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Take d Milk, Nah?

Here’s the thing.
a Hindu can’t do an identity play. Cause Identity is a Hindont. Identity means that there is an identifiable divide between things - where one thing ends and another begins. And see, hinduism teaches that these divisions are an illusion, what we call Maya. That this whole existence itself is just a dream of the great cosmic consciousness. Identity is an illusion. And so this play - this whole play - this whole genre of plays - in a manner of speaking has been about nothing. Because for Hindus - true identity is.... a field. It’s just a field. We strive to sit and look at a field. And see a blade of grass and think “I am that blade of grass.” And what’s in the field? A cow. And the cow is the blade of grass. And you are the cow. Because we are all the field.
And identity just divides that field.
Property - That colonial concept - Property.
Identity is just Property.
Yours and mine.
And Identity plays are just there to map it - secure the borders. Did you come here to see an identity play?
Did you come here to watch me recolonize my thinking?
To partition it off to you in a digestible way so you too can feel assured at what the borders are between me and you?
I mean in fairness, that’s how it was marketed. So like.... our bad too. Cause I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I won’t draw those borders. Identity is a hindont because identity is an illusion. That is a core belief I hold as a Hindu. But in order to maintain that belief I need to hold onto my identity. But part of my belief says that identity is an illusion. So by that definition I also believe that I shouldn’t hold onto my identity. But if I don’t hold onto my identity then I would just get sucked into the mainstream belief system which doesn’t recognize that identity is in fact just an illusion, So I need to identify myself to identify identity as being an illusion, But identity is....an illusion. And that is a Hindont. But I wanna be a Hin-DO! Because all I know is that we strive to look at a field and just chill. So for the rest of this show - you can enter my mind. That’s what we’re gonna do. You can enter my mind and chill the fuck out!

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The World Without
More Info

EMILY: You have your work... Anne’s work. You have more than enough to create something between the two of you.   CHARLOTTE: We can’t move forward without you.   ANNE: If she doesn’t want to be a part of it there’s no point in forcing her.   EMILY: Do you... want to be a part of it? Want to publish your-   ANNE: Yes. I’ve always wanted this.

EMILY: You’d have a better chance if I’m nowhere near it.   CHARLOTTE: That’s not true.   EMILY: It is.   CHARLOTTE: We need your work.   EMILY: If you’re in such dire need of a third ask Branwell. He’s the one with the talent.   CHARLOTTE: Oh, Emily! How can you not see it? You have a gift. Do you know how many people spend their lives searching for what you have?   EMILY: What I write is... strange. It’s not suitable... or dignified. It in no way reflects how a woman should feel... or think... or write. I know that. No one will understand it. No one will want to-   CHARLOTTE: If you were a man do you think for a moment you would choose not to pursue-   EMILY: If I were a man I wouldn’t have to choose.

ANNE: Then just pretend you’re a man and be done with it.   EMILY: I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.

ANNE: Why not?

EMILY: Because it... it’s not-

ANNE: Because it’s not what?   CHARLOTTE: You can. You can.   She takes paper and a quill and writes.   CHARLOTTE: We could keep our initials... keep the first letters for each of our names. The rest can be whatever we like....   She holds the page up for them to see.   ANNE: Currer, Ellis, Aaron Bell.   CHARLOTTE: If they think we’re men they’ll focus on what we write... not who we are. We can send our work out without being afraid of anyone knowing. We can write what we like... how we like.   ANNE: Why Bell? Why can’t we use our last name?   CHARLOTTE: People know there’s only one son in our family.   ANNE: How many people know that?   CHARLOTTE: Enough.   ANNE: Can’t we submit anonymously?   CHARLOTTE: No. Our work could be stolen. And we would have no way to prove it was ours.   EMILY: Work with a name is respected far more than anything written anonymously.   ANNE looks at the page.   ANNE: Currer, Ellis, Aaron. Mine doesn’t sound nearly as intriguing as yours. Aaron... it’s so plain.   CHARLOTTE: What then?

