time (Weila, 1993)
The Judgment
Mad Dogs & Co
Carrion floating by
An Ordinary Story (and others less so)
The curtain rises in the dark.
The darkness is total. Nothing to be seen. No
movement to be heard.
After a while, a narrow, plunging shaft of light catches
an old-fashioned clock hung on the pillar in the middle of the room. The clock
thus stands out of the surrounding darkness. Its ticktack grows louder. The
clock does not merely look old: its wood is worn-out and you can see the chips
and cracks of its enamel, frittered away by time. The accumulated grime and
dust also testify that no one takes care of it. But its pendulum still moves
from side to side, as it must, unconcerned by the marks of deterioration on the
body of the clock.
The time now is 4:45am.
The pencil of light from above does not light up
the clock only. It projects itself weakly on the floor as well, faintly
revealing the woodwork and an aisle which runs deep into the dark and is flanked
on both sides by the dim shapes of mosquito nets over long rows of beds.
The eerie dark forms in them are stretched-out
sleeping people.
“There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!” a
parched voice shouts out in the silence.
Some of the bodies on the beds toss and turn, as if
the shout had reached into their sleep, but this only lasts for a brief moment,
then everything is still and quiet as before.
Ticktack-ticktack
Ticktack-ticktack.
Time passes as time must. The pendulum keeps moving
from side to side.
Time goes by. Goes by without anything happening on
stage.
Five minutes pass by.
Pass by ever so slowly.
I’m beginning to feel uneasy. Uneasy sitting here
watching a clock ticking. Uneasy at the lack of action.
After a while, my nose picks up mustiness combined
with a faint offensive smell of urine floating lightly in the air. I’m not at
all sure whether the director of the play intends to release such a smell or
whether the smell comes from the toilet in the theater, but I’m pretty sure it
must come from the stage, because before the play began there was no such
smell.
At this point I sympathize with myself for having
to sit caught up in the spectacle of a clock, breathing an unwelcome smell. But
then, I’m not the only one in this condition. There are many other spectators
sharing the same fate.
But I can’t stop thinking that the director of the
play must have meant it that way, that the smell must
be necessary to his play. I don’t think he let it out only to annoy his
audience.
Then, which part of the stage should the smell come
from? I ask myself.
With my eyesight now adjusted to the darkness, the
outline of the stage becomes clearer.
This dormitory has two aisles. The main one is in
the center of the stage, with beds on both sides, five on the left row, six on
the right. The smaller aisle runs between the heads of the beds of the right
row and a small cubicle set against the wall on the right side of the stage.
This small cubicle looks very much like a prison
cell. The cemented base of its front wall is chest-high and topped with steel
bars reaching through to the ceiling. I’m not sure if the cubicle is further
partitioned, because the greater darkness on the sides of the stage does not
allow me to see anything much.
I understand there must be someone in that
iron-barred cubicle, otherwise they wouldn’t have
partitioned the room, but I don’t understand why they must have some old people
sleeping in there.
“There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!” The
shout on the stage resounds again.
I’m certain it’s the same voice as I heard the
first time, and this time I’m able to work out its direction: it comes from
somewhere inside the cubicle.
Far left on stage is a long, deep shower room
jutting out onto the stage. There is no partition wall, just a doorframe to
show the way in and out. A waist-high, rectangular
water basin runs the length of the shower room, which also has a toilet. I’m
not sure whether the smell of urine floating by comes from the toilet or not.
Ticktack-ticktack
Ticktack-ticktack.
Time ticks by. Ticks by indefatigably.
The person next to me sighs.
If those who produced the play were sitting
watching it also, the sighing and fidgeting of the audience would probably
answer their question as to whether they have achieved what they wanted to
achieve.
I don’t know what it is they want to achieve. Do
they want the spectators to feel uneasy, or do they want them to be bored with
what they are seeing?
But speaking for myself, I don’t want the people
who watch my movies to be bored with what they see.
True, uneasiness at times makes for boredom, but
surely boredom is entirely different from uneasiness.
