue (Azra al Jamal from the play at her feet): My name is Zara. It means unpierced pearl. It means that I am untouched. My name is for something pure and unsoiled. My name is Azra Al Jamal, and I have just been killed. I have sat in the middle of a circle of forty men, and I have just been killed. I have felt my body break in different places, and pieces of bone scrape through skin, because there have been eighty hands throwing countless rocks at me for some time now. I have felt my mouth bleed softly against sand, dry enough to make me choke, too thin for me to clutch. My name is Azra Al Jamal and I have just been killed. Because I spoke to man who was not my father/brother/uncle/cousin, and now my father/brother/uncle/cousin has taken rocks and flung them, knocked me unconscious, smashed my teeth, made me scream and beg and say, I didnt mean to, but I did mean to, and my intention doesnt matter now, because I have no honour. And I have no voice. And it is as though my name, my name, Azra Al Jamal means nothing, because I have been ground into the sand. Now, curled up in and awkward zero, I am circling my own end. Its hot, and although it is midday, all I can see is night. Bent over, half way between prayer and nausea, I have been tracing the patterns of the desert sky for hours now. I have watched the stars, seen their geometry, heard them moan anxiously down at me, and felt my insides impload with every hard hitting blow. I have forgotten my name, so I ask you to remember it. And somewhere between voices shouting angrily and hands saving me from a worse fate in the afterlife I know that it is still light. I remember that it is a clear day which the sun is hanging persistently at the back of my neck, that light is pouring in over secrets. But there are no shadows, or doorways to hide in, that sharing words, using breath to make sounds, letting a voice come through the folds of the cloth, is not allowed. It is a clear day. Anyone who walks by now can see what is happening to me. Do you remember my name? After last line all actors inhale. The exhale to throw birds at christen. Christen falls to the floor. All actors begin breathing heavily while christen picks birds up off the floor. Christen hands birds to Jane and stands next to her. All actors inhale. Dialogue link: Actors pass birds to each other while saying lines.

Jane: they called me nothing. Christen: they called me voiceless Bianca: they called me resentful Dean: they called me helpless Robyn: they called me hopeless. Andre: they called me suicidal. With the last line all actors except Jane and Andre turn to face the back and say thats not my name. Jane and Andre sit on the floor at the front of the stage. All other actors sitting on the floor at the back of the stage facing the back

Jane and Andrs extract (stage adaption of little miss sunshine by Michael Arndt): Frank: man, it's beautiful out here. I don't know if I believe in god, but the ocean, it's always here for you, infinitely bigger than you are, and completely indifferent. So my version of god. Chastity: Frank...? What did it feel like when you cut your wrists? Frank: you know, I wish I could tell you I felt bad, but I didn't. I was... outside of the world, you know? It was very peaceful. But Im feeling that way now too, so... Chastity: sometimes I just wish I could go to sleep until I was 18. Just skip all this crap... high school and everything. Just, skip it... Frank: ever hear of Marcel Proust? Chastity: he's the guy you teach? Frank: yeah. French writer. Total loser. Never had a real job. Unrequited love affairs. Gay. Spent 20 years writing a book almost no one reads. But... he was also probably the greatest writer since Shakespeare. anyway, he gets down to the end of his life, and he looks back and decides that all the years he suffered... those were the best years of his life. Because they made him who he was. They forced him to think and grow, and to feel very deeply. And the years he was happy? Total waste. Didnt learn anything. So, if you sleep till you're 18... Think of the suffering you'd miss! Highs your prime suffering years. You don't get better suffering than that! Unless you go into academia, but that's a different story. Chastity: you know what? Fuck beauty contests. Its like life is one fucking beauty contest after another these days! School, then college, then work. Fuck it. Fuck the naval academy. Fuck the MacArthur foundation. If I want to fly, Ill find a way to fly. You do what you love, and fuck the rest. Frank: Im glad you're talking again, Chastity. Theres more to you than the way you look. Chastity: that's my problem with beauty contests. Frank: what? Chastity: the looking. The judges just sit there and look. But there's nothing to see. Just bodies, like they've seen before. But all they do is look. Frank: is that why you like the ocean? Chastity: I don't follow? Frank: the ocean isn't like a beauty contest. You can sit and stare at it all day, but it never looks back at you. Chastity: maybe the ocean's got it right. Maybe if we stopped looking, we'd finally see... something.