ANNE: Adam, Abram, Andrew, Arthur, Alfred-   EMILY: Acton.

ANNE: Oh... Acton. Yes. Currer, Ellis, Acton Bell.   CHARLOTTE writes the names out again. She holds it up for them to see.   ANNE: So... no one would know it was us?

CHARLOTTE: No one would know it was us.
ANNE: What about Papa? We would have to tell him.   CHARLOTTE: Papa would go mad knowing we were trying to be published. He would get too invested. He would want to change everything we wrote.   EMILY: He would edit every poem until he was satisfied.   CHARLOTTE: Until he felt it was up to his standards.   EMILY: And if it weren’t a resounding success... he would never forgive us.   CHARLOTTE: No. We don’t tell him. We don’t tell Branwell. It stays between the three of us.   ANNE: Then... what’s the point?

EMILY: I won’t do it if we tell people. That’s the point.   CHARLOTTE: But if we don’t tell people? Then you’ll...   EMILY looks at the page with their proposed names on it.   EMILY: We shouldn’t have to disguise who we are.   CHARLOTTE: Oh, Emily... does it really matter? It would be a few published copies of a poetry collection. That’s it. That’s all it is.   Beat.   EMILY: I don’t know.
CHARLOTTE: Emily. Can’t you at least try to-
ANNE: Just say yes, Emily! For goodness’ sake!   EMILY looks at the paper with their names on it. Then looks at her sisters.   INTERLUDE

CHARLOTTE, EMILY and ANNE grab a small stack of blank pages and a quill. They sit at the table. They write. As they do, they hand each other their pages. They read one another’s work. They make notes on the pages. They hand the pages back to the author. They sit and write.

Again, they hand each other their pages. They read one another’s work. Makes notes. Hand the pages back to each other. Sit. Write.

Again, they hand each other their pages. They read one another’s work. Makes notes. They start to form a pile in the middle of the table.

They write. Review. Stack. The stack of paper grows. These are the pages of their poetry collection. CHARLOTTE gently picks up the pages. Leaves the room.

EMILY and ANNE grab another small stack of blank pages. Again they start to write. They share their work with each other. They each begin a stack of their own.

CHARLOTTE enters with a small book in hand – a printed copy of their poetry collection. EMILY and ANNE gather beside CHARLOTTE. They look at it together. Smile. Place it on their bookshelf. Get back to work.

CHARLOTTE grabs another small stack of blank pages. They write. They share their work with each other.

The stack of paper grows. These are the pages of their novels.

CHARLOTTE collects the pages from EMILY and ANNE. Together they tie the piles with twine. Fold an envelope out of a large sheet of paper. Seal it shut. CHARLOTTE takes the envelope and leaves.

EMILY removes books from the shelf. Leaves the room. ANNE tidies. EMILY enters in a housedress. ANNE looks at EMILY. Hands her a book. Leaves the room.

EMILY goes to the windowsill. Sits. Opens the book. And reads.

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It's All TRU

KURT. Well I suppose i should thank you for...being honest with me... (pause) I suppose. So have you taken PEP?

TRAVIS. I told you I have the prescription but —   KURT. No not PREP. PEP.   TRAVIS. Oh, you mean the   KURT. Yes PEP, the after one.   TRAVIS. Oh that’s right...PREP is before...   KURT. Which would have been much better to take but since you haven’t then you should go to the hospital emergency and have them give you PEP right away. Has it been more than 72 hours?   TRAVIS. Just.   KURT. Well that’s what you should do then. Go to emergency tonight.   TRAVIS. Okay, I will.   KURT. I should say so. (He clears his plate to the counter) So, are we finished?   TRAVIS. With —   KURT. With this discussion?   TRAVIS. Yes. I guess so. I just wanted you to know.   KURT. As long as you take the PEP then we’ll consider the matter over. After all, there’s nothing we can do about it. And then start taking the TRUVADA. You WILL start taking the Truvada?
TRAVIS. Of course I will.   KURT. Good. (He moves to go.)   TRAVIS. Where are you going?   KURT. I’m going to my study.   TRAVIS. Oh. (pause) You don’t want any....dessert?   KURT (pause). I’m not in the mood right now. (pause) Maybe later. (He makes a move to go)   TRAVIS. Kurt.   KURT. What.   TRAVIS. Are you mad at me?   KURT. Not exactly. I’m perturbed. But I’ll get over it.   TRAVIS. You will?   KURT. Of course I will. I love you. (pause) Do you want to go to emergency with you?   TRAVIS. No I think I can go myself. (pause) I love you too, and ....I’m sorry.   KURT. Yes, I know you are. See you later. (He leaves the kitchen, TRAVIS starts to clean things up as the lights dim. Music.)