As my record shows, I always try to stuff as much
uneasiness into my movies as I feel is necessary.
And this is another reason why I wanted to come and
see this play, because a newspaper review summed it up neatly as “the most
boring play of the year.”
At first, when the company announced they’d perform
this play, I didn’t pay much attention, because I was busy shooting my latest
movie, but I felt mildly tickled by the fact that they are all only in their
early twenties. In fact, according to their biographies, some of them are still
university students. But there they were, foolishly announcing they’d perform a
play about the inner feelings of the elderly.
That was what caught my attention.
What would these youngsters know about the inner
feelings of old people? Why would young guys and girls like them perform a play
about the elderly? Though there are lots of interesting plays for people of
their age to perform, they decided to tackle a subject they did not know and
had no way of knowing.
The funny thing is, I’ll be sixty-three this year
and I’ve never even thought of doing a movie on old people. In my latest production,
I’ve gone back instead to doing a movie about youth. I think it’s a lot more
entertaining.
That’s what caught my attention. Just that.
From then on I didn’t follow the news about the
company again, because I was fully taken up with my work. When it was announced
the play was to be premiered and the proceeds of the performance would go to an
old people’s home, I read the reports and critical reviews attentively and
decided that when I was free from work I’d try to see it. But it didn’t reach
the stage where I decided I had to see it no matter what.
It’s a good thing I stopped shooting my film on
schedule and went through the work prints yesterday. The rushes were satisfactory.
There was no need for remakes. So today I’m not worrying about work. I left it
to the editor to cut the takes that can be used and splice them in sequence on
a reel. At least I can relax for a few days, before going back to the lab to
supervise the cutting of the master print.
The performance at which I sit smelling urine is
the seven o’clock performance. The audience is sparse. I don’t know if it’s
because the show has run its course or because the play is really boring, as
the critics say.
“There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!” The
same shout rings out again.
“Yeah man, we already know there’s nothing,” my
young neighbour mumbles to his friend.
I dare not turn to look at him. I’m afraid I’ll
make him even more annoyed. Actually, there’s plenty to be annoyed about, given
that ten minutes have gone by already and nothing is happening on stage at all,
except for the raucous shout being repeated time and time again.
“There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!”
If this play was showing something interesting, I’m
sure nobody would mind the ten minutes gone by, or if some did, it’d be to
regret that time had gone by so fast. But not here, not now, with everybody
having to sit looking at the clock ticking away, having to sit looking at a
lack of action. Even though it’d be the same ten minutes in both cases.
Same for me, actually. I can’t take any more of
this clock watching, even though I’ve been forewarned by the reviews that the
clock will run until five in the morning before things begin to move on stage.
But even so, I just can’t control myself. I feel uneasy beyond words.
I’m beginning to see a way not to let myself be
manipulated like this any longer, to think of a way not to be bored for the
five minutes that remain.
If it were a picture of mine, how would I manage
it? I ask myself.
[Start the sequence with—]
Close-up
Of the clock needles. Brief shot. /Cut
Close-up
Of the pendulum, going from side to side. /Cut
Close-up
Of the whole clock, showing the time as 4:55. The picture recedes slowly to
encompass the light in the middle of the room. /Fade out
Medium-range
(High-angle shot.) Fade in / Of the clock hung on the
central pillar of the room. Behind it, the mosquito nets of patients’ beds are
lined up on either side of the aisle running into darkness. /Cut
Medium-range (dolly) (At eye level.) Of the aisle between the beds.
Slow travelling to one bed, stopping at the nightstand at the head of the bed.
/Fade out
Close-up
Fade in / Of the things on the nightstand. Use ambient
light, just strong enough to see a messy array of sundry items—cheap articles
and useful items such as water container, drug phials, spittoon, plate or
spoon. After a while, the picture slowly shifts to the body lying on the bed,
gets closer and closer. /Fade out
Close-up
(Through the mosquito net.) Of the face of the person lying on the bed: sunken
features, sparse white hair, deep orbits, eyes staring
hard (to show the person is not asleep). Slowly dissolving into the picture of
the clock. /Fade out
Close-up
Fade-in /Of the clock dial. Now the time
is exactly 5:00.
