Phone call: a playlet
“Phone call” is an excerpt of dialogue I developed in a writing workshop conducted by Jo Kukathas. The task was to come up with a piece of writing in response to the artworks at “Afterwork”, an exhibition on migrant workers and domestic helpers which took place at Ilham gallery. The artwork I drew inspiration from was Pokling Anading’s “Ocular” (2009) in the pictures below.
It was a free writing process and the lines did not take on a form until Jo pointed out that it works well as a theatre piece. The directions written are based on how she visualised it on stage.
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Stage divided into 2: the humble house of a teenage Filipino boy and a house with white walls in Malaysia, in which his’ mother works as a domestic helper. The boy is looking at a postcard with the picture of the Twin towers while the mother is looking outside the window at the towers. They converse in Tagalog. The mood is dreamy and floating, evoked from Schummann’s “Traumerei” playing at the background.
Son: I got your postcard. Grandmother didn't notice it came so it got wet in the rain.
Mother: which one was this?
Son: One of the buildings. They look like two really big pencils. How tall are they?
Mother: I don't know.
Son: Did you count the windows?
Mother: I can't. My eyesight is deteriorating.
Son: How was the place?
Mother: The sun felt like little needles on my skin. I wiped my sweat and kept looking, trying to understand it’s aspirations but I couldn't.
Son: Why is that?
Mother: I don't know. Maybe it's my eyesight. Maybe it's the heart.
Son: I miss your Palitaw. I miss how you would cup the rice gently in your hands. I keep thinking of the coconut’s sweetness, the crunchy sesame seeds and how you would serve it in that plastic plate.
Mother: Your grandmother can cook that for you.
Son: but she serves it in a bowl.
Mother: I can make it once I'm back.
Son: when is that?
Mother: I don't know.
Son: You told the last time you’ll be back before the eggs hatch. I sat in front of the coop, waited and waited. And finally when it happened, I turned around to see you but you were not there.
Mother: when was that?
Son: Many chicken broods ago. I just sat there, looking at the hen, and how it herded the chicks under her wings.
Mother: I’m sorry.
(Beat)
Mother: Are you doing well in school?
Son: Sometimes.
Mother: Does grandmother still take you to church?
Son: Yes. Last week, the sermon was about Adam and how he was made from soil. The pastor said, “From the soil we came, to the soil we shall return”. It was sad.
Mother: Why?
Son: When Adam was chased out, he could never go back. I wondered how it felt, to be chased out, to be buried in a foreign soil, and if he ever wanted to return…if he was at peace to be one with the ground that never birthed him.
Mother: The ground everywhere is the same.
Son: but we give different meanings to it.
(Beat)
Mother looks at the window frame and to the ceiling of the house.
Mother: The tall, pretty white ceiling has started to peel. When I look closely, I could see cracks.
Son: Are you sure you are seeing clearly?
Mother: The debris, it falls. Sometimes, it gets in between my hair and under my fingernails. I need to clean it up.
Son: There are holes in our roof too.
Mother: That’s different.
Son: The house gets wet every time it rains.
Mother: You also get shine spots in the house whenever there is sun. It’s not like that here.
Son: The spots, they look like eyes.
Mother: then somebody is always watching over you.
(Beat)
Son: Are you going to make Palitaw in their kitchen.
Mother: Maybe.
Son: For whom?
Mother: The boy here, he likes sweets.
Son: What is he like?
Mother: He is like you when you were younger. When he cries, I help him blow his nose. When he is hungry, I feed him. When he’s sleepy, I place my thigh under his head.
Son: Doesn’t he have a mother?
Mother: He does.
Son: okay.
Mother: Okay. I have to go. Don’t forget check the post box. The postcards might get wet in the rain again.
Son: okay.
Mother: Okay. Goodbye son.
Son: okay.
Mother: I’ll talk to you soon.
Son: Okay. Goodbye mother.
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Jo's comment:
Dear Andy
This is good. I liked it and I think it works. When I first read it I felt it was a bit sentimental and thought there was a danger of flatness. It didn't have enough subtext and character. But playing the Schumann under it the second time transformed it, giving it a subtext of melancholy and a lovely gentleness and this created a counterpoint to the sentimentality. It gave it, for the want of a better word, rain. So I read it not so much as a character piece as a mood piece.
Mostly my edits are minor and to do with grammar and word placement.
There are many ideas to like. I liked the idea of Adam, the idea of the postcards, the feeling of rain, the palitaw, the mother taking care of someone else’s child, the brevity of the phone call, the inadequacy. I added some extra ‘Okays’ to reinforce the idea of things not said.
I like the brevity of it.
jo