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Acha Bacha

ZAYA: Hey pretty woman. Hey...   MA: [Opens her eyes and slaps ZAYA’s hand away.] Hey hey ka bacha, salaam karne bul gaye?   ZAYA: Oh my god ma I was just saying hi.   MA: Tho phir salaam karo.   ZAYA: Assalaam’olaikum.   MA: Good. Walekum’assalaam. [Beat.] Kaise aayo?   ZAYA: My friend drove me.   MA: Kaun?   ZAYA: Salim. The teacher? Remember? The one who asks for your biryani recipe / every time -   MA: Oh. Haan, haan.   ZAYA: Yeah they’re just – Salim’s just waiting downstairs... So I can’t stay too long I’m sorry.   MA: Kyun?   ZAYA: Well I need a ride back home.   MA: Laila dey sakti hai.   ZAYA:  No she can’t, she can only get here on her lunch break.   MA: Tho phir wait karo. Mere saath.   ZAYA:  I can’t. I’ve got things to do today.   MA:  Work hai?   ZAYA: No but I –   MA: Tho phir kya?   ZAYA: Well Salim’s leaving tonight and – Salim needs to finish packing. And I wanna help, so...   MA: Uske paas koi aur friends nahi hai jo –   ZAYA: Ma I want to help.   MA: Tho phir yahan kyun aayo?   ZAYA: I want to see you I just can’t stay too long.   MA: Faida kya hai?   ZAYA: Ma, come on, I’ll see you in two days for Eid.   MA: Nahi nahi, tum jao. Agar tum jaana hai tho jao, aur meh yahan akheley mar jaaongi. Teekh hai?   ZAYA: Oh my god you’re not gonna die.   MA: Tumko kaise patha?   ZAYA: I spoke to the doctor as soon as I got here. She said you have to be more careful especially at your age. And take your pain relief every day. You’ve gotta listen to her, ma.   MA: Haan haan, mujhe patha hai.   ZAYA: Ma, seriously.   MA: Kya seriously? Meh serious hoon.   ZAYA: [Beat.] How did it happen? How did you fall?   MA: Haan.   ZAYA: No how?   MA: Oh meh... Meh trip hui. Mera shawl floor pey tha aur –   ZAYA: Why was your shawl on the floor?   MA: Mujhe kaise patha?   ZAYA: Where was Laila?   MA: Sleeping.   ZAYA:  You weren’t sleeping again?   MA: Nahi. Tum so rahey ho?   ZAYA: We’re not talking about me. Are you taking your sleeping pills?   MA: Haan.   ZAYA: [Beat.] I’m sorry you fell, ma. [Beat.] You look good. [Beat.] Pretty. Like Preity Zinta. [Beat. Singing.] Pretty woman, dekho dekho na, pretty woman... Pretty woman, tum bhi kaho na...   [ZAYA nudges at MA, she gives in, laughs, and sings along.]   ZAYA & MA: Pretty woman, dekho dekho na, pretty –   [SALIM, wearing a jacket and makeup removed, enters with flowers. MA looks at SALIM once and chooses not to look at them again.]   SALIM: Assalam’olaikum aunty.   ZAYA: Salim what are you...   SALIM: Yeh aapke liye, aunty.   [SALIM gives the flowers to MA. She takes them and still does not look.]   ZAYA: Salim I was just about to –   SALIM: Aap kaisi hain? [To ZAYA.] Is she doing ok?   ZAYA: Ma I’ll be right back we’re just gonna be in –   SALIM: Aunty you like the flowers?   ZAYA: Okay can we talk outside.   SALIM: I thought she liked pink roses. You said –   ZAYA: She does. Ma, can you say thank you? It’s very nice of them – of Salim.   MA: Beta meh ab bahothi tired hoon tho I need to sleep. [Turns, facing away, in bed.]   SALIM: Aunty, aap mujhse / baat nahi karna hai?   ZAYA: Salim she’s tired. SALIM: Aunty I’m right here. Can you look at me?   ZAYA: Okay you need to go. Please. [Starts to pull SALIM away.] I’ll / talk to you as –   SALIM: No, I’d like to talk to her, Zaya.   ZAYA: Are you just doing this because we had to have sehri at Tim Hortons?   SALIM: Yes. Yes, that’s exactly why I’m doing this.   ZAYA: Salim. Please. She doesn’t wanna talk to you right now okay?   SALIM: Well I’m asking her –   ZAYA: Ma can you just tell Salim you don’t wanna talk right now?   [Beat. MA sits up in the bed and looks in SALIM’s direction, not at them.]