Frank: could be. But sometimes I wonder if there's anything worth seeing. I don't know if there's anything clean left in the world. Chastity: what's so good about clean? Clean is nothing. Its empty. Its fucking stale if you ask me. Its like you said, about being happy, you don't learn anything. Frank: I guess you're right. I wish we could stay here forever. Chastity: nah, we should go. Were missing the best suffering years of our lives School bell link: school bell rings. Jane and Andre stand up and walk to the back to sit down facing the front. Jane sits facing the back. Bianca and christen stand up and take the two chairs with them as they walk forward. Bianca and christen place chairs down at the front right hand side of the stage and begin extract. Bianca & Christens extract (extract from baby with the bath water by Christopher Durang)

Principal: Wait a moment, would you? Henry, I mean Mr Willoughby, is a medium size, I dont mean he holds sances. I didnt want there to be any misunderstanding. I dont think there was, but just in case. I myself am into black magic. Henry, I have taken out a black candle and I am thinking of you. Do you have a match? Miss Pringle: No, Im sorry. About Daisys essay. Principal: Im all ears. Miss Pringle: Well.. Principal: which is a figure of speech. As you can indeed see, I am a great deal more than just ears. I have a head, a trunk, a lower body, legs, and feet. I have legs and feet, Henry. I hope youre working quickly. Miss Pringle: Pay attention to me! Focus your mind on what I am saying! I do not have all day. Principal: Yes, Im sorry, I will. Youre right, oh I admire strong women. Ive always been afraid I might be a lesbian, but Ive never had any opportunity to experiment with that side of myself. Youre not interested, are you? Youre single. Perhaps you are a lesbian. Miss Pringle: Im not a lesbian, thank you, anyway. Principal: Neither am I. I just thought maybe I was. Henry, you dont think Im a lesbian, do you? The intercom only works one way, it needs to be repaired. Of course, Henrys a mute anyway. Miss Pringle: Mrs Willoughby, please out your hand over your mouth for a moment and dont say anything. Principal: Im all ears. Miss Pringle: Good, thank you. I was disturbed by Daisys essay. I want you to listen to it. What I Did for My Summer Vacation By Daisy Dingle berry Dark, dank rags. Wet fetid towels. A large German Shepard, its innards splashed across the windshield of a car. Is this a memory? Is it a dream? I am trapped, I am trapped, how to escape. I try to kill myself, but the buses always stop. Old people and children get discounts on buses, but still no one will ever kill me. How did I learn to speak, its amazing. I am a baked potato. I am a summer squash, I am a vegetable. I am an inanimate object that from time to time can run very quickly, but Im not really alive. Help, help, help. I am drowning I am drowning , my lungs fill with the summer ocean, but I still do not die, this awful life goes on and on, can no one rescue me. What do you think I should do? Principal: Id give her an A. I think its very good. The style is good, it rambles a bit, but its unexpected. Its sort of an intriguing combination of Donald Barthelme and Sesame Street. All that I am a baked potato stuff. I liked it. Miss Pringle: Yes, but dont you think the child needs help? Principal: well, a good editor would give her some pointers, granted, but I think shes a long way from publishing yet. I feel she should stay in school, keep working on her essays, the school track team needs herm theres no one who runs as fast. I think this is all premature, Miss Pringle.

