Afterimage (5 page)

* * *

Darkness.

In the darkness the noise and sparks of the Evans touch.

Lights illuminate the family in movements of connection; WINSTON kissing his wife, JEROME shoving THERESA, a ballet of points of connection, each one lit by the spark of the Evans touch. LEO stands in the middle of it all, untouched and unaffected. CONNIE walks slowly towards him, unseen. Before she reaches him, the family have formed a tableau, the same one that was the final pose for the photograph. A photographic flash and then LEO dark and silhouetted against the pale blue afterimage of his family.

The lights restore to normal. LEO stands by himself now in the Evans home. Blood on his face.

THERESA enters, looks at him. She has a cloth in her hand.

Theresa:
How’s your eye?

LEO looks to her, startled, doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Leo:
Still works.

Theresa:
Gonna blacken up. Gonna make you look tough.

Guess you are though, aren’t you?

Silence.

That was a stupid thing to do. Stupid, so most wouldn’t call it brave. Or tough.

Leo:
So I’m stupid.

Theresa:
Take no fortune told to know you were gonna lose that one. He was twice the size of you.

Leo:
I got my share in.

Theresa:
A real mean streak too. Runs in his family, Mom says. Nothing a bit of anger or upset on your part could contend with.

Leo:
Did you hear what he said about you? And Jerome.

Theresa:
I heard fine.

Leo:
I don’t care about my eye. As long as there’s a bruise on him somewhere.

Theresa:
Why? He didn’t say anything about you.

Silence.

The man delivered the picture today.

Leo:
What?

THERESA indicates where it hangs. LEO slowly walks upstage.

Chorus (Leonard):
The final product, framed and placed on a wall in the living room.

LEO stands beneath it, looking up at it.

In it, Leo’s face, sullen, stoic.

Chorus (Connie):
The camera itself about to steal his soul.

Theresa:
Mom decided she liked the colours. Paid extra and didn’t mind doing it.

Chorus (Connie):
Leo saw more than colour.

Chorus (Leonard):
His family framed and contained.

Chorus (Connie):
Himself both within it and without.

Theresa:
Do you like it?

Chorus (Leonard):
His family.

Chorus (Connie):
The first time he’d really ever seen it. A distance. Beyond red hair and freckles. A simple truth.

Chorus (Leo):
Confirmation.

Theresa:
Here, let me.

She moves to him and begins to wipe the blood. He stands back, still looking at the photo.

Leo:
It doesn’t make you mad? When they talk about you like that?

Theresa:
Jerome was laughing five minutes later. And if you want to know, the only bad memory I have of the day was my brother getting tossed like a leaf in the wind.

LEO brushes away her assistance. Walks away.

You can’t change things, Leo.

Silence.

Leo?

Chorus (Connie):
To hear her say that.

Theresa:
What is it?

Chorus (Connie):
The futility in any attempt to alter himself or the world.

Theresa:
Leo?

He charges her.

Leo:
I could pull the copper-coloured hair from your fucking head.

He turns and runs off, leaving THERESA speechless.

* * *

LISE and WINSTON’s bedroom. They enter mid-battle.

Winston:
He kicked a boy in the face today.

Lise:
He just gave himself a good smack on the eye.

Winston:
He didn’t give himself anything.

Lise:
If he’s going to be picking fights…

Winston:
Hiding for most of the day. When he does come out, face bunched like a fist.

Lise:
Talk to your son, not to me. I’ve tried, I’ve—

Winston:
Not you, not me, us.

Lise:
Why don’t we just call the cops. Lock him up.

Winston:
This is not the boy we raised.

Lise:
Don’t you think that you are blowing this just a little out of—

Winston:
Our son kicked a boy in the face, Lise!

It took two kids to tear him off. Our son got pummelled by kids two years older—

Lise:
Winston.

Winston:
Two years older than him, because he attacked them like a rabid dog.

Ignoring it isn’t a solution.

Lise:
You’re the one full of solutions, not me, solutions and problems.

Winston:
He can tell he doesn’t belong.

Lise:
That is a horrible thing to say.

Winston:
That’s how he feels.

Lise:
You talking like that. He is a part of this family.

Winston:
I’m not the one that needs telling.

Lise:
You talking like that, you should be ashamed of—

Winston:
This is not about me.

Lise:
Enough.

Winston:
Don’t make this about me.

Lise:
Enough!

Tell him when we need to.

Winston:
When is that?

Lise:
Not now.

Winston:
He knows, Lise.

Beat.

Whether we say anything or not, he knows.

Silence.

Lise:
It’s just a phase. He’ll get over it.

Winston:
And you call yourself a fortune teller.

She looks at him.

A long silence.

Lise:
You look tired.

She makes her way to sit beside him. Takes his hand.

You do.

See it in your eyes.

Winston:
They’re putting me on nights again.

Lise:
Don’t they know that you have a family, a working wife?

Winston:
They know well enough. They also know twenty-two men with more seniority. No choice.

Lise:
You give in too easily, Winston. I see it in you time and time again. The way people talk to you.

He looks at her, looks away.

Silence.

We’ll tell him. When the time is right, when he is ready.

I’ll know when, I will.