MA: Why you are here.   SALIM: Aunty meh sirf aapse baat kar... I, I wanted to make sure you’re doing okay. And I want you to know you’re in my prayers.   MA: Hm. You need prayer more than me.   ZAYA: Ma.   SALIM: [Beat.] Okay. [Starts to leave now.]   MA: [Looks toward SALIM.] You know my son do very bad thing?   SALIM: What.   ZAYA: What?   MA: He never tell you?   ZAYA: Salim maybe you / should just –   SALIM: What is she talking about?   ZAYA: I don’t know.   SALIM: You don’t know. ZAYA: I don’t know!   MA: [Lies back down in bed.] Zaya I need to sleep now.   ZAYA: Can you just go wait in the lobby? I’ll be there in a minute. [Beat.] Please.   [SALIM leaves. ZAYA looks at MA.]   ZAYA: Get up. I know you’re not tired.   MA: Kab shaadi karogey?   ZAYA: We’re not talking about that.   MA: / Kyun nahi?   ZAYA: Why did you do that?   MA: Kya? Kya kiya meh ne?   ZAYA: Why did you say that about me?   MA: Kya? You do bad thing? Such hai.   ZAYA: What bad thing are you talking about?   MA: You don’t pray, you don’t fast, you don’t give charity...   ZAYA: Why didn’t you look at Salim?   MA: Tumse matlab?   ZAYA: Salim’s my friend ma.   MA: Tho? Prime Minister nahi hai.   ZAYA: You can’t treat people like that.   MA: I can do what I want.   ZAYA: Would it have killed you to look at Salim?   MA: [Beat.] Uskey nails bahothi barey thay. Aur painted too.   ZAYA: Are you serious?   MA: Nakhun dekhao.   ZAYA: What? No!
[MA grabs ZAYA’s hand and looks at his nails.]