Miss Pringle: I feel she should see the school psychologist. Principal: I am the school psychologist. Miss Pringle: What happened to Mr Byers? Principal: I fired him. I thought a woman would be better suited for the job. Miss Pringle: But do you have a degree in psychology. Principal: I imagine I do. I can have Henry check if you insist. Are you sure youre not a lesbian? I think youre too forceful, its unfeminine. And I think youre picking on this poor child. She shows signs of promising creativity All actors assume crazy positions and Jane walks forward to begin her monologue. Janes monologue ( ):

Waarom moet ek altyd by ou, manlike dokters beland?! Hy sit agter sy desk, lag in sy stoel gesak. I HATE MEN!! Skrik: hy vee oor sy gesig; buk oor die skryfblok voor hom en skryf iets. Dis heeltemal verstaanbaar, se hy sag. As kindjou pa, jou oom BIG COCK ROCK!! Ek gaan vir jou n sterker kalmeermiddel voorskryf. Moenie jou aggressie onderduk nie. Dit moet uit. Hy staan op; vriendelik. BIG DADDY. Hy lei my Na sy kantoordeur. SURE YOURE JUST AS RANDY AS THE REST, DADDY. Nurse vat my weg, af in die gang. Verby n ou vrou in n rolstoel; kyk voor haar uit, sien niks, sien miskien alles. I HATE MEN!! Die verpleegster sit haar arm om my, van agter; hou my twee arms vas. Ek ruk los. Los my, dis nie n tronk nie, is dit?! Sy antwoord nie; dooie o. Seker n man ook, wat elke dag Ek gaan staan; kyk na haar. En wat dink jy van big cock rock? Sy skud haar kop, glimlag effe. Kom. Kom ons kry jou nuwe pille by die dispensary. Dan gaan jy bietjie slaap. Waars my tape? Ek kan nie slaap sonder musiek nie. Jy moet net nie die ander pasinte in die saal pla nie. Fok hulle Nee, jy kan nie so s nie. Hulle voel almal sleg Paai my: toe maar, dogtertjie, toe maar klein hoertjie, toe maar, toe maar L in my bed opgekrul. Koel lakens. Pink Floyd saggies teen my oor. We dont need no education. Sarel: die ambulans gebel; my gedra, af met die trap van sy woonstel. Dis nou die laaste, het hy ges. Nou moet iets gebeur. Jys besig om weg te smelt. News for you, man. THE WHOLE WORLD IS MELTING. Kyk hoe drup die lig van die plafon af, kyk hoe drup daardie vrou se gesig oor haar skoot. Kyk hoe smelt die kas Kyk, my hande smelt wegkerswas Slaap ook nie; l in die saal, hoor die ander skarrel, sug; ou tannie in die hoek hou nooit op met fart nie. Sulke ou, suur poepe. Stil; net te stil. As dit so stil raak, sien ek hulle gesigte voor my, die een n die ander, ek sweer ek onthou elke gesig, as hy in daardie laaste oomblik sy gesig vertrek en sy asem hyg en hy pomp-pomp just to see their faces like pain like pain like pain ou gesigte, jong seunsm oupas, pas, oomsgesigtedaardie oomblikmy collection of faces, my stoet gesigte my museum. Maak my o toe DADDY? en jy: Unclen Sarel! met jou mooi lyf, jou skaam lag, Sarel jy was nie te bad nie, jy wasat leastlove Liefde. All other actors cover their eyes of the words maak my o toe during Janes monologue. And stay in that position 3. Movement piece: youth by daughter All actors, except Bianca, end lying on floor. Bianca begins her poem. Biancas poem (nag liedtjie by unknown author): As jy, voor jy na bed gaan, die kamer binnesluip,