Pause.

I will.

I’m his mother.

* * *

The world divides and ends. A new one begins. Different, long ago.

The living room. LISE, a candle now in her hand. She listens, sensing something.

Lise:
Is there someone there?

Silence. CONNIE can be seen curled into one wall.

Hello?

Silence. LISE listens to it.

Do I know you?

Silence.

This is my house. Do I know you?

Connie:
You Lise Lacoeur?

LISE moves the candle, the light catches CONNIE. LISE recognizes her instantly.

Are you Lise Lacoeur?

Lise:
I was.

Connie:
You was?

Lise:
Lise Evans now.

Connie:
Oh.

Well then. Congratulations, good for you.

It’s a nice house you got.

Lise:
Thank you.

Connie:
What I wouldn’t give for a house like this.

Beat.

Lise:
You must be cold.

Connie:
I’m more than that.

Lise:
Raining to drown a horse.

Connie:
I met you. Last year. On the street. You remember?

LISE nods her head.

You see things.

You saw things.

A small pause, then LISE nods.

Load of bullshit. Always thought it a load of bullshit.

Lise:
That why you’re here?

Connie:
I didn’t believe a word of it.

A beat. CONNIE smiles, turns away from her.

Yes, indeed. I would love to have a house like this. A husband. You’re a lucky woman.

Beat.

What’s his name?

Lise:
Winston.

Connie:
He good to you?

LISE nods.

He give you kids?

LISE nods.

How many?

Lise:
One. A little girl. Theresa.

Connie:
A little girl.

CONNIE nods sadly.

Lise:
A month old last Tuesday.

CONNIE stifles a sad laugh.

Connie:
A lucky woman. That you are.

Lise:
Who told you to come to me?

CONNIE looks at her.

Connie:
I don’t often do as I’m told. Gets me trouble, that.

Lise:
I was right. Wasn’t I?

CONNIE stares at her.

Silence.

How long?

CONNIE shrugs.

Connie:
Don’t matter. Do it?

Lise:
Two months.

CONNIE looks at her. Nods.

Constance. That’s you. They calls you Connie. Some people call you that.

Pause.

Why you here, Connie?

Connie:
Fortune. The word, the sound of it, you’d think it’d be about money, good news.

Lise:
What do you want to know?

Connie:
Your brand of bullshit is more useful than the doctor’s, more useful to me now.

Lise:
You have questions about the father?

Connie:
No. No, my dear. I know the answers to those already.

Lise:
He left.

Connie:
Said he’d put me on billboards. Took my picture, and my soul with it.

Silence.

Lise:
You want some tea?

Connie:
I want to know about the baby.

I want you to tell me what will become of me and the baby.

A small pause.

Can you do that?

Lise:
You’re upset. Maybe you should get some rest.

Connie:
They says you can do that.

Beat.

Please.

LISE looks at the ceiling, a tired and worried sigh. She thinks, CONNIE’s eyes on her, pleading.

LISE nods.

Lise:
Yes. Yes, I can do that.

Give me your kerchief.

Silence. Then CONNIE smiles, disbelieving her own participation in this, and gives LISE the kerchief. LISE prepares the bowl, CONNIE watching her every move.

Connie:
You leave your door open like that, all the time? A body can just walk right in.

Lise:
You’re not the first evening caller. Won’t be the last.

Connie:
You knew how many months. You can see stuff like that. Just like that.

Lise:
Not showing yet, but the promise of it in the body. Intuition. The sight, true sight, that’s something I got to work for.

Connie:
He must have the sight himself, natural. One look at me tonight and he knew himself a story.

Lise:
You got somewhere to go?

Connie:
I’ll find one. Resourceful, me.

Silence as LISE continues with the preparations.

Dreamer, see. That’s half the problem. Think the best of people and the world. Trust the words that get said, trust them like gospel. Foolishness, it is. And stupidity. How many times a dog need to be get kicked before it gets shy of shoes? Me, I never learn.

Beat.

But that’s it now. That’s it. Whatever this is, be it boy or girl, this one, they should know better.

Lise:
Boy or girl. You want to know?

CONNIE stares at her, then nods.

LISE sets the kerchief on fire. They both stare at it, a powerful and enforced quiet.

Connie:
Just like that, is it?

Lise:
A boy.

CONNIE smiles.

You got yourself a boy.

Connie:
Just like that it is.

A boy. Well.

LISE looks back down into the bowl, her expression sliding, she stares slack-jawed.

She is unsurprised, deeply saddened, and disturbed.

Silence.

What?

What?

Lise:
Nothing.

Connie:
Nothing?

Lise:
Nothing, it’s nothing.

LISE has allowed herself to become upset. She gets up to walk away.

Connie:
That don’t look like nothing.

Oh Jesus.

Oh Jesus, Jesus.

Lise:
It’s all right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done this for you. I should have sent you on your way.

Connie:
Tell me what you saw.

Lise:
It’s going to be all right.

Connie:
Don’t lie to me. Tell me what you saw.

Please.

Please.

Beat.

Lise:
I can’t.

Connie:
You can’t. Why can’t—

Lise:
I can’t tell you. There’s… there’s nothing you can do about it.