If this sequence was in my film, it wouldn’t take
more than one minute for the time shown on the clock to reach five o’clock as
desired. But this is the time on a theatre stage. So I have to sit and wait—
The clock strikes five times.
The sliding door at the back of the dormitory (at
the very end of the central aisle) opens. Ubon (the nurse) pushes the door wide
open. She presses the light switch by the doorframe. The whole hospital ward is
suffused in bright light. All of the beds are seen clearly. The patients under
the mosquito nets begin to move. (NB: Only the people in six beds
do so. The patients in the remaining five beds cannot get up. These are the
first and second beds of the left row and the third, fourth and fifth beds of
the right row, counting from the door.)
Ubon walks up the central aisle. She is wearing a
dark-blue uniform, with a skirt reaching below the knee. She walks by the
various beds on her way to the shower room to one side of the stage, switches
its light on, turns on the faucets, making sure everything works.
Now all those who can move are putting away their
bedding, taking out mosquito nets, folding blankets, etc. Each of them looks
weary out of illness and old age.
Ubon walks out of the shower room, takes down the
mosquito nets of those patients that cannot move, until she comes to the last
of the five beds, Old Yoo’s bed (third bed, right row). The body on it cannot
stir. Only the eyes are wide open, but stare out expressionless. (NB:
In this play, conversations will only be heard when the dialogue is specified;
as for those not involved in the dialogue, they are to talk as usual but
without a sound. This technique is to be used throughout the play.)
Ubon
“Oh, so, granny, you’re awake?”
Old Yoo
“Uh-huh.” Indistinct eructation, as if the tongue
fills the mouth and has no strength to flex.
Ubon
“Did you sleep well during the night?”
Old Yoo
(Shakes her head for an answer.) “B-ba-bad.”
Ubon
(Voice raising.) “Come again?”
Old Yoo
“B-b-baaad.”
Ubon
(Nods in understanding.) “Just as well. You haven’t
had a bath in days.”
She walks away from Old Yoo’s bed to the shower
room, to bring a wheelchair back to the bed. Meanwhile, all patients are going
about their routines, such as getting a towel and bowl to go and have a wash.
Some already carry their own spittoons in their hands. Others step into the
toilet to answer nature’s call. All are moving very slowly, with hunched backs.
Ubon pushes the wheelchair alongside Old Yoo’s bed,
then bends down, reaches for the bedpan under the bed and brings it up for
inspection. (NB: These bedpans are for patients who can’t help
themselves, who can’t sit up or walk by themselves. In the middle of the mattress
is a round hole. The patient is lying with her bottom right over it, so that
when she relieves herself, the mattress will not be dirtied—real mattresses
should be used.)
Ubon
“There’s nothing, you know, granny.” (Then puts the
bedpan back where it was.)
Voice offstage “There’s nothing! There’s
absolutely nothing!”
Ubon
(Head turned toward the cubicle, shouts back.) “So you
didn’t either, did you?”
Some smile at the nurse’s shouted answer. It sounds
like there is still a wee bit of fun left in this place for them to smile at.
But there is no reply coming out of the cubicle, as
if the owner of the voice does not wish to be heard by anyone, does not intend
to talk to anyone specifically in this place. His shouts sound as though they
are coming from afar.
A smile still lingers on the nurse’s face as she
pulls out the blanket covering Old Yoo and folds it. This done, she helps the
body on the bed to sit up, undresses it, then takes it all naked and shrivelled
into her arms and lifts it onto the wheelchair, reaches out for the bowl and
towel on the nightstand and places them on Old Yoo’s lap.
The light on stage gradually dims while the strobe
from above follows the naked body on the wheelchair. The nurse slowly wheels
the chair along the central aisle toward the shower room. The body sitting on
the wheelchair is only skin and bones. The skin is sallow,
sallow to the point you’d think there is no blood underneath.