MA: Itne barey ho gaye? Meh kat thi hoon.   ZAYA: No ma I can cut them on my own!   MA: Bet jao.   ZAYA: No I’m not going to –   MA: Sit down Zaya!   [ZAYA gives in and sits down. MA takes out a nail clipper from her purse and begins to clip his nails. This takes time. Silence. The light focuses on both ZAYA and MA’s hands together. Then MA speaks after they’ve both cooled down.]   Ab bathao. Kab shaadi karogey?   ZAYA: I don’t wanna talk about this.   MA: Kyun nahi? Baat karo. / Mujhse baat karo.   ZAYA: I told you before I’m not ready.   MA: Kab ready ho gay? You are twenty seven.   ZAYA: So what?   MA: Tho jab mein yahan se nik lungi, meh Pakistan jaongi aur tumhara pretty woman ko ley kar aaongi here. Bas.   ZAYA: No, thank you.   MA: No thank you ka bacha, tum kaun si type ki ladki pasand karte ho? Bathao na. Bathao na beta!   ZAYA: Okay! Okay. [Beat.] I like naughty girls I guess.   MA: Teekh hai. I find naughty girl for you.   ZAYA: Good.   MA: Yeh joke nahi hai.   ZAYA: I’m not joking either.
[ZAYA and MA laugh together. MA has finished clipping ZAYA’s nails.]   I should go.   MA: Tumko kya hua, beta?   ZAYA: What?   MA: Mujhe patha hai ke something happen. Something happen to you. You change. Itne saalon se tum... You don’t talk, na tum properly eat ya sleep karte ho, tumhare paas driver’s license nahi hai, na wife ya bache, na acha sa job ya home... You have nothing. Kya hua tumhare saath? Mujhe bathao.   ZAYA: I don’t know, nothing... I mean I’m trying. My job isn’t that bad.   MA: You fold clothes Zaya.   ZAYA: I’m the store manager.   MA: You fold clothes.   ZAYA: Okay. I should go check on Salim. I’ll be back. [Starts to leave.]   MA: Oh beta! Mera change of clothes kahan hai?   ZAYA: What change of clothes?   MA: Bul gaye?   ZAYA: What are you talking about?   MA: Laila tumse kaha na, ke I need / change of clothes.   ZAYA: No she didn’t, she never / said that.   MA: Haan, usney kaha. Meh uski saath thi jab she call you. You don’t listen too! ZAYA: Shit. Okay. I, um, I’ll... I’ll get them for you. [Starts to leave again.]   MA: Beta! Shayad Prime Minister tumko help kar sakta hai?   [ZAYA walks out of the hospital room and enters the lobby. The light focuses on SALIM’s face, as they re-apply their make-up. Then, the light expands to the audience. ZAYA takes a step toward SALIM but looks at the audience.]   ZAYA: They’re watching you...   SALIM: Well I hope they’re enjoying the show.   ZAYA: You can see them?   SALIM: No one’s actually looking at me, Zaya. We’re in a hospital lobby. No one cares.   [ZAYA tries to focus on SALIM now, the lights on audience fades out.]   ZAYA: You... You shouldn’t have gone up there.   SALIM: Alright.   ZAYA: Alright? That’s it?   SALIM: Kya chahiye tumko.   ZAYA: You couldn’t have just waited down here?   SALIM: I wanted to see how she was doing.   ZAYA: Your nails are painted.   SALIM: What?   ZAYA: They’re fucking bright red, Salim.   [SALIM looks down at their nails.]
What were you trying to do?   SALIM: I, I wasn’t...   ZAYA: You know how she is.   SALIM: Why would I wipe my whole face and keep my nails on? I just forgot. I had to get the flowers and I, I don’t even know why you’d - if I wanted to make a statement, I can really make a statement, Zaya. / Yeh tumko patha hai.   ZAYA: Okay okay. I just... Look, I’m sorry about what she said to you. It’s just, I’m worried about her, you know she’s always been saying she’s gonna die soon, but I think she actually believes it now, so... So, it’s not good when she gets stressed out.   SALIM: Okay?   ZAYA: And you’ve changed a lot - in a few years - so...   SALIM: Tho kya kehne cha rahey ho?   ZAYA: It’s just... different now. I don’t know. I’m sorry. [Beat.] Um. Can I ask you a favour?

[SALIM looks at ZAYA.]
I was supposed to bring a change of clothes for ma, and I didn’t, so...   SALIM: Sooo...   ZAYA: Her place is just like a five minute drive from here.   SALIM: I know where it is.   ZAYA: Please.   SALIM: [Beat.] I just can’t believe this is how we’re spending our last day together.   ZAYA: I know I’m sorry.   SALIM: Zaya you keep saying sorry.   ZAYA: I know I’m sor - fuck I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make iftaari, whatever you wanna eat. Gol guppay?   SALIM: You’re gonna make gol guppay?   ZAYA: It’s not that hard. I’ve seen you do it a bunch of times. And, and we don’t have to watch another episode of Koffee With Karan. We can watch one of your feminist Bollywood movies. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.   SALIM: [Beat.] When are we getting out of here? ZAYA: As soon as I drop off the clothes, we can go.   SALIM: You sure about that?

