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The Call was first produced by Melbourne Workers Theatre and FULL TILT at
The Fairfax Studio, the Arts Centre, Melbourne, on 15 November 2007 with the
following cast:

GARY Simon Mallory

DENISE / LIDDY / BOY Peta Brady
CHUNK / HORACE / DOC Isaac Drandich
ALDO / DIEGO / CUNI / BUG LeRoy Parsons
MUSICIANS Irine Vela, Mulaim Vela, Jenny
Thomas

Director, Andrea James

Composer, Irine Vela
Designer, Emily Barrie
Lighting Designer, Richard Vabre
CHARACTERS

GARY, in his 20s

DENISE, in her 20s
CHUNK, in his 20s
ALDO, in his 20s

HORACE, a chicken plucker

LIDDY, a chicken plucker
DIEGO, a chicken plucker
CUNI, a factory worker
JACK, a factory worker
BILLY, a factory worker
DOC, a meat-rendering plant worker
BUG, a meat-rendering plant worker
BOY, a meat-rendering plant worker

An ensemble of four actors: three men and one woman.

DENISEplays LIDDY, BILLY, BOY.

CHUNK plays HORACE, CUNI, BUG.
ALDO plays DIEGO, JACK, DOC.

SETTING

A battery hen farm; an mdf board factory; a meat-rendering plant. These

work scenes are both real and visions of hell.
In a stolen car; outside a club; in a home; on a bridge; at the gym; in a
cage.
The scenes move quickly and unnaturally from space to space. The
suggestion of place is a more satisfying conceit.
GARY peers through the mesh of a cage. It’s unclear if he’s inside the cage
or out. He stares intently as if transfixed. Slowly and quietly he makes the
clucking sounds of a brooding chook. He commits himself so utterly to
chook talking it seems possible that his mind has slipped into a strange and
terrible place.
GARY: It’s a sad life.
Lights slowly reveal three workers—two men, HORACE and DIEGO,
and one woman, LIDDY. They are dressed in white overalls and wear
paper caps on their heads. They each hold partially feathered dead
chooks.
HORACE: Have a look at it, would you?
LIDDY: What’s he doing?
HORACE: He’s in love, Liddy, like I’m in love with you.
LIDDY: Yeah, you love me, Horace. Do you?
HORACE: You’re my chook.
DIEGO: He’s talking to it.
HORACE: What’s that, Dago? You say something?
DIEGO: He’s preparing it for its death.
LIDDY: The chook can’t understand him, Diego. Gary can’t speak chook.
Can he?
HORACE: He’s not talking dying, he’s talking love. Gary wants to con onto
the chook. He’s in love with her.
LIDDY: No, he’s not. Is he? Can you talk chook, Horace?
HORACE: He wants to fuck the chook.
LIDDY: No, he doesn’t. Does he?
HORACE: We’re meant to pluck them, Gary, not fuck them.

LIDDY giggles madly.

DIEGO: Gary remembers that they’re chickens. I forgot.
HORACE: What’s that, Dago? Can’t understand you.
DIEGO: Fuck off, Horace.
HORACE: That’s it, that’s it, now you’re getting the hang of it.
LIDDY: What’s he saying to the chook now?
HORACE: Forget her, Gary, she’s no fucking good for you, mate. Call it off.
She’ll break your heart, mate. She’s a tease, she’s been round the block,
that one. Done the rounds. No satisfaction there, mate.
GARY remains transfixed.
Jesus Christ, I’ve left it too late, he’s fallen for her. The fucking slut’s
got him wrapped round her little finger.
LIDDY: No, she hasn’t. Has she? Does he really love her? Does he, Diego?
DIEGO: Don’t listen to Horace, Liddy.
HORACE: He’s head over, Liddy, he’s totally infatuated. Don’t know
whether I can save him.
LIDDY: Save him, save him.
DIEGO: Leave him alone, Horace.
HORACE: What’s that you’re saying, Dago? Can’t understand.
DIEGO: Fuck off, Horace.
HORACE: Right, got you now, why didn’t you say so?
LIDDY: Save him, save him.
HORACE: I’m going to try, Liddy. Gary’s a good bloke and he deserves to be
saved. That slut’s got him by the short and curly and I’ll bloody well
chop her head off if I have to.
LIDDY: Chop it off, Horace.
HORACE: Hey, Gary, me man, you’ve got to give her up. She’s not our kind.
LIDDY: No, she’s not.
HORACE: She’s unclean, she’s diseased.
LIDDY: She’s a dirty slut, Gary.
HORACE: She’s conned you, mate. Those breasts, they’re fake.
DIEGO: You’re a fucking idiot, Horace.
HORACE: Hey, Dago, your English is coming along, you’ll get there one
day. Listen, Gary, what do you see in her when there’s young Liddy
here? Hey? Liddy’s as good as any chook, aren’t you, Liddy?
LIDDY: I’m as good as any chook. Am I?

HORACE pulls LIDDY into his lap and moves as if he’s fucking her.
HORACE: Ooh, I reckon you are, Lid, I reckon you are.
DIEGO: You’re a piece of filth, Horace.
HORACE: Just when I think you’re getting your tongue around some of our
words and you go talk gobbledegook.
DIEGO: I don’t speak anything but English, you prick.
HORACE: Lost you, can’t understand a word you’re saying.
DIEGO: Fuck off!
HORACE: Then you go and surprise me again. [Moving on LIDDY again]
Come on, Gary, Liddy’s here waiting, I’m warming her up so you can
slip in.
LIDDY: Come on, Gary, I don’t mind, you can fuck me if you want to.

HORACE bursts into laughter.

HORACE: Jesus Christ, did you hear that!? Liddy doesn’t mind.
LIDDY: No, I don’t mind.
HORACE: Of course you don’t, Liddy, that’s the wonder of it, you’ve got no
mind.
LIDDY: I’ve got a mind. I know what I think.
HORACE: Do you? Do you know what you think? What do you think?
LIDDY: I think about things.
HORACE: You don’t have to think, all you got to do is feel. Feel old Horace
here.
DIEGO: Jesus Christ!
LIDDY: Patsy Cline was a chicken plucker. She’s not dumb.
 HORACE sings ‘Crazy’.
DIEGO: You’re not dumb, Liddy.
HORACE: No reason to be insulted, Lid, no-one here thinks, we’re all
brainless, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.
DIEGO: Speak for yourself.
HORACE: Oh, but I do, Dago, I do. I’m the most stupid of all. I’ve been here
the longest and I’ve no intention of leaving my roost. [He crows.] Look
at young Gary; he’s so stupid he’s fallen in love with a chook.
GARY: It’s a sad life.
HORACE: Fucking hell, it’s worse than I thought, he feels sorry for her.
GARY: Her entire life’s been in a cage. Can’t move, can’t turn round, can’t
flap her wings. She’s had her beak burned off. She lays a hundred
thousand eggs a year and then she’s come to us to have her head
chopped off. Fucking lousy life.
HORACE: She’s a chook.
LIDDY: Chooks feel.
HORACE: ’Course they bloody don’t.
GARY: There’s nothing in her eyes. Nothing.
HORACE: She’s a chook!
GARY: Been nowhere. Seen nothing. Never felt the sun warm on her
feathers.
HORACE: They’re fed, aren’t they?
DIEGO: They’re fed crap.
GARY: It’s sad.
LIDDY: Poor chooks. Poor poor chooks.
HORACE: Look what you’ve done, you’ve gone and upset Liddy.
DIEGO: We forget they’re living things.
HORACE: Their hearts beat. So what?
LIDDY: [distressed] Their hearts beat.
DIEGO: Not even my dogs eat them.
HORACE: Cows, sheep, pork, it’s all shit. What’s the diff?
LIDDY: I don’t eat them.
DIEGO: They’re fed other chooks, ground-up bits of their own kind.
LIDDY: Do you eat them, Horace? Do you?
DIEGO: That’s how they got mad cows, feeding cows to cows.