n rukkie langs die wieg staan en kyk en droom en kyk -na al die helder ure se pret en klein verdriet is hierdie vrede smetloos en suiwer soos n liedvermy dan die gedagte wat snel, verradelik, Soos vuiste in die donker jou gorrel styf toedruk aan koue, honger kinders wat teen mekaar vasskuif, hul slaap n see van angste waarop hul eindloos dryf... Vermy dan die gedagte en vou die dekens dig: n Kind in sterrenagte is teer soos sterrelig Dialogue link: Bianca begins to sing a lullaby. All actors, except Robyn, wake up. Actors sit facing Robyn. Say lines to Robyn. Dean: awh, look shes dreaming Christen: I wonder what shes dreaming about? Jane: maybe she is dreaming of the time her dad got her a bike. Andre: maybe she is having a nightmare. All actors look up. Turn and stand up. All actors, except dean and Robyn, begin walking backwards humming the lullaby and sit on floor at the back of the stage. Dean assists Robyn to the chairs. Dean and Robyn begin their extract. Dean and Robyns extract (extract from Noir by Peter Straughan): Dr Meyers: thats it? Allison: stands up Alison: thats it. Dr Meyers: so, howd the dream make you feel? Alison: howd it make me feel? Dr Meyers: yes. Alison: how did my dad shooting me and burying me in the woods for a birthday present make me feel? Dr Meyers: yes. Alison: wellI was disappointed, obviously. Id asked for a bike Dr Meyers: glances at his watch. Beat. Alison: there was a girl killed a couple weeks ago in some woods. Its stuck in my head. I keep thinking about herthats probably why I had the dream Dr Meyers: and how is your relationship with your father? Alison: good. Fine. Itsits. We dont talk much Dr Meyers: uhuh. Welltheres some more background stuff Inow, Alison, you dont work do you? Alison: yes.

Dr Meyers: at (Reading)Telco? Alison: uhuh. Dr Meyers: and what do you do there? Alison: I talk to wankers Dr Meyers: therapist? Alison: adult chat line Dr Meyers: ah. And how is that? Alison: theres a lot of strange people out there. Dr Meyers: yup Alison: not just the callers. Theyreyou know. But, I mean the people who run the place. Its very weird. At first they monitor your calls, but I think they get so bored they just leave you alone after a while. Youre supposed to stick to these scripts butwell, to be honest, just in my opinion, the quality of the writing isnt that great. Religious link: the Lords Prayer: Our father who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven. Dean and Robyn turn chairs and pray over them. All other actors assume praying positions on the floor at the back. Andre comes forward. Robyn turns and sits on chair. Andre says monologue to Robyn. Andres monologue (extract from spring awakening by Steven Sater): Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona? Our father who art in heaven? you don't look like it, my love- rapt in your expectation of what's coming, as in that sweet moment of budding ecstasy when I saw you lying in the window of Jonathan Schlesinger's- your supple legs and arms, the gentle curving of your hips, your firm young breasts just as enticing as nowoh, how delirious with joy the great master must have been when the fourteen-year-old original lay stretched out on the divan before his eyes! It is the cause! - It is the cause! - You can tell by the fearsome pounding in my breast that my motive for this murder isn't frivolous. My throat goes dry at the thought of the lonely nights ahead of me. I swear to you, my child, Im not doing this because Ive had too much of you. How could anyone admit to have gotten sick of you? but you suck the marrow out of my bones, you bend my back, you steal the last sparkle from my youthful eyes.- you're too demanding in your inhuman diffidence, too exhausting with your unmoving limbs!- either you or me!- and the victory is mine. Youre not dying for your sins, you're dying for mine. - In heartrending self-defence against my own incursions, Im committing my seventh conjugal murder. Theres something tragic in the role of bluebeard. I think that all his murdered wives put together suffered less than he did each time he strangled one. But my conscience will be pacified, my body will regain its strength when you, devil, no longer reside in the red satin cushions of my jewel box. But there's a Heliogabalus in me! Moritura me salutat! - Girl, girl, why do you press your needs together? - Why even now? - are you mindful of inscrutable eternity??- one twitch, and Ill set you free!- one feminine gesture, one sign of lust, of sympathy, girl!- Ill frame you in gold and hang you above my bed!- don't you see that it's your chasteness alone that gives birth to my debaucheries?- woe, woe, unto those who are inhuman! My heart is breaking- nonsense! - Even saint Agnes died of her restraint, and she wasn't half as naked as you! - One last kiss on your blossoming body, the childish budding breast- youre sweetly rounded- your horribly cruel knee... Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona?