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Quick Bright Things

REID. (to NICK) You’re a fucking layabout now?   NICK. I’m home-schooling Gerome.   REID. Probably need a high school diploma before you try shit like that.   NICK. Shut-up Reid.   REID. (to GEROME) What’s he teaching you?   NICK. All of it – biology, social studies, math – everything.   MICHAEL. Have you taught him black holes?   MARION. Michael did a presentation on black holes in science today.   NICK. Well we haven’t done –   GEROME. (quickly, softly) Black holes: Left over star bits with gravitational tidal forces strong enough to crush everything while tearing it to nothingness at the same time.   MARION. Wowzers, there’s our A+ student!   MICHAEL. Actually they’re black and they suck up light – is the answer. ‘BLACK hole’. Can you do like a back-flip?   GEROME shakes his head.
MICHAEL. How about a front-flip?
GEROME shakes his head.
MICHAEL. What’s wrong with you?   MARION. There’s nothing wrong with him, hun, I can’t do a back-flip either.   MICHAEL. We know you can’t, Mary-Rion. But what’s he got?
MARION. Why don’t you tell Geromey about gymnastics.   REID. Hey how ’bout we not call it that? “Gymnastics”. He’s not hanging out with a bunch of six-year-old girls and doing somersaults.   MARION. (to NICK) We signed him up for after-school GYMNASTICS, he loves it.   REID. Acrobatic Arts! Your nephew – my son – is a Competitive Gymnast. No joke, this kid – prodigy. You didn’t hear it from me cuz I’m biased, but put these words together in your head: Michael Pinel, Pummel Horse Genius, Olympics 20-20 Tokyo. Be there – he’s gonna get a gold for his ol’ man, I swear to god!   MICHAEL. Can you do a back-flip Uncle N?   NICK. No.
GEROME puts his hand up.   MARION. Uh – yes, Geromey?
REID. Look at that plate! Pile of meat – decimated! My man, you’re kicking a vegan’s ass right now. (giving him more) This is you getting better.
MICHAEL. (to NICK, RE: GEROME) Least he still eats – (to GEROME) you good at anything else?   REID. One thing he’d be pretty good at? Beating the shit outta you.   GEROME looks uncomfortable.   NICK. (to GEROME, quietly) It’s okay, it’s okay –   MARION. (to GEROME) More than okay – eat, eat! (announcing) But everyone save room for dessert! We’re having pineapple!

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Speed Dating for Sperm Donors