HORACE sings ‘Crazy’.

HORACE: I’m in an asylum, a place for nutters, for dimwits, for no-hopers.
LIDDY: I got hope!

An electric guitar provides a driving beat. GARY and his mates, CHUNK and
ALDO, are in the front seat of a car.

GARY: Fuck.
CHUNK: Fuck.
ALDO: Fuck.
GARY: Fuck.
CHUNK: Fuck.
ALDO: Fuck.
CHUNK: Fuck me!
ALDO: Fucking hell!
GARY: Was that easy!
ALDO: Easy.
CHUNK: A breeze. All I did was turn the key.

They hoot with laughter.

ALDO: Hit the road.
CHUNK: Cut this turkey.
GARY: Get the fuck out of here.

Another united hoot.

ALDO: Fags.
CHUNK: And beer.
ALDO: A slab.
GARY: And dope.
CHUNK: Speed.
ALDO: Hey, Chunk, give me a line of that.

Together they sniff an almighty sniff. CHUNK hits the accelerator.

Let’s eat.
GARY: Pie and sauce.
CHUNK: Burgers.
ALDO: Souvlaki.
GARY: Meat.
CHUNK: Give me some meat.
ALDO: Girls.
CHUNK: Sluts.
GARY: The best kind of fucks.
CHUNK: Fat fucks.
ALDO: Once I fucked this bitch with enormous tits.
CHUNK: Aldo, don’t give me the shits.
ALDO: I did, I did.
GARY: Hot chicks and hot cars.
CHUNK: And porn.
GARY: Fucking horses.
ALDO: And blokes with pricks sledgehammer thick.
GARY: And cunts like caves and getting sucked in.
ALDO: And off.
CHUNK: And giving it up the arse.
ALDO: Hey, Chunk, give me a line of that.
 They sniff. CHUNK hits the accelerator.
Ever think about holding a gun?
CHUNK: Aldo, you scare me shitless sometimes.
ALDO: A guy I know’s got a hundred guns, all types, all sizes, goes on about
how he’s going to blow some poor bitch to pieces.
GARY: Jesus.
CHUNK: How about fishing?
GARY: Need gear.
ALDO: Give us another beer.
CHUNK: My dad loves fishing. Never once asked me to go with him.
ALDO: Some blokes shit you.
GARY:Poofters.
CHUNK: Fathers.
ALDO:Mine’s a prick.
CHUNK: Fucking arsehole bastard says I’ll never make it.
ALDO: I’m going to make it.
GARY: Who with?
ALDO: I’m getting out of here.
GARY: Where to?
ALDO: Going to do something with my life.
GARY:Like what?
CHUNK: Like what?
ALDO:Like be a footballer.
CHUNK: In your dreams, Aldo.
ALDO: Nothing wrong with dreams.
GARY: Dreams are fucked.
ALDO: They’re
alright.
CHUNK: Dreams are sad.
GARY: I don’t dream.
ALDO: Dreams aren’t bad.
GARY: Last dream I had I pissed my bed.
CHUNK: I’ve done that.
ALDO: Michelle Daniels pissed herself in front of the whole school.
ALL:School!
CHUNK: Pack of cunts. Brother Morris burned me with his cigarette once.
ALDO: Got expelled.
GARY: Never went.
CHUNK: Didn’t learn a thing.
GARY: Pricks.
ALDO:Bastards.
CHUNK: Fucked.
GARY: Fucked.
ALL:Fuck school.
ALDO: Dare you to dive off the bridge.
CHUNK: Dare you to scale the high-rise.
GARY: To surf a train.
CHUNK: Ride the back of a bus.
ALDO: Punch that prick’s head in.
GARY:Fuck her up the arse.
CHUNK: Join the navy.
GARY: The army.
ALDO: The air force.
ALL:Fuck that!
CHUNK: Die for your country and all that crap.
ALDO: Whose idea was it to nick this piece of shit?
GARY: I want a car with mags.
CHUNK: With twin exhausts.
ALDO: Twin carbs.
CHUNK: Something fast.
ALDO: Real fast.
GARY: Put some distance between them and us.
ALDO: Hey, Chunk, give me a line of that.

They sniff and CHUNK hits the accelerator.

ALDO presses the buttons of the radio and surfs through a distortion
of channels, of heavy metal, rap, pop and classical. It plays ‘Carmina
Burana’ and ALDO hits it and it moves back to heavy guitar.
GARY: Leave it. Leave it.
ALDO returns to ‘Carmina Burana’.
ALDO: This!?
GARY: Yeah, this.
ALDO: Fuck off.
GARY: Wait. Wait.

They listen and gradually the music appears to enchant them. They
are swept up in the swell and power of the song.
Ever think about falling in love?
CHUNK: Yeah, sometimes. What about you?
GARY: All the time.
ALDO: I loved that bitch Jodie Smith.
CHUNK: Aldo, don’t give me the shits.
ALDO: I did, I did.
GARY:I like the idea of loving someone full-time.
CHUNK: I’d like that.
GARY:Of going home to someone.
CHUNK: I’d like that.
GARY: Of coming in the front door and hearing someone call.
CHUNK: Of smiling.
ALDO: What?
GARY:Smiling at someone and them smiling back.
CHUNK: Yeah, I’d like that.
GARY:Must feel good loving someone.
CHUNK: Yeah.
GARY:I’d like to feel that good.
CHUNK: I never felt it more than a day or two.
GARY: It’d be good to feel it for a long time, forever maybe.
ALDO: And getting a regular fuck, like on tap.
CHUNK: You’re a romantic, Aldo, do you know that?
ALDO: Hey, Chunk, give me a line of that.
They sniff. CHUNK hits the accelerator.
ALDO changes the channel. Music with a heavy metal beat takes over.

