Curling By Blue
[A small, angular room, walled in on three sides with scraped white panels of wood, bits of paint flecking off. On the left there is a small wooden table and a single chair. A teapot and two cups and saucers, a small bowl of sugar with a silver spoon. On the right there is a moth-eaten armchair, deep red, bits of stuffing protruding from a slash in the right arm. A mantlepiece dominates the back wall with a small window either side, hardly big enough for a person to fit through, with jutting windowsills littered with shells. There is no other furniture. It is unclear where the door should be. Small piles of sand should be scattered across the floor, heaping in the corners, and feathered lightly over the central space. When Marie walks around the room her footprints should appear in the sand. The sound of seagulls and gentle waves can be heard in the background, immediately. The day and time are unknown.]
[Curtain rises to the room brightly lit, sun shining through the windows and the waves loud and clear. Marie is sitting in her armchair, embroidering a small piece of fabric in an embroidery hoop. She is tall and slender, but delicate, as if she may break in half at any minute. Her age is unknown. Most of all she captures a sense of utter solace and desolation, a loneliness that should be reflected in the walls of the room, by its meagre dinginess, but she embraces this and speaks freely, often erratically. She is dressed simply with a stained apron tied around her waist, and barefoot.]
MARIE: [Muttering to herself] Up and down, and up and down, and up and down, taking its time, and never ceasing. But my hands get so bloody tired. Not like out there, it never gets tired out there. Damn this needle!
[Shakes her hand and sucks on her thumb, as if she has pricked it.]
MARIE: Gets so bloody annoying! Never gets me anywhere! I labour day and night, and what have I achieved? My patience was lost long ago, and it’s all your fault—stupid, stupid needle. Already broken two trying to get this flower finished. It’s like it doesn’t even want life! Doesn’t want to thrive!
[She throws the needlework onto the floor, right, and crosses her arms, sulking. Suddenly she looks up at the audience, as if she can see them. Slowly, she stands and walks into the middle of the room, gazing up.]
MARIE: I do apologise. I didn’t realise I had company. [She swallows nervously, wringing her hands] You see, I’m just so frustrated at the needle, it never does anything. [Pause] Well, I suppose I don’t do anything either. Not much. I can’t really get out anymore, you see. I struggle to walk on the beach nowadays [pointing towards the windows] because the sand is so soft. It falls beneath my feet, like I can’t get a grip on it. As if I’m falling deeper and deeper into an underground cage, and once I’m there, I know I won’t be able to get out. So, I don’t really go anymore. You see, I could do with some wooden planks, tie them to my feet, you know, and they could hold me up and steady me. But it would look ridiculous. [Laughs uncertainly] I can’t really do that, no. Can’t really do anything now. My arthritis, you see, it’s made everything worse, everything is painful. Even sitting outside on my little ledge, in the sun, I get allcramped up and then I need to lie down for a few days. [Looks frustrated again] I can’t even sit without fading...[drifts off].
[Marie stares down at the floor, enraptured by the sand. The loud crash of a wave is heard. She looks up, startled.]
MARIE: Goodness, did you hear that? The sea is getting stronger every day! I wouldn’t be surprised if it swallows me up, me and my little house. It gets closer every day, you see, I can smell it. I can smell the salt, as if it’s right under my nose sometimes. I can even smell it when I fall asleep, and then I see the waves in my dreams, getting closer and closer, snapping their jaws as if...as if they’re going to eat me! [Laughs] The water wants me, you see. It knows that I can’t do anything. But I haven’t been swimming in so long. Perhaps it’s trying to tell me that? [Increasingly erratic] Perhaps a swim is all I need? I’m sure I could manage it, with no bottom for me to sink through, and no need for stupid planks on my feet! I love a good swim. I swam all the time when I was younger. I could go out as a far as the sand dunes, halfway to the island, and I’d sunbathe on them, and then the tide would come in and I swam back. My parents called me a little duckling. I could float, you see. I was the only one who could float for hours and never get tired. It was my greatest achievement. [Pause, contemplating] I wish I’d swum to the island. It was so close, and I always had a break on the dunes, but I never went there. I was told not to. Now that, that would have been an accomplishment, you see. Maybe I could try it later. Or tomorrow. I was always a good swimmer.
[Pause as Marie contemplates. She suddenly looks up again, as if realising that she’s being watched.]
MARIE: My goodness, I’m so sorry! Look at me, prattling away. It’s all such nonsense, take no notice. How about some tea? A lovely cup of sweet tea usually eases me. Here, let me pour you some. [Bustles about with the teapot and pours tea into the two cups. The saucers rattle a little] It’s nice and hot, I’ve just made the pot. [Laughs] Ooh, that rhymed! Did you hear? Did you hear it?
[Marie places the teapot down and ladles three spoonsful of sugar into each cup. Then she picks up the cup and saucer closest to the audience and holds it out, as if expecting them to take it. Beat of silence. She puts the cup on the end of the table.]
MARIE: [Quietly] I’ll just leave it here for you? Please, help yourself.
[She sits on the wooden chair behind the table, smiling at the audience. Nervously, she stirs her tea with the small spoon and then sips. She splutters and chokes. As she speaks next, the sound of the waves gets gradually louder.]
MARIE: Oh dear, it’s gone cold! It’s gone off. Just like me. I thought that pot of tea was a beautiful achievement. [Sulks again] But I can’t achieve anything, now. Just like that...that needle. [She sneers at the sewing on the floor] It can’t do anything. It’ll bend and snap the next time I use it, I tell you. [Pause] Maybe I should go for a swim today? I can smell the salt already, the sea will be in the room soon! It’ll wash up under the walls and take all this sand back with it. Back to the sink hole. I can smell it. I can hear it, too, can you hear it? Such a beautiful sound. It’s thriving. It never gets tired out there. [Sips her cold tea] I’m sure I could manage it. I’m sure I could reach the island by the end of the afternoon. Perhaps I’ll camp there overnight! It’ll be more than you’ve ever done, won’t it? [Looks at the needlework] More than you’ve done. [Breathes in and out deeply, smelling the salt].
[Marie looks suddenly at the audience, for the third time, and puts down her tea. She rises majestically and walks towards the front, standing solely in the central space. The sound of the waves is deafening. Marie begins to sway side to side, listening, laughing, breathing. Then she runs over to the needlework, picks it up, and throws it onto the table. She climbs over the armchair, with some difficulty, and looks out through the window, clawing at it, jumping up to see more clearly, knocking all the shells from the windowsill.]
MARIE: [Eagerly, calling over her shoulder] Come on, come on, let’s go for a swim! It’s a delightful day, I want to dosomething. I want to go for a swim, I was always a good swimmer. My parents called me a little duckling, you know. Come on, let’s go to the island, where we can float all day long, float in the middle of the waves. It’s all my fault. I can hear it calling me, I can smell it…
[She presses her hand against the window and looks back tragically at the audience. The sound of the waves completely drowns her out and the lights fade rapidly as she utters her final line].
MARIE: Would you like to come with me?
[Darkness. Curtain falls. End of scene.]