As the nurse pushing the wheelchair reaches the
halfway point, a liquid flows down from beneath the seat of the wheelchair and
forms a trail on the floor. Can it be that the smell of urine comes from the
old woman? I’ve yet to come to a conclusion.
The nurse goes on pushing the wheelchair. Nothing
in her expression shows she minds the urine flowing down. On the contrary:
her face seems suffused with happiness at devoting herself to the service of
someone who is incapacitated.
That’s what I feel.
The strobe shining down puts her happy face into
sharp relief against the surrounding darkness. I guess she must be in her early
twenties, at most not quite twenty-five, but her composed demeanour makes her
look mature beyond her years.
Pushing the wheelchair she enters the shower room,
where everyone is now busy having a wash. The light from above which has
followed the wheelchair makes those who stand washing themselves look like
dark shadows on the move outside of the circle of light.
She places the bowl on the rim of the basin before
walking over to hang the towel on the rack at one end of the room, dons a
plastic apron to protect herself from splashes, then
walks back into the circle of light where the old woman sits waiting on the
wheelchair. She scoops up some water, pours some over her hand as if to check
how cold it is, then gently pours out water from the
bowl over the old woman’s shoulders.
Seeing such a scene, an indescribable emotion takes
hold of me as I realize there are many things of beauty in the world that we
have yet to witness. The scene before us now isn’t at all spectacular, yet it’s
a scene of simple beauty that’s not easy to come by. I can’t help thinking it
should be in my own movie.
Close-up
Of the old woman’s face, a grid of wrinkles. The eyes in the sunken orbits are
lost in hindsight, dry, deprived of any lubricant.
Voice over (Ubon) “Close
your eyes, please.”
The eyes close. A well-fleshed hand enters the
picture, runs through the sparse white hair from the forehead up while water
runs down, then the hand sweeps the wrinkled face. The
picture gradually moves down from the face, past the neck, on to the chest.
Meanwhile, rivulets of water still flow down as the plump hand scrubs the
sallow, dried-out skin on display. The camera gradually backs away from the
old woman’s chest, backs away so slowly the shift is hardly felt. /Fade
out
Medium-range shot Inside the
shower room, some women are washing themselves, others are getting dressed. As
clothes slip, there are glimpses of naked flesh, but the owners of the bodies
can’t be bothered to hide what they used to conceal in younger days.
I’d never have thought the director of the play
would include such a scene. In daily life, an old woman bathing is an ordinary
enough scene, but once it’s brought on stage for us to see, it gives us the
feeling it’s no ordinary scene as we’d see in daily life. Or perhaps it is that
we’ve never really tried to observe it before? I’m not sure, but this kind of
bathing scene I’ve seen before and used in my movies, at a time when movies in
our fair land had no mouth-kissing scenes like they do these days, and reserved
such scenes for sex bombs to show off their figures, to show off their bulges
and curves under body-hugging wet sarongs in order to rouse erotic yearnings.
What we can see on stage now is indeed bodies
tightly wrapped in wet sarongs, yet I’m certain no one here entertains any lewd
thoughts over what is to be seen.
I’m engrossed in the scene until—
The nurse pulls the wheelchair out of the shower
room. The strobe light follows the two of them all the way. The nurse takes the
old woman in her arms to lift her off the wheelchair and stretch her out on the
bed. The body of the old woman keeps slipping, offering no ready hold. The
nurse takes both arms, puts them between the legs, then makes the body bend
over till the head almost touches the knees. And this is how she lifts the
coiled body onto the bed. She goes and unlocks the nightstand at the head of
the bed, picks up a shirt, then returns to dry the body thoroughly and smear it
with powder. The withered naked body lies stark white under the light.
Ubon
(Dresses her in a round-neck sleeveless shirt, then
combs her hair.) “Beautiful, really, granny.”
Old Yoo
“Hu—huh.” (Not understanding.)
Ubon
“I said you’re beautiful. You must’ve been quite a knockout in your time.”
Old Yoo
(Smiles. Says nothing.)
Ubon
“There, you rest now, granny. I’ve got other things to do as well.”