From a nightclub, DENISE steps out into the light. GARY is instantly
captivated.
DENISE: It’s always disappointing.
GARY: What?
DENISE: Every Saturday night.
GARY: What’s your problem?
DENISE: I want to dance.
GARY: What’sstopping you?
DENISE: Someone grabbing at my arse or staring at my tits or wanting to
buy me a drink so I can suck his dick.
GARY: Shit.
DENISE:Life’s disappointing.
GARY: You reckon?
DENISE: Utterly disappointing.
GARY: It’s not that bad.
DENISE: It’s bullshit.
GARY: It’s alright.
DENISE: It gives me the shits.
GARY: It’s pretty good, I reckon.
DENISE:I’m going to slit my wrists.
GARY: Life’s good.
DENISE:I’m going to jump off a cliff.
GARY: Life’s great.
DENISE: I’m going to stand in front of a train.
GARY: Life’s fantastic.
DENISE: I’m going to swim so far out I won’t be able to make it back again.
GARY: What’s wrong with you?
DENISE: I’m going to hang myself from a tree.
GARY: There’s got to be something worth living for.
DENISE: Like what?

Pause. GARY can’t come up with an answer.

I’m going to lie in the middle of the street and wait for a semi to run
over me.
She lies on the flat of her back.
Come on, unless you can think of a reason to live, come join me.
GARY thinks for a moment. He lies next to DENISE.
If you could choose to live anywhere in the world, where would you
choose?
GARY: I don’t know.
DENISE: Think. Anywhere that takes your fancy. Where?
GARY: Here’s fine.
DENISE: [lifting her head] Are you kidding? Here is not fine. Here is shit.
Here’s the pits. Here is the most boring place on earth.
GARY: It’s alright.
DENISE: What’s alright?
GARY: It’s near my mum and dad’s.
DENISE:Oh my God, that’s sad.
GARY: Australia’s the best place on earth.
DENISE: Who told you that?
GARY: We’ve got no volcanoes.
DENISE:Exactly. Have you been anywhere?
GARY: Not really.
DENISE: No, this is it, this shithole, this is life as we know it. It’s got to be
better than this.
GARY: It could be worse.
DENISE: There are hundreds of countries that have volcanoes, live ones,
bubbling, gurgling things that cough up ash. You can look into them and
see the very centre of the earth. Some people abseil down them.
GARY: Yeah? And so?
DENISE: And so? Oh my God, you’ve got to be joking. Don’t you want to
see something else? Don’t you want to go anywhere? Don’t you want to
ride an elephant or an alpaca or be pulled by dogs on a sled across the
ice?
GARY: I’ve never thought about it.
DENISE: Wouldn’t it blow your mind if you saw a lion or a giraffe or a
cheetah, not in a cage or some dried-up paddock, but free and wild and
about to eat you alive?
GARY: Don’t frighten me.
DENISE: Don’t you want to climb the Eiffel Tower or the leaning one, or the
Himalayas or walk along the Great Wall of China?
GARY: No, not much.
DENISE: Why not?
GARY: I wouldn’t mind going to England sometime, see where my grand-
parents were born.
DENISE: I’m not going anywhere they speak English. I don’t care if I never
hear another word of English.
GARY: What’s wrong with English?
DENISE: Nothing, it’s all the brain-dead bastards who speak it.
GARY: What other language can you speak?
DENISE: None. I’m going to point and grunt.
GARY: You’re going to get a long way.
DENISE: You going to come?
GARY: No thanks.
DENISE: When you swim in the Red Sea or the Black Sea or the Dead one,
you bob about on top of the water like a cork. In the Amazon there are
schools of piranhas that can devour a zebra standing in the water before
it takes a drink. In Norway glaciers pour into the sea.
GARY: Yeah, really?
DENISE: You really don’t want to come?
GARY: Why not go round Australia?
DENISE: I want to get as far away from Australia as I can. Are you going to
come or not?
GARY: No. Bon voyage.
DENISE: Do you want to…
GARY: I don’t want to.
DENISE: Do you want to…
GARY: Fuck it, no!
DENISE: … come home with me?

DENISE and GARY partially undress. They take a step forward. And then
another until they stand very close. GARY runs his hands over DENISE’s
shoulders and down over her slip.
GARY: Fuck, what’s that?
DENISE: What?

He runs his hands over her slip. Their conversation becomes liquid.
GARY: It’s like running my hands through water.
DENISE: It’s silk.
Music threads its way through the scene. It’s intoxicating, seductive;
music that creeps under the skin.
GARY: Silk.
DENISE: Once you touch it you want to keep touching it.
GARY: I’ve never felt anything like it.
DENISE: The Chinese kept it secret from the world for thousands of years.
GARY: So fine.
DENISE: Until some princess smuggled out silkworms under her wig.
GARY: Silkworms?
DENISE: A blind moth lays millions of eggs and when they hatch in their
cocoons they make this fine thread.
GARY: A blind moth made this?
DENISE: The thread’s as fine as a spider’s web.
GARY: That fine.
DENISE: The cocoons are steamed and the thread is unwound.

GARY strokes DENISE from her hair slowly down her shoulders and
breasts to her hips and they drop to their knees.
Hundreds of metres of thread from one tiny cocoon.
GARY slides his hand under her slip.
They twist strands together to make the thread strong but cloth like this
is made from a single thread.
GARY touches her cunt.
GARY: Silk.
She groans with pleasure.
Pure silk.
DENISE: Come to China with me.

They have sex.

GARY: Oh God/Oh God/Oh God.
DENISE: Jesus/Jesus/Jesus.
GARY: I thought I was going to drown in you.
DENISE: I thought I was going to suffocate under the weight of you.
GARY: I thought you were going to swallow me whole.
DENISE: You took up my every space.
GARY: You made me gasp for air.
DENISE: You pulled me into places that were raw and bare.
GARY: I discovered valleys and glens and waterfalls. And small inlets and
moonlit bays and…
DENISE: … oceans on which my body lay bobbing away.
GARY: I was in a cave and had no light. I had to feel along slippery walls
and slither through crevasses and finally slide out.
DENISE: I dived into pools and swam deep beneath ledges and felt the
beating hearts of slippery fish.
GARY: I travelled down white-water rivers…
DENISE: … and was caught in tumbling pools.
GARY: I clung onto the back of whales; I rode dolphins…
DENISE: … and stingrays and seals.
GARY: I been in places I never knew existed.
DENISE: I felt sensations I can’t explain.
GARY: I cried tears and wondered why they came.
DENISE: I thought I might lose myself in a scream.
GARY: My laughter came from a kind of pain.
DENISE: My body shook and trembled.
GARY: I felt like I was disassembled, and no-one could put me together
again. [Pause.] In the back of the car.
DENISE: Third cubicle from the left.
GARY: Behind the bar.
DENISE: In the carpark.
GARY: In Mum and Dad’s bed.
DENISE: In church with Christ looking down while I give you head.
GARY: Under a table.
DENISE: At the beach.
GARY: In a paddock.
DENISE: In a toilet block.
GARY: In the supermarket.
DENISE: At the pictures.
GARY: Can’t get enough.
DENISE: Can’t get enough.
GARY: Can’t get enough.
DENISE: Can’t get enough.

Pause.
GARY & DENISE: [together] Think we’re in love.

GARY, CHUNK and ALDO climb the railing of a bridge.

GARY: Together.
CHUNK: Together.
ALDO: Together.
CHUNK: No copping out.
GARY: Not a chance.
ALDO: I’ve jumped from higher than this.
CHUNK: Aldo, don’t give me the shits.
ALDO: I did, I did.
GARY: Point your toes or you’ll hit like a ton of bricks.