It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul. Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars! It is the cause! After the last line actors continue with the prayer: Lead us not onto temptation. But deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom The power and the glory Forever and ever Amen. During the prayer actors move to form a line at the side of the stage. Robyn moves centre stage. All other actors hold out birds to Robyn at alternating heights. Robyns poem (unknown): Everything you don't yet know is so much more than you think so much more than catching a fish or driving a car, buying a house being poor destitute or dead so very much more. How can I explain when you grow big you'll actually grow small and when you get stuff you'll really just lose it all How can I explain not having read Freud you won't know that everything you think you seem is but a thumbprint for what you don't yet know you mean or never will that everything you do know you actually don't how can I explain? The Unconscious? The Super-Ego? The Id? No, let me rather just say that one day you'll go running Furiously you'll run down a quiet street and then you'll shout from the pit of your stomach: "Fuck Oedipus! Fuck Oedipus!" Movement piece: wildest moments by Jessie ware Actors end: Robyn, Bianca, christen forming a line on the floor, at the back of the stage (painting birds). Jane centre stage and dean and Andre directly behind and on either side of Jane. Janes poem (unknown): (Syt die een liefgekry) die arm een met die groot bek. en die een hartseer oog die dag 10 jare terug by die ingewikkelde dam. toe hy sy hemp uittrek teen die loug, wegkyk en wag dat sy uittrek.

en na die swem in sy hemp sy wou sterf in die kleef terwyl hy sy hare met haar vingers kam. (die ander een sou altyd daar wees) herkenning van bloed. En die bestemde swawels wat elke jaar tussen hier en europa vlieg. altyd wetend en groeiend in hunkering, met noem-noem bessies wou hy haar voed. en donkernag toe hulle al 3 hand-aan-hand terugkeer en haar pa wag sou hy vorentoe tree en lieg (ver weg en lank terug) dit sou haar o mistig maak soos die berg. in somer en bymekaarmaak sou sy nog die pyn van die vroere droom kon veel. maar winter bring realiteit en krag, di faite sou al haar aandag verg: een is weg en dood, sy I parapleeg, die ander n volslae homoseksueel. Dialogue link: Robyn: I miss pretending to sleep so that my dad would pick me up and put me to bed. Andre: I miss my mom giving me ginger ale when I had a sore tummy Christen: I miss licking the spoon after baking with my mom Dean: I miss my dad lifting me over the waves at the beach Bianca: I miss feeding the ducks at the dam Jane: I miss my childhood innocence Ends with all actors standing in a semicircle and dean sitting on a chair in the circle centre stage. Deans monologue (extract from the novel sleepers by Lorenzo Carcaterra):