SCENE 6 total world domination   A brisk spring day. Helen and Paige stand outside near the arrivals gate at the airport. They blow into their hands and stamp their feet. The whoosh of airplanes can be heard.   HELEN: Maybe we should've made a sign...   PAIGE: Why is it we must meet him at the airport?
HELEN: He’s on a tight schedule, I guess. He gave very specific instructions. I wasn’t about to question them.
PAIGE: Is he coming home with us, or—
HELEN: I’m not sure, there he is.
A man in a Russian fur hat enters.
PHYSICIST: You are on time, this is most excellent.
HELEN: Thank you so much for agreeing to meet us.
PAIGE: Can we, perhaps, go and sit down together—   PHYSICIST: No, this location is serviceable.
HELEN: Okay, well why don’t you tell us a little about yourself.
PHYSICIST: Here, I have photograph. Myself as little baby. You may keep.
Helen and Paige lean over the picture.
HELEN: Awww. Verycute.
PAIGE: This must be your Maman holding you?
PHYSICIST: No. This is wet nurse in Mother Russia Young Physicist Training Facility.   HELEN: I see. Yes, you mentioned you were a physicist in your message. Maybe you could tell us about your work.
PHYSICIST: Black Hole Physics, yes. I make superconductor simulations embedded in flat space. I propose new type of ultra-light particle forming halos supported by the quantum uncertainty principle.
HELEN: That sounds. Wow. (elbows her) Paige?
PAIGE: Impressive. Very impressive.
PHYSICIST: Quite standard, actually, compared to former research. But we dispense now with pleasantries. I go to produce required material. You will kindly have transcripts ready for my return.
HELEN: Transcripts?
PHYSICIST: You both completed university training, yes? My requirement for distribution of genetic material is that you score in top 95 percentile. Equivalent of your North American A+.
I am not wanting to mix my genetics with inferior specimens. Kindly produce documents to prove your intelligence level.
HELEN: We don’t have any documents with us.
PHYSICIST: Most inconvenient. My flight departs at 2 pm. Ah. (he whips out a note pad and sketches). I now pose you theorem of moderate difficulty. You have solution by the time I have sample... no problem.
(he hands the theorem over to them and leaves)
HELEN: He didn’t say anything about a test!
PAIGE: What does that mean “inferior specimens”? Is he going, behind a pillar?
HELEN: Could it be a language problem?
PAIGE: (craning her neck) I think it’s a bigger problem, he’s a crackpot!
HELEN: Very smart people, I have noticed, are often quite odd. Let’s just ask him some more questions. Meantime here, you better do this. (slides paper over to Paige)
PAIGE: No, you.
HELEN: I’m not touching it. You’re math girl.
PAIGE: Normal math, not black hole physics!
HELEN: Try. Write something!
They throw it back and forth. He returns and Paige quickly writes down an answer.
He returns.
HELEN: We just wanted to ask you. Why do you want to be a donor?
PHYSICIST: It is most efficient. Statistically speaking I would never have time to personally impregnate all of the women who now have borne me children.
PAIGE: All of the women? How many are there?
PHYSICIST: Two hundred and thirty-nine this year.
HELEN: This year alone?
PHYSICIST: Total number of known progeny since I begin experiment is two thousand seven hundred and twenty-one. (he reaches inside his lapel, they both take a step back) But we waste time. Sample is getting cold.
PAIGE: Why do you do this?
PHYSICIST: Covert distribution of superior genetic foot print. End result: total world domination. But don’t worry about that. Very cute babies. Look at photograph.
PAIGE: I don’t think we can be a part of your experiment.
PHYSICIST: (He is examining the theorem on the notepad.) Unfortunately, you are correct. Three? The answer you propose to theorem is three.
PHYSICIST: (a little bow) It is my disappointing duty to inform you that you are not viable subjects. I now proceed to Cincinnati to next potential vessel. Good day.
A little bow and he makes an abrupt departure.
HELEN: Nice to meet you too.
Lights fade.

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Orchard, The

(After Chekhov)
tagged : canadian
More Info

Act One. Scene One.

The Okanagan Valley. Late April, 1974. The Basran's living room. MICHAEL is asleep. "A New World in the Morning" by Roger Whittaker is playing. BARBRA enters, tired from a bad night's sleep and months, years of hard work that is never enough. She goes into the other room.

NEWS ANNOUNCER: "News for the valley on Friday, April 25th, 1974. The spring regatta was a roaring success, with thousands of people descending on our beautiful valley. It was four days of sun, water and fireworks. And then there was this young man, who was on a serious hunt, for none other than the Ogopogo."

Meanwhile the phone rings in the other room, DONNA runs to pick it up. BARBRA comes back with chaa. She listens to the radio intently, checking the time and looking out the window.

LITTLE BOY: (Singing.) "I'm looking for the Ogopogo, The funny little Ogopogo. His mother was an earwig, his father was a whale, I'm going to put a little bit of salt on his tail."

NEWS ANNOUNCER: "In other news, it's been two years since Minister of Agriculture David Stupich pushed his Land Freeze Bill through the NDP majority house."

BARBRA turns up the radio.

"Farmers continue to kick back against the Land Freeze, as profits from family farms continue to decline year after year, with many farms falling into bankruptcy--"

BARBRA turns off the radio.

DONNA. Politics are so boring!