Ubon shifts the body of the old
woman so that its bottom is over the hole in the middle of the mattress, then gently lowers the body down. Finally, she spreads out
the blanket to cover the lower part of the body.
The stage lights turn as bright as before.
The strobe boring down on the two of them gradually
dims and goes out altogether. The old woman becomes background to the scene.
The nurse pushes the wheelchair back into the shower room, takes a mop and
wipes out the spilt water and trail of urine along the aisle. The way she goes
about wiping the floor shows she is used to such work.
She does it with the right mixture of haste and thoroughness.
Once she has wiped the floor, she walks back into
the shower room, rinses the mop and puts it back. She walks out of the shower
room and goes to the cubicle beside the small aisle. As she is about to release
the steel latch on the outside of the cell, a shout coming from the back stills
her hand.
“Nurse! Nurse!”
Ubon turns abruptly to look at the origin of the
sound, sees Old Jan sitting despondently by the nightstand at the head of her
bed.
“What’s the matter, granny?”
Old Jan is tongue-tied, with a lump in her throat,
pallid as if she is about to faint.
“What’s the matter, granny?” Ubon shouts again, as
she darts to her.
Everyone totters toward Old Jan’s bed.
“What’s the matter?” Ubon sounds alarmed. “You
aren’t feeling well, is that it?” She grabs Old Jan’s arm and shakes it to make
her come to her senses.
“Me money—me money’s gone!” Old Jan looks up and
complains woefully.
As soon as these words are out, all of the bodies
who are moving toward her seem to be compelled to stay right where they are as
if under a spell.
“What!” Ubon can’t believe her ears.
“Me money’s gone, nurse. It’s really gone,” Old Jan
insists, her voice trembling.
“You sure of what you’re saying?”
“It’s really gone, nurse. I kept it here, see.” She
lifts the brittle plastic sheet that covers the bottom of her nightstand to
show there is nothing there.
“Come on, take a good look
once again, just in case it slipped somewhere else.” Ubon is still unwilling to
believe her. She looks around inside the nightstand.
“What about the slit? Have you searched for it
there?” She points at the narrow opening at the top of the nightstand, which is
full of all kinds of things.
“I’ve already looked,” Old Jan answers with a shaky
voice.
“Well, better have another look.” Then she helps
remove all the items in the nightstand—empty milk cans,
plastic bags, bits of newspapers, drug bottles, and a lot more. She checks all
over but sees no sign of any money.
The bottom drawer is full of clothes. She goes
through every single item. Even the pockets of the properly folded clothes do
not escape her hand. She gets everything out until the things form a pile in
front of the nightstand. No money in there either.
“What about the top drawer?” She won’t give up.
“I’ve looked everywhere already.”
But Ubon still won’t believe her. She pulls out the
drawer, rummages about but finds nothing.
“Think again carefully whether you haven’t tucked
it somewhere else, on the mattress, under the pillow, under the bed. Have you
looked everywhere?”
And again she is the one who lifts the pillow,
lifts the mattress, checks under the bed, to make absolutely sure.
“There isn’t any, granny.” She wipes out the sweat
on her face, discouraged.
“Then where am I going to find the money to make a
food offering to the monk?” Old Jan asks herself, and tears spring to her eyes.
“Oh, come on, granny, there’s no need to cry. If
it’s gone, it’s gone. Don’t think about it. You’ll get someone to bring you
some more soon.” Her voice is sweetly reassuring.
But it seems such words of solace are of no use.
Old Jan looks bent on sobbing forever.
“How much did you lose?”
Old Jan shakes her head, meaning she can’t remember
how much there was.
“I don’t know how I can help you, granny,” Ubon
tells her truthfully. “Actually, money, you know, you should keep it on
yourself.” The sentence is meant as an enticement to remember, but is perceived
as a stinging reproach by the owner of the money.
“But, who’d’ve thought—at death’s door as we
are—they’d do a wicked thing like this?”
And this very sentence is what brings the bodies
being cursed back to their senses, back to their senses amidst disparaging
words.
“How ’bout havin’ us all searched?”
Everybody turns to look at the author of the
suggestion.