They’re about to jump but they freak out.

ALDO:Oh shit!
CHUNK: Oh shit!
GARY: Oh shit!
CHUNK: Feel your heart. It’s wild.
GARY: Mine’s in my mouth.
ALDO: It’s like it’s alive.
CHUNK: I reckon we’ve got to mark this.
GARY: We should make a declaration.
CHUNK: A declaration, that’s it.
GARY: An announcement.
ALDO: Who the fuck to?
GARY: To each other.
CHUNK: From this moment forward we will live life to the full.
ALDO & GARY: [together] To the full.
GARY: And we will feel everything like this. Intense.
ALDO & CHUNK: [together] Intense.
ALDO: [with great intensity] We’ll take it on, we’ll headbutt it in the face,
we’ll make mincemeat of it.
CHUNK: Jesus, Aldo, you scare me sometimes.
GARY: We’ve got to remember this. It’s not every day you put your life at
risk.
CHUNK: Not together like this.
ALDO: We could die, but who gives a shit.
GARY & CHUNK: [together] Who gives a shit!
 They prepare to jump and again freak out.
ALDO: Oh shit!
GARY: Oh shit!
CHUNK: Oh shit!
GARY: Have a look at that sky. It’s fucking beautiful. Shit! Did you see
that?!
CHUNK: I did. Shit! It’s got to be a sign.
ALDO: What?
GARY: A falling star.
ALDO: Oh shit, I didn’t see it.
CHUNK: There’s no doubt now. This is something special.
GARY: Something meant to be, I reckon.
ALDO: But what about me? I didn’t see it.
GARY: Something big’s going to happen.
CHUNK: Something huge.
ALDO: But I didn’t see it.
CHUNK: Doesn’t matter, Aldo, it’s a change of luck.
GARY: Going to change big-time.
CHUNK: I’m hanging out for something to fucking change.
GARY: Like, the break has finally come.
CHUNK: We deserve it.
GARY: I knew there had to be more than this.
ALDO: It’s going to be good, isn’t it?
GARY: Better than good, Aldo.
ALDO: It’s going to be great.
CHUNK: On the count of three.
GARY: Arms out.

They stretch out their arms.

ALL: [together] One, two, three.
They jump.

DENISE moves forward.

DENISE: Five girls in my class had babies when they were fifteen. By Year
Ten it was an epidemic, they were dropping off like flies. Suddenly they
weren’t at school anymore and you’d see them with their huge bellies
hanging out shopping for baby clothes in the mall. There were smart
girls too, girls who were top of the class who got themselves knocked up
and ended up talking crap about specials on baby food. A girl in my
street had a baby when she was thirteen. Our whole suburb is full of
them pushing their prams to the shops, none of them are old enough to
drive, not one of them’s got a job, their blokes have wracked off,
they’ve got no money, got no hope, they spend hours shuffling through
tables of shit at the two-dollar shop.
GARY moves forward.
You’ve made my life crap.
GARY: How’s that?
DENISE: You’ve wrecked it.
GARY: I’ve wrecked it!?
DENISE: I never wanted this. I never wanted this… [She gestures back and
forth from him to her.] I wanted more from life than this.
GARY: I’m not stopping you from your life.
DENISE: Yes, you are. You’ve fucked it up.
GARY: I’m not making you hang around. Do what you want.
DENISE: I wanted to travel.
GARY: Yeah.
DENISE: I’ve been saving up.
GARY: I know.
DENISE: That’s all I ever thought about.
GARY: I know.
DENISE: And then you came along.
GARY: You want to travel. I don’t care.
DENISE: Yeah yeah.
GARY: Since when have I tried to hold you back?
DENISE: Why do you have to fuck me all the time?
GARY: What?!
DENISE: Fucking, fucking, all the time. I didn’t want that.
GARY: You could’ve fooled me.
DENISE: It’s all you want to do. I want more.
GARY: What the fuck, do it, do it. I’ll take you down to the travel agent
right now. Come on, you can book your ticket; you can book it for
tomorrow.
DENISE: Don’t you worry; I’m not going to let you stop me.
GARY: I’m not trying to stop you, Denise.
DENISE: There’s nothing going to stop me from going.
GARY: Let’s go get your ticket now.
DENISE: Not now.
GARY: Come on.
DENISE: I can’t now.
GARY: Why not?
DENISE: Because I’ve got to have an abortion first.
Pause.
GARY: What?
DENISE: I’m pregnant because you want to fuck fuck all the time.
GARY: Jesus, Denise.
DENISE: Jesus, Gary.
GARY: You’re having a baby.
DENISE: No, I’m not. I’m going away. I don’t want a baby, I don’t want
this… [She gestures between them again.] I don’t want this couple-y
shit, this is your life shit, this is fucking-it-shit.
GARY: You’re having a baby. We’re having a baby. Shit!
DENISE: I’m not having this baby, I tell you. I’m not. I’m bloody not. I want
to do something with my life. I want to get away from here. If I don’t,
I’m going to die, I’m going to shrivel up, I’m going to rot, I’m going to
become a fat-arsed blob. Oh God, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Gary, help me.

GARY carries a bundle, a baby, in his arms.

GARY: Hey, hey, hey, baby girl, hey, you my little baby, hey, are you, are
you? Yeah? Yeah? Yeah, you’re my beautiful baby, my baby, my little
baby girl. Who’s this, hey? God, will you listen to me, gone soft, gone
barking mad, gone all syrup, all sugar, my voice, it’s not mine. You
are… you are divine. Did you know that? You’re so so fine. Look at
them fingers, tiny little fingers, you are something, and you’re mine.
I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. You’re like silk. The finest
silk. And I’ve brought you into the world. I’m your father, fucking hell,
your father, can you believe it? I’m your father and you’re going to have
a good life, the best life, that’s something I’m responsible for. Your life
is going to be full of the best things, things like… the very best things,
like… all sorts of things that are good, really good, the best. Full. So
full. Full of… full of… really good things.
DENISE steps forward.
DENISE: Bring her back to bed.
GARY: Yeah, yeah, won’t be a sec.
DENISE: Come on, Gary, she’s got to be fed.

A buzz-saw screeches and the space fills with dust. GARY, CUNI, JACK and
BILLY stagger through the haze. They’re dressed in white overalls, face
masks, earmuffs and goggles. The saw stops and they desperately pull off
the paraphernalia and frantically breathe in clean air. They cover their eyes
with the heel of the palms of their hands.
GARY: I can’t see.
CUNI: I can’t see.
BILLY: I can’t see.
JACK: I can’t see.
GARY: My eyes are filled with grit.
BILLY: I’ve got blood in my spit.
JACK: Shit!
CUNI: This is torture.
OTHERS: Torture.
CUNI: It is.
GARY: I’m not going to last.
CUNI: Two weeks and I’m out of here.
JACK: You got another job?
CUNI: I’m going home.
GARY: Where’s home?
CUNI: Albania.
BILLY:How come you going back?
CUNI: Never been.
JACK: What?
CUNI: I was born here.
BILLY: You’re Australian.
CUNI: No way, mate, I’m a hundred percent Albanian.
GARY: You’ve never even been there.
BILLY: You’re Australian.
CUNI: My name’s Shefik Cuni. Can’t get any more Albanian than that.
JACK: You were born and bred here.
GARY: Mate, you’re Australian.
CUNI: My body’s been here but up here and in here I’ve been in Albania.
JACK: You bloody lived here your entire life.
CUNI: I’m Albanian, mate, can’t do nothing about it. I’ve got pure Albanian
blood running through these veins.
GARY: You’re Australian.
CUNI: I’m fucking Albanian!