I sat across the table from the man who had battered and tortured and brutalized me nearly thirty years ago. I had imagined him to be in his sixties -- he had seemed so old to me back then -- but, in fact, he was in his late forties, less than a decade older than me. His thinning hair was combed straight back, and his right hand, trembling and ash white, held a filter tip cigarette. His left clutched a glass of ice water. He looked at me from behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, his brown eyes moist, his nose running, and the skin at its base red and flaky. "I don't know what you want me to say," he said in a voice devoid of the power it once held. "I don't know where to start." In my memory, he was tall and muscular, arrogant and quick-tempered, eager to lash out at those under his command at the juvenile home where I spent nine months when I was thirteen years old. In reality, sitting now before me, he was frail and timid, thin beads of cold sweat forming at the top of his forehead. "I need to keep my job," he said, his voice a whining plea. "I can't lose this one. If any of my bosses find out, if anybody finds out, I'm finished." I wanted to stand up and grab him, reach past the coffee and the smoke and beat him until he bled. Instead, I sat there and remembered all that I had tried so hard, over so many years, to forget. Painful screams piercing silent nights. A leather belt against soft skin. Foul breath on the back of a neck. Loud laughter mixed with muffled tears. I had waited so long for this meeting, spent so much time and money searching for the man who held the answers to so many of my questions. But now that he was here, I had nothing to say, nothing to ask. I half-listened as he talked about two failed marriages and a bankrupt business, about how the evil he committed haunts him to this very day. The words seemed cowardly and empty and I felt no urge to address them. He and the group he was a part of had stained the future of four boys, damaged them beyond repair. Once, the sound of this man's very walk caused all our movement to stop. His laugh, low and eerie, had signalled an onslaught of torment. Now, sitting across from him, watching his mouth move and his hands flutter, I wished I had not been as afraid of him back then, that I'd somehow had the nerve and the courage to fight back. So many lives might have turned out differently if I had. "I didn't mean all those things," he whispered, leaning closer toward me. "None of us did." "I don't need you to be sorry," I said. "It doesn't do me any good." "I'm begging' you," he said, his voice breaking. "Try to forgive me. Please. Try." "Learn to live with it," I told him, getting up from the table. "I can't," he said. "Not anymore." "Then die with it, I said, looking at him hard. "Just like the rest of us." The pained look of surrender in his eyes made my throat tighter, easing the darkness of decades. If only my friends had been there to see it.

After the last line dean falls back in chair into all the other actors standing behind him. Movement begins Movement piece: forgetting by David grey Movement piece ends with Andre Bianca and dean standing facing the back. And Jane Robyn and christen on the floor facing the front. Robyn begins her piece from the floor. Robyns monologue (five kinds of silence, unknown author): She said try writing it, so Im writing it. You come into the room. I can't see your face. It's dark. I'm lying on the bed and Ive no clothes on. You kiss me a lover's kiss. You put your tongue inside my mouth and you tell me that you love me. I say, I love you too, Dad. I can't write this. She said the dreams will fade if I write it down. She says it's normal. These feelings are normal. I sat, they're not my feelings they're my dreams. You touch me. I want you to. It's you and it's not you. I ask you to touch me again. And you do. I look at your face above me, and you look so sad, I'm not your daughter I'm your lover. Except Im lying now because I know Im your daughter and that's what makes it so special, and secret. You look so sad and I will make everything better for you. I don't want you to stop. You're the only lover Ive ever had. I pull you down towards me. I wake up. I'm sick over the side of the bed. How could you do this to me, Dad? How could you do this? Small head movement sequence to transition between Robyns and Biancas pieces. Robyn sit down and Bianca moves forward to begin her piece. Biancas monologue (extract from dis ek, Anna): My pa het my Vrydag sommer by die skool opgelaai. Hy moes Kaptein soos gewoonlik vashou, anders het hy tussen die ander kinders deur op my afgestorm. Dit was my rusnaweke, die by my pa, niemand wat pla nie, niemand wat in die nagte jou deur oopmaak en oor jou buk nie. Dit het nie eens gehelp dat ek die deur toesluit nie, my ma sou die volgende oggend net vreeslik met my raas omdat sy nie in my kamer kon kom om my vir skool wakker te maak nie. Natuurlik het oom Danie my ook met vreeslike goed gedreig as ek dit durf waag om my deur te sluit. My pa het daardie naweek vir my so ernstig gelyk. "Anna, Pappa is lief vir jou, jy moet nooit daaroor twyfel nie" "Ek weet, Pappa." "Is hy goed vir julle?" Ek het getwyfel, maar uiteindelik tog ja ges. "En jou ma? Is sy nou rustiger? Baklei sy nog so baie met jou?" "Nie meer so baie nie" "Ek is bly. Onthou, as jy wil praat, oor enige iets, ek's altyd hier." "Ek weet, Pappa" Stom Anna. Hy het my hare deurmekaar gekrap en opgestaan. Sommer gaan koffie maak of iets. Toe hy my die Sondag gaan aflaai, het hy my lank vasgehou en gehuil. Ek het half verward probeer troos. Myself voorgeneem dat ek hom die volgende keer alles sou vertel. Hy is my pa, hy sou iets moes kon doen. Ek sou by hom kon gaan bly...Nie nou vertel nie, nie terwyl hy so huil nie, maar definitief volgende keer "Toemaar, Pappa, dis nog net twee weke." Dit was nie. Hy het dieselfde aand sy dienspistool gevat en homself in sy badkamer geskiet. Oom Willem het die volgende oggend die nuus gebring. My ma het my kamer toe gestuur, maar ek het bly staan, en die keer het ay my gelos. "Hy was baie af die laaste tyd. Het behandeling vir depressie gekry." "Depressie?" "Ek weet maar nie veel nie, Johanna. Ek is jammer." "Wie gaan die relings tref?" "Cecilia het gevra of sy kan." My ma het geknik "Dis goed." "My pa wil veras word." "Sy weet, Anna" het oom Willem ges. Terwyl my ma haar werk en my skool bel, het ek kamer toe geloop. Met my skoolklere op die bed gaan l. Ek het nie gehuil nie, nie toe nie. Net toegelaat dat my ma by my kom sit. Sy het oor my hare gestreel. "Ek is jammer, Anna." Eers toe kom die trane. Soos n sluis wat oopgemaak word. Sonder ophou. Sodat sy my teen haar getrek het, my in haar arms gehou het. Music link: black flies by ben Howard Christens poem (a sad child by Margaret Atwood): You're sad because you're sad. It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.