I see a fat woman standing in the aisle by her bed,
which is the third bed on the left row. She is staring at the owner of the
money, who sits sobbing on the first bed of the right row front of stage.
Old Nuan
(Casting her eyes around.) “Better search everybody, so we know who did it.
Otherwise, the whole place’s going to stink.”
Ubon
(To Old Jan.) “Shall we do as Mrs. Nuan suggests?”
Old Jan
(Talks as she sobs.) “Please don’t. No need to make such a fuss. It’s me own
fault. I don’t know how to look after me own things. ’Bout
the money itself, I don’t mind that much. What I mind is that today I won’t be
able to earn merit, that’s all.” (Sobs louder than before.)
Ubon
“Well, it’s up to you, really. I don’t know how I can be of help. Actually,
something like this shouldn’t happen. It definitely shouldn’t.” (She looks
around.)
Old Nuan
(Strenuously.) “I say let’s have a search. Otherwise, we won’t be able to look
each other in the face.”
It seems, from the nods of approval,
that everybody agrees with this thought. But—
Old Bunruean (Taking the plunge.) “How are
you going to search anyway, my dear Nuan? It’s money, you know, not something
distinctive.” (Gets up from her bed, which is next to Old Jan’s, and walks up
to the nurse.)
Old Bunruean (Talking with exquisite
politeness.) “I think it’s going to be a nuisance, nurse, because we all have
money. Suppose I’m the one who took her money and I tell you it’s my own,
there’s no evidence, now, is there?”
Old Nuan
(Sounding unhappy.) “Jan dear, do you remember the numbers on the banknotes?”
Old Jan
(Shakes her head.)
Old Bunruean (Laughs, turns to tell Old Nuan:) “Who’d be crazy enough to memorize banknote numbers?”
Old Nuan
(Retorts at once.) “Me for one, ha! I jot down every number, and I ain’t crazy
yet either.”
Old Bunruean (Sarcastically.) “You must be
the only one in the world, my dear Nuan. Who ever heard of such a thing,
sitting down to take down bill numbers? And what if the bills are laundered?
I’ve heard it’s being done, you know.”
Old Nuan
(Aggressively.) “Well, I’m poor, you see, Mrs. Bunruean. I got only a few
banknotes. I ain’t as rich as you are so you can’t be
bothered takin’ their numbers down. But, all the same, it makes you wonder how
someone as loaded as you ended up in a dump like this—”
Ubon
(Cutting the argument short.)
“All right, all right, that’s enough. Go and do whatever it is you have to do.”
Old Thapthim, Old Erp and Old Sorn,
who stand in line at the outside, reluctantly get moving, only when Old Nuan
and Old Bunruean have returned to their respective beds.
Ubon
(Turns to look at Old Jan’s bed.) “You’re definite, aren’t you, that it’s
gone? You haven’t used it for some-thing else and then think you still have it?
Or forgot where you put it?”
Old Jan
(Does not answer—merely sobs.)
Ubon turns to look at the cell. When she
sees that the door is still locked as usual, she turns round.
Ubon
“Think carefully about it once again, granny. I’m sure it hasn’t gone away.”
(She comforts her, before getting up and going to the cell.)
Old Nuan stands looking at Ubon, until
Ubon disappears into the cell, then she totters back to Old Jan’s bed. Old Jan
sits putting things back into her nightstand.
Old Nuan
(Slowly, painfully sits down—her knees hurt.) “Here, me dear, you take me money
first. I’m lendin’ it to you, so you can buy food for the monk.”
Old Jan
“I don’t want it, thanks. No money, no merit.”
Old Nuan
(Insisting, puts the money into Old Jan’s palm until she succeeds.) “You take
it. You can always give it back to me when you get some more.”
Old Jan
“Then how ’bout you? You got enough to make merit?”
Old Nuan
“I do. Don’t worry. There’s more in me drawer.”
Old Jan
(Humbly.) “Blessings to you, me dear. I’ll give it back to you as soon as I get
some more. If it wasn’t for offerin’ the monk, I needn’t use it for nothin’.