CUNI challenges them to dispute him. Silence.

BILLY: Why you going?
CUNI: I’m going to fight.
GARY: You’re going to fight?
JACK: Who you going to fight?
CUNI: For my country. For the land that was stolen from us. I’m going to
get it back.
JACK: You’re going to go and fight for a country you’ve never stepped foot
in.
CUNI: Generations of Cunis worked that land. They shed blood for that
land.
BILLY: You’re going to go and die for a country you’ve never stepped foot
in.
CUNI: When you’re called, you’re called, there’s nothing to be done.
GARY: You’re willing to risk your life?
CUNI: I got a battle to be had.
JACK: It’s got nothing to do with you.
CUNI: I got a quest. What can I do?
BILLY: You’re going to go to Albania and get yourself killed.
CUNI: Got no choice. Got to go. I don’t give it a thought.
GARY: How can you feel that much about a place you don’t even know?
CUNI: I feel it more.
GARY: How’s that?
CUNI: It’s calling me, telling me to come home and finally I’m on my way.
And I don’t mind telling you, I’ll cry my eyes out when I set foot on my
land.
GARY: I don’t get it.
JACK: Because it’s bullshit, mate.
BILLY: It’s a load of crap.
CUNI: It’s because you Australians don’t care about nothing.

They overlap in their defensiveness.

GARY: I care about stuff.
BILLY: I care about stuff.
JACK: I care about stuff.
BILLY: You’re cracked.
CUNI: This country’s a paradise. You don’t have a care in the world in this
country.
GARY: We care about stuff.
CUNI: In Australia you live the good life.
JACK: Yeah, Australia’s great.
CUNI: You’ve got it all.
BILLY: We have.
CUNI: The lucky country!
GARY: You can’t say much that’s bad about Australia.
CUNI: I used to be Australian just like you.
JACK, BILLY & GARY: [together] You are Australian!
CUNI: It’s easy being Australian, it’s a soft life.
BILLY: Piss off.
CUNI: Comfortable. Nothing gets asked of you.
GARY: We get asked stuff.
CUNI: You can grow old and die here without nothing ever disturbing you.
JACK: We get disturbed by stuff.
CUNI: Let’s face it, mate, Australians don’t feel that much.
JACK, BILLY & GARY: [together] We feel stuff.
CUNI: You’ve got nothing here to fight for, nothing you want that bad,
nothing you’d die for, it’s hard for you to understand.
GARY squares up to CUNI.
GARY: I fucking understand.
CUNI: No, mate, I don’t think you do.
GARY: You don’t know how to be happy with what you’ve got.
CUNI: Happiness, mate, is not what I want.
GARY: You don’t know how to accept that this country’s the best of the lot.
CUNI: Australia, mate, is soft-cock.
GARY: Australia’s the best fucking country in the world.
CUNI: It’s a lovely sleepy little town.
GARY: I’d never leave it, mate. I appreciate what I’ve got.
CUNI: That’s what makes you Aussie, mate, and why I’m not.

The buzz-saw screeches. CUNI disappears in a cloud of a dust. GARY,

JACK and BILLY cover their eyes.

ALDO, CHUNK and GARY pump iron. GARY is particularly concentrated.

ALDO: Who you reckon’s got the best body? Schwarzenegger or Stallone?
CHUNK: Stallone’s an old man.
ALDO: His sixpack’s amazing.
CHUNK: And his dick’s this big, with the steroids he’s taking.
ALDO: What about Tyson and Muhammad Ali?
CHUNK: Ali’s an old man.
ALDO:I’m talking about how he used to be.
CHUNK: ‘Float like a butterfly…’
ALDO: ‘… sting like a bee.’
CHUNK: There’s no comparison with Ali. He’s the greatest.
ALDO: I like Tyson. Like when he bit that guy’s ear off.
CHUNK: Tyson’s an animal. Ali was smart. He was principled. After he
converted to Islam, he refused to go to Vietnam, went to jail for it,
wasn’t going to fight in a war for the white man.
ALDO: [sparring] Fuck the white man! I’m going to be the next Muhammad
Ali.
CHUNK: A boxer?
ALDO: The next Schwarzenegger.
CHUNK: An actor? We’re fucking factory workers. Why we doing this?
GARY: To get fit.
ALDO: To get built and pull the chicks.
CHUNK: You reckon they’re going to fall for your biceps, Aldo?
ALDO: Women love muscles.
GARY: I’m not doing it for anyone but me.
ALDO: You don’t have to. You’ve got Denise.
CHUNK: You’re nabbed, mate. You can let yourself go, get a gut and let it
hang out.
ALDO: Me and Chunk have got to have something to reel them in.
CHUNK: Hang on, hang on, I got no problem pulling the bitches.
ALDO: But you can’t hold on to them, not like Gary and Denise.
CHUNK: Fuck off, Aldo, I let them go. They’re small fish, they’re toadies. I
throw them back in.
ALDO: But that’s all you’re catching, the little toadies. If you looked like
Schwarzenegger you’d be bringing in beauties.
CHUNK: Listen, Aldo, I don’t have to do a thing, I can pull any cunt I want.
ALDO: A bit
sensitive, Chunky.
GARY: Leave it, Aldo, I reckon.
CHUNK: I am sensitive, Aldo. I’m fucking very sensitive about being
compared to you who hasn’t had a root in years.
ALDO: I fucked some chick a few nights ago.
CHUNK: Aldo, don’t give me the shits.
ALDO: I did. I did.
CHUNK: Aldo, I’ve never seen you with a woman.
ALDO: I’ve been with women, plenty of them.
CHUNK: I’ve never seen you, that’s all I’m saying.
ALDO: You wait; they’ll be swarming me by the time I’m finished here.
CHUNK: I’ve had it with this shit. Let’s go to the pub.
GARY: I’ll see you later.
CHUNK: Who do you think you are, Gary? Atlas?
GARY: Nothing wrong with being strong.
CHUNK: What for?
GARY: What do you mean?
CHUNK: I mean, why do you want to be strong?
GARY: It’s good to be strong.
CHUNK: What are you going to do with it?
GARY: Nothing.
CHUNK: That’s right. Nothing. So what’s it for?
GARY: I like it. I like how it feels.
CHUNK: You like the pain?
GARY: I like the challenge.
CHUNK: What’s the challenge?
GARY: Just pushing yourself, going as far as you can, going your hardest.
All that. I like it. It’s as simple as that.
CHUNK: What fucking for? That’s all I’m asking.
GARY:I like putting my body to the test.
CHUNK: What test?
GARY: I don’t know, seeing how far I can push it.
CHUNK: This kind of stuff gives me the shits.
GARY: It’s about treating your body with respect. Keeping it fit, honed,
ready for when you need it.
CHUNK: I’ve got an uncle who fells trees. He’s as strong as an ox because
he has to be. Farmers, they work the land, and guys in the army, they
fight. And you’ve got to be strong to win a marathon, or to be a
weightlifter or a fighter or even a fucking ballet dancer.
GARY: I use my strength every day.
CHUNK: [sardonic] You can always carry more bricks, dig deeper holes,
pour heavier concrete.
GARY: One day I might have call to use it for something important.
CHUNK: Something important? Like saving someone? Or, preventing some
disaster?
GARY: Yeah, something like that.
CHUNK: Fucking hell, Gary, I hope all that strength’s not wasted. Come on,
Aldo, let’s drink to Gary and his quest to save the world.
ALDO: I’m staying.
CHUNK: You think you’re going to save it too?
ALDO: Maybe.
CHUNK: Somehow, Aldo, I don’t think so.
ALDO: Why not? I might save some chick in distress.
CHUNK: I can see how Gary believes in this sort of warrior crap but you,
Aldo, you’d have trouble saving yourself.
ALDO: I saved Maria Brunnetti from drowning in the pool last year.
CHUNK: Aldo, don’t give me the shits.
ALDO: I did. I did.