Connie:
It’s bad.

LISE looks up at her. Silence.

How do you know?

Lise:
I—

Connie:
How do you know there’s nothing to be done?

LISE shakes her head.

Send me out of here, not an ounce of hope. You can’t be that cruel.

Lise:
I’m sorry.

Connie:
Tell me what to do.

Tell me how to save him.

LISE looks at her.

You can do that.

She takes LISE’s hand.

You can do that.

LISE thinks hard for a second. She nods.

She closes her eyes and grips CONNIE’s hands tight.

Lise:
It’s…

It’s going to hurt. The pain will be…

She opens her eyes and looks at
CONNIE, who hangs on her words.

Unnatural.

A beat and then lighting shift. CONNIE begins to cry in pain, doubling over.

Connie:
Ah, Jesus Mary!

MAGGIE enters in a rush.

Maggie:
(to LISE)
Glad you’re here. Didn’t know anyone else was on today.

LISE is silent, staring at CONNIE.

Connie:
Oh God! God!

Chorus (Lise):
Your stomach will be bursting.

Connie:
God!

Chorus (Lise):
A hot knife at your spine.

Maggie:
(to CONNIE)
You picked a day, my dear. Some snow out there. Not fit for a dog. Didn’t even call for it.

CONNIE’s eyes roll up in her head.

Stay with me, honey. Doctor will be here the once.

My God, her hands are frozen.

Chorus (Lise):
The weather will be against you.

Maggie:
(to CONNIE)
She walked in with no coat. Lise, get some blankets.

LISE doesn’t move, stares at CONNIE.

Connie:
Help me! Oh Jesus.

Maggie:
Lise!

LISE finally moves to fetch some blankets.

We’re gonna warm you up now. But you gotta calm down for me, okay?

Connie:
Oh God!

Maggie:
You gonna have to try to be calm. I’m not kidding around, okay? Lise, go call him again.

Chorus (Lise):
The doctor will be late. But you have to hold on.

Connie:
(to LISE)
I’m trying, I’m trying.

Maggie:
You hear me, Lise? Get out and call him again. Tell him there are complications. Tell him to get here as soon as he can.

Connie:
Help me!

Maggie:
Lise! Go!

Chorus (Lise):
The minutes will stretch and the wind will howl inside you, and he will feel very angry, very angry at you, desperate to get out. But you have to wait. You have to wait for the doctor. You want hope, then that’s it, that’s all I have to give. That’s all. You have to… try.

Connie:
Help me!

LISE, hiding outside the door, sings something to herself, breathy and panicked.

She finishes singing, leaving a prolonged and eerie silence. CONNIE slowly comes around the door and looks down at her.

Chorus (Connie):
You were right.

There’s nothing anyone can do about it.

Beat.

Don’t leave him alone.

All right?

She vanishes.

LISE enters the room, CONNIE’s body covered, MAGGIE watching her silently.

Maggie:
Bloody sin, it is.

Lise:
Yes.

Maggie:
Doctor called. Finally. Out to his cabin when the snow set in. Couldn’t even get out to the shore road, let alone into town.

Lise:
Unavoidable then.

Maggie:
She was fine. She was a healthy girl. Young, strong. No good reason why this couldn’t have been a better story.

Lise:
Unavoidable.

Maggie:
No good reason.

Silence.

Never tended a birth like that, not by myself, one like that. Didn’t look natural, it didn’t.

Stupid. I’m no doctor, don’t even know, can’t even say what it is that I did wrong.

Lise:
Nothing.

Maggie:
Don’t even know what to write in the fucking report. I don’t even—

Lise:
Unavoidable.

You hear me?

The women stare at each other hard for a moment. MAGGIE seems to understand the depth of LISE’s sight for the first time and accepts her diagnosis, nods.

Silence.

Maggie:
Bloody sin. It is.

Lise:
That it is.

Maggie:
She had his name picked out and everything. Convinced it would be a boy.

Lise:
Is he all right?

Maggie:
He’s just about perfect, I’d say. Except for that little birthmark on his head there. Shape of a candle flame. But that’s nothing. That should fade away soon enough.

Lise:
Will it?

Maggie:
I would guess.

LISE looks down at the boy. A heaviness in her that she fights to contain.

You tell me.

Lise:
I can’t.

She looks away from the boy, makes a big decision, shakes her head.

Can’t… can’t tell you a thing about this one. Couldn’t if I tried.

Silence. MAGGIE tries to smile, goes to exit.

What was she going to call him? What’s his name?

Maggie:
Leo. After his father, she said.

Lise:
Sounds about right.

MAGGIE exits. LISE looks down at the child, unsure of what to say or do.

The baby begins to cry and LISE can’t take it. She goes to leave, but when she gets to the door her milk lets go, the front of her uniform soaked. She pauses for a second, unsure of what to do, and then sorrowfully and against her own judgment goes back and picks him up carefully. She begins to breastfeed him, singing softly under her breath.

Outside of time and place, all the others enter, stand behind her, watch her. WINSTON comes up behind her, puts his arm around her.

Winston:
We can take him.

He takes the baby from LISE’s arms and exits with the others.