All the money I have I use to make merit. Whoever took it, may she rot in hell—”
Old Nuan
(Cutting her short.) “Don’t think about it, me dear. Think of it as charity.
Things like these, they rebound on ’m that dare ’m.”
Old Jan
“I can’t get over it. Just the few of us old folk here. And yet this.”
Old Nuan
“Must be one of us tottering crones. You can bet it’s none of ’m four or five
bedridden veggies o’er there.” (Laughs.)
Old Nuan gets up with difficulty,
grabs the bedside railing to get herself up, then
slowly walks back to her own bed. On the way, she mumbles to herself loudly.
Old Nuan
“People these days, they ain’t afraid of sin, they ain’t afraid of fate. I
don’t know what it is their hearts are made of these days. May eternal fire
come to cleanse the world once for all.”
As these words end, the central lights dim and go
out. The strobe projects its glare down onto the cell.
I look at the cell, see
nothing but the nurse’s head bobbing within it.
“There’s nothing!” The shout from the cell comes
out.
“You can say that! You won’t even put your clothes
on. And, oh my, you’ve peed all over everything as well! Oh, you—” the nurse
says with laughter in her voice.
I hear water splashing. I’m not sure whether she’s
giving the old man a shower or cleaning excrement off the cement floor. The
splash of water dies down, then I hear: “Here goes! Yup! Shift a little, old man. I’ll put your trousers on.”
“No way! No way!”
I hear sounds of scuffling.
“Eh, don’t be so stubborn!” The nurse sounds angry.
The sounds of scuffling stop.
“Aren’t you ashamed, old man? Sleeping in the nude
like this. There’s people coming over to treat you to lunch, you know— Okay,
lift your bum up a little,” the nurse’s voice orders.
From listening to the loud exchange, I think the
scene inside the cell doesn’t bear watching. A good thing they aren’t showing
it to us. I just see the nurse’s head leaning this way and that and bobbing
inside the cell. To be blunt, I’m not that eager to see an old man in the buff.
What’s appealing about that? I see enough of those as it is
every day.
The clock chimes.
On stage, it is six in the morning already.
Through my glasses I strain to read the time on my
own wristwatch, unable to believe a whole hour has gone by. My watch says the
time is only 7:35pm. Which means only thirty-five minutes have elapsed since
the start of the play.
The clock is deceiving me. It’s only now I realize
a clock is merely an instrument for recording time: it isn’t time itself.
Light from outside is beginning to shine into the
stage through the frosted glass panes above the windows, through the
ventilation panels and through the door at the end of the central aisle. The
door, which has been left open, frames a view of a clump of trees by one side
of another building.
Outside it must be bright by now, I think. If it
were a movie, you’d get to see more than the scene in here.
Panoramic
(Outdoors—high-angle shot.) Of Bangkok at dawn. /Cut
Medium-range
(High-angle shot.) Of the congested traffic. Some cars still with their lights
on. People straphanging in buses. /Cut
Medium-range
(Eye-level shot.) Of old people exercising, with their children or
grandchildren close by to help them out (maybe at Lumphini Park or Chatuchak
Park). /Cut
Medium-range
Of the temple gate. A monk cradling his alms bowl comes through the gate. Two
boxers swinging punches at the air run past the monk. The monk walks out right
of picture. The boxers run out left of picture. Only the empty temple gate is
left.
After a while, a madman with a bag on his shoulder enters (right), stops and
stands in the middle of the screen, looks up and mumbles all by himself.
Finally, he shouts out at the sky.
The madman
“There’s nothing, right?” /Cut
Close-up
(Of the nurse’s hand closing the
cell door and latching it on the outside.)
Close-up
(Of the nurse’s smiling face—we understand she is smiling at the old man
inside the cell.)
Ubon
“Sure, if there’s nothing, then that’s it.” Then walks out of the picture,
leaving only the cell bars over the whole screen. /Cut
When Ubon has walked away from the cell, the
light dousing the cell gradually dims, while the stage lights gradually grow
brighter to match the light from outside, to show that it is full morning by
now. (NB: The outside light will evolve according to the time
shown on the clock on stage.)