Go see a shrink or take a pill, or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll you need to sleep. Well, all children are sad but some get over it. Count your blessings. Better than that, buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet. Take up dancing to forget. Forget what? Your sadness, your shadow, whatever it was that was done to you the day of the lawn party when you came inside flushed with the sun, your mouth sulky with sugar, in your new dress with the ribbon and the ice-cream smear, and said to yourself in the bathroom, I am not the favourite child. My darling, when it comes right down to it and the light fails and the fog rolls in and you're trapped in your overturned body under a blanket or burning car, and the red flame is seeping out of you and igniting the tarmac beside you head or else the floor, or else the pillow, none of us is; or else we all are. Music link: wicked games by Vincent James McMorrow Deans poem (manifesto, unknown author): So-its all become clear now, Just a simple fact. I live in wilderness chasm Where the buffeting is strong, Pure, unsure. I work my talents And forge a rough home In the winds, knowing There are no false comforts And no cages of order Through which gales blow Anyway. The caged canary Has lost his sweet bluff No more dark lyrics From within the hold While waters suck At the boards. Now, Like Prometheus, it is time To take fire in hand, On the skin, looking It straight in the eye.

Now is the time to see Around the curve Of this disenchanted horizon This horizon of disenchantment The bland comforts of home And marriage, the comforts That never were That somehow deceived The hungering heart And yielded their quartered Crop half-heartedly The somehow combined to feed The hungering heart With even more hunger, These have been blown Away, away, anyway Any way you look at it And now it is time To hold up those hungers To love them and console them Unconsolingly. It is time To bid farewell to the idea, The very notion of comfort. There is work There is breath There is accident It is time to unwake The little demons Who scream for comfort For the comfort of creatures, dogs sleeping on the kitchen floor. Sit in the stream The stream of breath. Move like the wind In the purposelessness The dangerous drift of what arises Let it not be, let it Be not what you design Go there Go to the borderless places. Yield. Give up, Give up, give up the strong signs Of design Here comes the flood

The end.