DENISE moves forward.

DENISE: This mother thing sucks. I hated it right from the start. Complete
strangers came up and patted my belly as if it was going to bring them
luck. And after the birth, which was fucking torture, mad people cooed
and gurgled and talked in high-pitched voices. They smiled at me and
expected me to smile back. Like, what the fuck! It’s this ‘You’ve got a
little baby’ stuff. I go crazy while she sleeps in her cot and you’re at
work and my friends have got a life and I’m on my own and I think,
‘Jesus Christ, what have I done? How in hell am I going to get through
this?’ I push her in her pram to the shops because I’ve run out of baby
swipes. I push her to the shops to buy disposable nappies and spend my
last fifteen bucks. I push her to the shops because I can’t think of
anywhere else to push her. Sometimes I think if I leave her there
someone nicer might come and get her and it’d be much much better. I
meet with other mothers and I pray to fucking God that I don’t look like
them, or sound like them, or am like them. They tell me how smart their
kid is, how early she talked, or walked. How their three-month-old baby
is reading Shakespeare. And I look down at my fat little bald baby
sucking on her dummy and I think, ‘Oh, that’s funny because mine’s as
thick as a brick’. This mother thing is weird. I’m bored. I’m lonely. And
it doesn’t stop.
GARY comes behind DENISE and takes her in his arms.
GARY: Mothers are sexy.
DENISE: Don’t shit me.
GARY: When you were carrying Jemma, you looked hot.
DENISE: I looked like a cow.
GARY: When you had her on your tit, you looked hot.
DENISE: I did not.
GARY: And now, when you change her shitty nappy, my God, you’re so hot.
DENISE: You know what? I might find you hot if you changed her nappy
every now and then.
GARY: Wake her up, I’ll change her whether she’s dirty or not.
DENISE: This mother thing is full-on.
GARY: It’s for the rest of your life.
DENISE: Don’t remind me.
GARY: You’re doing alright.
DENISE: It doesn’t suit me.
GARY: It suits you fine.
DENISE: I can barely recognise me. And guess what?
GARY: What?
DENISE: We’ve got another one on the way.
GARY: What?
DENISE: What?
GARY: Jesus, Denise.
DENISE: Jesus, Gary.
GARY: Jesus.

GARY looks at DENISE: does she want the baby or not?

DENISE: I’m not doing that.
GARY: Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
DENISE: I’m not doing that.
GARY: Jesus, Denise.

ALDO, CHUNK and GARY shoot up.

CHUNK: Have you been anywhere like this?
GARY: Nowhere exists like this.
ALDO: This is something else.
CHUNK: Like a world unto itself.
GARY: It’s magnificent.
ALDO: It is.
CHUNK: Why would you want anywhere else?
ALDO: It’s like perfect.
CHUNK: Like paradise.
GARY: Like silk.
CHUNK: Silk?
ALDO: Silk. It is.
GARY: God!
CHUNK: God!
ALDO: God!
GARY: Nothing means anything after this.
ALDO: Nothing rates.
CHUNK: Not like this.
GARY: Don’t have to think. Don’t have to think about nothing. Nothing at
all. I’d like to be like this all the time. Vacant, just being, just am. I’m
nowhere. I’m some tiny part of some fucking huge thing. That’s all I
am. And I’m just going with it. Drifting. Floating. I’m nothing. Sweet,
sweet nothing.
CHUNK: It’s bliss.
ALDO: It is.
GARY: It is.
ALDO: It’s great, really great, unbelievably great. I feel like bring it on, like
I could make something, I could do something, I could change
something. Bring it on! This is good, this is good, this is real good. I’ve
never felt this good. I could bloody do anything, anything at all. Like
when we saw that star fall. Everything’s new. From this moment on. It’s
like I’ve got smart all of a sudden. What I was, what I’ve been, and
done, counts for nothing. It’s a brand new road and I’m on it. From now
on everything is going to bring me luck. Fuck, I’m a new man, I’m a
bloody marvel. I’m going to make something of myself and I don’t
know what but I’m going to be extraordinary.
CHUNK: Extraordinary, Aldo, extraordinary, you reckon?
ALDO: Yeah, extraordinary.
CHUNK: Aldo, don’t give me the shits.
ALDO: I am. I am.
CHUNK: You’ve got it all wrong. It come to me like a whack on the back of
the head, like the floor’s suddenly given way. An epiphany, that’s what
I’m having. Ever heard of an epiphany, Aldo? It’s like God’s spoken,
like lightning, a fucking big moment of enlightenment. And I’m having
it. It’s all crap. It’s a big load of bull. A hoax. Someone major’s pulling
our leg, got us by the throat and is throttling us, got us boxed in, packed
up. Nothing—means—nothing. You got it? Once you got that, you’re
living free. Who says how life’s meant to be? Who says what’s good,
what you should or shouldn’t do? Who in hell’s got the right to measure
a man’s success? He did this, he did that, he got that job, he got paid a
lot. Fuck off. He owns a house, a wife, two kids. So what? He’s a
lawyer, a doctor, he’s made a success of his life. No success story for the
likes of us. And you know what? I don’t give a shit. Finally it’s clear to
me. It’s all crap. And I’m free of it at last.
ALDO: I’m free.
CHUNK: No, Aldo, you’re caught up with this extraordinary stuff. You think
life’s about success, the job, the house, the wife and kids.
ALDO: No, I don’t, I just think I’m going to be great.
CHUNK: Great?
ALDO: I do. I do.
CHUNK: Good for you.

They drift off.

GARY dreams he stands with a rifle in his hands.