Ubon goes and opens the window at the head of Bed 1
and Bed 2 of the left row. Those who can get up help one another open the other
windows as much as their strength allows.
Silence takes over again. The constant ticking of
the clock is the only sound that won’t keep quiet.
In the silence, it looks as though everybody is
restless, waiting for something.
Old Thapthim cannot bear to wait any longer. She
slowly gets up from her bed, which is by the door, leans out to take a look, then returns disappointed and walks across to the bed
opposite hers.
“No sign of her yet, me dear Erp.”
“How come she’s so late? She never is.” Old Erp
sighs. “If I was at home, I wouldn’t have to rely on her like this.” There
seems to be resentment in her voice.
Old Thapthim smiles, showing the few blackened
teeth she has left. She smiles because she knows this cannot be. “You’re still
missin’ home, ain’t you?”
“Not anymore I ain’t. I know there’s no hope. I’m
just ramblin’ on, just in case it turns out to be true.” Old Erp smiles
sheepishly, embarrassed to find herself talking about
home.
“Well, for me, I’ve stopped thinkin’ ’bout it for a
long, long time. I raised ’m until they could fend for themselves, and that’s all
there was to it. These days, me only worry’s for me little one, you see. I’m
afraid somethin’ will happen to ’im.” There is sadness in Old Thapthim’s voice
as well as on her face. “That’s all I worry about, really. He hasn’t come in
months—I used to see ’im sittin’ by the door. He’d be gone a day or two and
then turn up again. Oh dear!” Her eyes are on the door, as though her son was
actually there.
“What a shame, really. He doesn’t understand what
he’s told, and yet he still manages to come and see you to make you feel good.
Not like mine, who never show their faces. All ten of ’m. Never seen ’m even
once.” Old Erp thinks of her own children.
It looks as though Old Thapthim isn’t quite
listening to Old Erp, as her heart is set on her youngest child.
“I’ve no idea these days what’s happenin’ to you,
oh me son.” She wipes silent tears and raises her joined hands above her head.
“Please the Lord nothin’ bad happens to me son!”
Old Thapthim’s tears prompt Old Erp’s tears to come
out as well. Although they are not related, these two old women are like
relatives. Although they did not know each other before, it’s as if they have
become fellow travellers.
“I’m sure he’s all right. The Lord’s with him. He’s
never done any harm to anyone.” Old Erp consoles her friend in spite of her own
tears. She sees her friend still sitting with tears in her eyes staring at the
door. “You’re a strange mother, you know. When your son comes to see you, you
cry. And now that he’s been away for a while, here you are cryin’ again.” Old
Erp wipes her own tears, trying to sound jocular. “Think positive. Maybe he’s
with his brother and sister and they’ve taken him under their wing.”
“Good grief, me dear Erp, that’s absolutely
impossible! Even in me dreams I’ve never dreamed of such a thing, so how could
it happen in reality? These days, I only think it’s me fate, it’s me own burden
to bear, me dear.”
The two old women merely sit quietly looking at
each other’s face with tears in their eyes, as if they are aware of sharing the
same fate, but that fate has come from the past deeds of each, which have not
been the same in the course of their lives, and they are not able to appeal to
or blame anyone besides themselves. They understand this much.
Footsteps rushing to the door make them wipe their
tears. They don’t want anyone to see them.
“Here I come, ladies! Here I am!” A woman vendor of
their daughters’ age enters, carrying a basket in each arm. With difficulty she
lowers the baskets down by the foot of Old Erp’s bed. “Ouch! I’m so tired—hey, what’s
the matter, grannies? Why the red eyes?”
“Nothin’, nothin’ at all.” Old Erp conceals her
feelings under a normal tone of voice. “But how ’bout you? How come you’re so
late today?”
“My children are sitting for their
exams, that’s how,” the woman complains. “They got up afore dawn and set
about reading their books. I had to do everything by myself. D’you think they’d find it in their hearts to give me a hand now
and then? Not on your lives do they.”