BARBRA. (Startled.) Donna! Jesus! Are you still up?

DONNA. Are you kidding?!

BARBRA. Yes, the big homecoming...

DONNA. Nothing to worry about after tonight. Not even this stupid frost.

BARBRA. Damn it, there's frost again?! God help us.

BARBRA starts putting on boots, looking out the window.

BARBRA. Can you tell Yebi to get the tractor ready.

BARBRA rushes out, slamming the door behind her. MICHAEL wakes with a start.

MICHAEL. Welcome home Lallie! (Realizes no one is there.) Oh. What time is it?

DONNA. Nearly 5am.

MICHAEL. My gawd.

DONNA. Gus called, they just got in.

MICHAEL. (Yawning.) That makes the Greyhound... (Checking watch.) Three hours late.

DONNA. I thought you'd left with everybody else. But then I found you here, sleeping like a bear.

MICHAEL. Why didn't you wake me?


MICHAEL. I came early to greet them from the station. Ah, look, my suit's all wrinkled.

DONNA. (Listening.) Is that the truck?

MICHAEL. Donna, it'll take at least fifteen minutes to get from the station, plus unloading and all that. Five years. I wonder what Lallie looks like.

DONNA. Ms. Basran was always so beautiful. The pickers loved her.

MICHAEL. Cause she got right in there with them. Working side by side! I remember when I first met her. My old man, he used to have this trailer, out on that Indian land. This one time, I forgot to turn the sprinkler off. Well my old man got real angry with me. He took that hose and whipped me straight across the head. My ear was bleeding like crazy. Anyway, I took myself into town -- you know to lift my spirits. I must have been about twelve standing there, a hot mess, blood coming outta my ear, and that's when I saw her. Lallie. She bent down, sun glowing behind her, and said, don't worry little man, one day you'll be older, and you'll be free. (Beat.) She never called me trash like the rest of them.

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A beautiful older woman is in a very messy room. She sits in her chair, there are tissues scattered around her.


COSTAS at his shoe repair shop. He wears an ancient head lamp which appears to be the only source of illumination apart from a little daylight. He is surrounded by garbage, empty suitcases, discarded coffee cups and food wrappers, shelves filled with shoes of all kinds, some repaired, some waiting. Some very old, some newer styles. The old-fashioned till does not appear to be in use. There are yellowing posters of Greece, the Parthenon, Crete, Epidaurus, etc. The calendar is three years out of date. There is a Greek orthodox portrait of Christ on one wall. Costas does not actually stand up, but rather rolls in his chair to locate various tools. A battery radio plays. A stylish, middle-aged woman (SANDRA) enters hurriedly, rings the bell. He does not look up. She hesitates at the debris on the floor and reconsiders.

SANDRA: Hello there.

COSTAS is not looking up.

SANDRA: Are you open?

COSTAS: What you mean lady? I always open.

SANDRA: Sorry I wasn't sure, the light.

COSTAS: Call the power company, no look at me.

SANDRA: I didn't know there was an outage.

COSTAS: Outage, who say outage? I pay bills, they not come. Vermin.

SANDRA: Well I brought these.

COSTAS: Let me see, lady.

He inspects them.

SANDRA: I wasn't sure you were open. It's so dark.

COSTAS: What you think I no see good enough? (He taps his headlamp.)

SANDRA: I wasn't sure.

COSTAS: (Pronouncing on shoes.) Garbage. All garbage.

SANDRA: But I paid a lot of money for those!

COSTAS: You need know how spend your money lady. I show you...He shows her the soles. You see, these, synthetic. You not glue nothing to them. It not stick. You pay me big money and they fall to pieces, you come back and you mad. Panagia mou!

SANDRA: Okay, is there anything you can do?

COSTAS: For this I need special glue. I need to scrape. Two weeks.

SANDRA: Two weeks!

COSTAS: You don't like? You no ask me. Best I can do with synthetic soles.

SANDRA: They're good shoes.

COSTAS: Okay, your choice Lady. He gives back shoes.

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