GARY: I didn’t know it would feel like this. It would fit like this. It would
have weight. A man to take serious. Can feel my blood race, my heart
beat, the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, my senses are that
awake, one hundred percent tuned in. I’m out there, on the line, in a
 moment I could be brought down and be lying there dying. Knew I’d
deliver, face up to whatever the task. I’ve been waiting for somebody to
ask, just fucking ask, ask something, anything of me. I’ve been craving
it. I’ll work my body into the ground if that’s what’s needed of me. It
feels good, right, like finally I’m doing something with my life. I’m
taller. I hold my head higher. I’m tough, sharp, a bloke who doesn’t give
in. Resolute. I can be depended on, can see it through, can take a life if I
needed to.
DENISE raves at the dreaming GARY.
DENISE: And I said, ‘Jemma don’t do that. Don’t do that or I’ll be forced to
give you a smack.’ And this woman says to me, ‘If you touch that child,
I’ll ring the police’. I said to her, ‘What’s it got to do with you, you
fucking nosy bitch, why don’t you mind your own business?’ and
because I yelled at her, Jemma got a fright and started bawling and then
the baby woke and he started screaming and I almost jabbed the fucking
stuck-up bitch but I got out of there real quick. I left the trolley with all
the stuff, so forget tea tonight because I’ve got nothing, not a thing, not
a can of baked beans, nothing, and I don’t give a shit because I’m sick
of cooking, sick of thinking about what to cook, sick of eating the shit I
cook, and so if you want something you better go get something.
DENISE pulls GARY from his dream.
Gary, are you listening to me? Gary? Gary!
GARY: What?
DENISE: Have you heard a word I’ve said?
GARY: Of course I have.
DENISE: What was I talking about then?
GARY: Baked beans or something.
DENISE:You know, we never talk about anything. That’s what couples do,
you know. They talk, they make plans, they talk about their kids, about
having a holiday, about buying a house. They talk to each other.
GARY: You talk enough for the both of us, I reckon.
DENISE: What’s wrong?
GARY: Nothing.
DENISE: Nothing.
GARY: No, nothing.
DENISE: Sometimes I think I’m doing this on my own. I think, I might as
well be because you’re not here. Not really, not really here.
GARY: What are you talking about, Denise? I’m here.
DENISE: What size singlet does Donny wear?
GARY: I don’t know.
DENISE: No, you don’t. I do. What size shoes is Jemma into?
GARY: I don’t know.
DENISE: No, you don’t. I do. What formula does Donny need?
GARY: Got me again.
DENISE: I might as well, I tell you. It’d be easier on my own.
GARY: What do you want from me?
DENISE: To talk.
GARY: To talk shit.
DENISE: Excuse me?
GARY: I don’t want to talk about babies’ clothes and bottles and fucking
nappies that slip on or stick. I don’t want to talk about the kids. I don’t
want to talk about the house we’re never going to buy. I couldn’t give a
shit.
DENISE: You couldn’t give a shit?
GARY: If I’m going to talk, I want to talk about something.
DENISE: Like what?
GARY: Something. I don’t know.
DENISE: Give it a go.
GARY: When I was a boy, I thought a lot about being a man.
DENISE: What?
GARY: Not like my old man, like a man who knew what he was doing, a
man who was sure of himself, a man who knew things, who had strong
opinions. I liked the idea of that.
DENISE: You’ve got to be kidding.
GARY: I thought when I grew up everything would be a lot clearer, that it
would make sense, all kind of come together. I’d know what I was
doing, what was my purpose. Meaning. I wanted that. I felt sure, I was
positive in fact, that when I became a man, I’d have that.
DENISE laughs.
DENISE: Listen to you, would you?
GARY: What? I’m talking to you.
DENISE: No you’re not.
GARY: Denise, I was talking to you.
DENISE: No, you weren’t talking to me, Gary.
GARY: I give up.

ALDO, CHUNK and GARY sit despondently.

ALDO: Arewe going to do something?
CHUNK: Like what?
GARY: We can watch a DVD if you like.
ALDO: Are we going to go somewhere?
CHUNK: What DVDs you got?
GARY: Terminator 3.
ALDO: Are we going to stick around here all night?
CHUNK: Got any beer in the fridge?
GARY: No.
ALDO: What?!
CHUNK: Got anything to eat?
GARY: Cold pizza.
ALDO: Let’s get out of here.
GARY: You go. I’m right.
ALDO: What’s the problem, your kids are asleep.
CHUNK: He can’t fucking leave them, Aldo.
ALDO: They’ll be alright, won’t they, Gary?
CHUNK: When’s Denise get home?
GARY: She’s working the late shift.
ALDO: Shit, we’re trapped.
GARY: You’re not.
CHUNK: Aldo, we’re just hanging out.
ALDO: Gary, you’ve got to get out.
CHUNK: What’s on the tele?
ALDO: I’m not watching the fucking tele.
GARY: You don’t have to, Aldo. I told you, you go.
CHUNK: He’s got nowhere to go.
ALDO: I thought we were going out.
CHUNK: You are out, Aldo, you’re here.
ALDO: I thought we were going to do something.
CHUNK: We are, mate, we’re hanging out at Gary’s place.
ALDO: I thought we were going to the pub or some place.
GARY: Just go, Aldo, for Christ’s sake.
CHUNK: He’s not going anywhere.
ALDO: There’s no beer?
GARY: No, I’m broke.
ALDO: No beer?
CHUNK: What do you think, he’s holding out?
ALDO: You got anything else?
GARY: Nothing.
ALDO: We need something if we’re hanging here all night.
CHUNK: Just relax.
ALDO: There’s a bloke at the pub. I’ll get us a fix. Chunk, give us your keys.
CHUNK: How you going to pay for it?
ALDO: Sixty bucks will cover it.
CHUNK: I haven’t got a cent.
ALDO: Come on, Chunk, just till payday.
GARY: Aldo, you haven’t had a job for months.
ALDO: Gary, I’m good for it, you know that.
GARY: I gave Denise my last ten bucks.
ALDO: Jesus Christ, I’m going nuts.
CHUNK: There’s a job going at the tannery.
ALDO: Fuck that, the fumes make me sick.
CHUNK: You weak prick.
GARY: I’m a weak prick too. I didn’t last there a week.
ALDO: I get jobs but they give me the flick after a day or two.
CHUNK: You’ve got to be useless.
ALDO: I’m not useless.
CHUNK: You’ve got to be stuffing up.
ALDO: I’m not.
CHUNK: Or slacking off.
ALDO: I don’t.
CHUNK: Got to be doing something.
ALDO: They give me the shit jobs and when I do them they tell me to fuck
off.
CHUNK: When’s the last time you went for a job?
ALDO: Last week.
CHUNK: Bullshit.
ALDO: Gary came with me.
CHUNK: What job was this?
ALDO: Me and Gary went to see about joining the army.
CHUNK: Bullshit.
ALDO: We did.
CHUNK: Bullshit.
ALDO: Didn’t we, Gary?
GARY: We did.

Pause.
CHUNK: What the fuck for?
ALDO: The army offers you a lot of opportunities.
CHUNK: You’re kidding me!
ALDO: You get to travel.
CHUNK: You’re pulling my leg.
ALDO: You can do an apprenticeship.
CHUNK: I don’t believe you.
ALDO: The pay’s good.
CHUNK: You’re going to join the fucking army?
GARY: We were checking it out, that’s all.
CHUNK: Jesus Christ, you fucking idiots, they’re going to make mincemeat
out of you.
GARY: I reckon I could handle it.
ALDO: Me too.
CHUNK: Listen, Gary, only fuckwits join the army.
GARY: What’s wrong with joining the service?
CHUNK: Who you fucking serving?
GARY: My country.
CHUNK: Why? What’s it done for you?
GARY: It’s something I wanted to do.
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 DR. THOMAS B. PEACOCK, M.D.,

ASSISTANT PHYSICIAN TO ST. THOMAS’S HOSPITAL, ETC.

ON THE INFLUENZA, OR EPIDEMIC CATARRHAL FEVER
OF 1847–8. 8vo. cloth, 5s. 6d.

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SELECTA E PRÆSCRIPTIS. Twelfth Edition. 24mo. cloth,
5s.

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ON SUPERSTITIONS connected with the History and
Practice of Medicine and Surgery. 8vo. cloth, 7s.

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acceptable; while the good sense that pervades it, as distant from empty
declamation as from absurd credulity, stamps it with true historic value.”—
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MR. PIRRIE, F.R.S.E.,

REGIUS PROFESSOR OF SURGERY IN THE UNIVERSITY

OF ABERDEEN.
THE PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF SURGERY. With
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All recent improvements, real or pretended, are judiciously and candidly
discussed.”—London Journal of Medicine.
 PHARMACOPŒIA COLLEGII REGALIS MEDICORUM
LONDINENSIS. 8vo. cloth, 9s.; or 24mo. 5s.

Imprimatur.
Hic liber, cui titulus, Pharmacopœia Collegii Regalis Medicorum
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Johannes Ayrton Paris. Præses.

PROFESSORS PLATTNER & MUSPRATT.

THE USE OF THE BLOWPIPE IN THE EXAMINATION OF
MINERALS, ORES, AND OTHER METALLIC
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⁂ This Edition has been most carefully revised by Professor
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THE PRESCRIBER’S PHARMACOPŒIA; containing all the
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INSPECTOR-GENERAL OF ARMY HOSPITALS.
OBSERVATIONS UPON YELLOW FEVER, with a Review of
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Burnett and Dr. Bryson,” proving its highly Contagious
Powers. Post 8vo. 6s.
 DR. RADCLIFFE,

ASSISTANT PHYSICIAN TO THE WESTMINSTER

HOSPITAL.
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DR. F. H. RAMSBOTHAM,
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DR. RANKING & DR. RADCLIFFE.

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 MR. EVANS RIADORE, F.R.C.S, F.L.S.
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MR. SQUIRE,
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MEDICAL BOTANY; OR, ILLUSTRATIONS AND
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STUDENTS’ BOOKS FOR EXAMINATION.
 I.
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 A DISQUISITION ON CERTAIN PARTS AND PROPERTIES
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 LECTURER ON THE INSTITUTES OF MEDICINE IN THE
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NOTTINGHAM.
PRACTICAL OBSERVATIONS ON NERVOUS AND
SYMPATHETIC PALPITATION OF THE HEART, as well as on
Palpitation the Result of Organic Disease. Second Edition, 8vo.
cloth, 6s.

“From the extracts we have given, our readers will see that Dr. Williams’s
treatise is both able and practical.”—Medical Times.
“The work is calculated to add to the author’s reputation, and it is
creditable to the provincial practitioners of England that so useful a treatise
should have emanated from one of their body.”—Dublin Medical Press.

DR. J. WILLIAMS.
I.
INSANITY: its Causes, Prevention, and Cure; including
Apoplexy, Epilepsy, and Congestion of the Brain. Second
Edition. Post 8vo. cloth, 10s. 6d.
 II.
ON THE ANATOMY, PHYSIOLOGY, AND PATHOLOGY OF
THE EAR; being the Prize Essay in the University of
Edinburgh. With Plates. 8vo. cloth, 10s. 6d.

DR. JAMES WILSON.

THE PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF THE WATER CURE,
and HOUSEHOLD MEDICAL SCIENCE, in Conversations on
Physiology, on Pathology, or the Nature of Disease, and on
Digestion, Nutrition, Regimen, and Diet. 8vo. cloth, 10s. 6d.

DR. G. C. WITTSTEIN.
PRACTICAL PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTRY: An
Explanation of Chemical and Pharmaceutical Processes, with
the Methods of Testing the Purity of the Preparations, deduced
from Original Experiments. Translated from the Second
German Edition, by STEPHEN DARBY. 18mo. cloth, 6s.

MR. ERASMUS WILSON, F.R.S.

I.
THE ANATOMIST’S VADE-MECUM: A SYSTEM OF
HUMAN ANATOMY. With numerous Illustrations on Wood.
Sixth Edition. Foolscap 8vo. cloth, 12s. 6d.

“As a satisfactory proof that the praise we bestowed on the first edition of
this work was not unmerited, we may observe it has been equally well
thought of in foreign countries, having been reprinted in the United States
and in Germany. In every respect, this work, as an anatomical guide for the
student and the practitioner, merits our warmest and most decided
praise.”—Medical Gazette.

II.
 DISEASES OF THE SKIN: A Practical and Theoretical
Treatise on the DIAGNOSIS, PATHOLOGY, and TREATMENT
OF CUTANEOUS DISEASES. Third Edition. 8vo. cloth, 12s.
The same Work; illustrated with finely-executed Engravings
on Steel, accurately coloured. 8vo. cloth, 30s.

“The work is very considerably improved in the present edition. Of the

plates it is impossible to speak too highly. The representations of the various
forms of cutaneous disease are singularly accurate, and the colouring
exceeds almost anything we have met with in point of delicacy and finish.”—
British and Foreign Medical Review.

III.
HEALTHY SKIN: A Treatise on the Management of the Skin
and Hair in relation to Health. Fifth Edition. Foolscap 8vo. 2s.
6d.

“The student will be delighted to find his labours so much facilitated; and
a few hours of agreeable society with a most pleasantly-written book will do
more to make him acquainted with a class of obscure diseases than all that
has been previously written on the subject.”—Lancet.

IV.
PORTRAITS OF DISEASES OF THE SKIN. Folio. Fasciculi I.
to XI. Containing Four highly-finished Coloured Plates. 20s.
each.

“May be truly designated a splendid performance, surpassing, in the

artistic beauty of its delineations, and fully equalling in their fidelity to
nature, any thing which has yet been brought out in this country or on the
continent. We can scarcely speak too strongly of the merits of this work.”—
British and Foreign Medical Review.
“We have never before seen a work more beautifully got up, both as
regards the typography and the execution and colouring of the plates. Even
Alibert’s grand work sinks into the shade when placed by the side of that of
Mr. Wilson’s.”—Lancet.