When the Rain Stops Falling

Andrew Bovell

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2016
• eBook ISBN: 9781780013718
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

A heartrending drama about family, betrayal and forgiveness, spanning four generations and two hemispheres. From the writer of the award-winning film Lantana.

When the Rain Stops Falling moves from the claustrophobia of a London flat in 1959 to the windswept coast of southern Australia, and into the heart of the Australian desert in 2039.

It interweaves a series of connected stories as seven people confront the mysteries of their past in order to understand their future, revealing how patterns of betrayal, love and abandonment are passed on. Until finally, as the desert is inundated with rain, one young man finds the courage to defy the legacy.

Andrew Bovell's When the Rain Stops Falling was commissioned and first produced by Brink Productions in Australia. It was premiered at the Scott Theatre, University of Adelaide, in February 2008.

The play received its European premiere at the Almeida Theatre, London, in May 2009.

Let us begin with

A Steady Fall of Rain

GABRIEL YORK wears a raincoat and stands beneath a black umbrella.

People pass him by. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like GABRIEL, they carry umbrellas and wear raincoats. Their heads are bent against the relentless weather and against their relentless lives. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until in unison they stop.

And GABRIEL opens his mouth and screams.

And a woman falls to her knees in the street.

And a fish falls from the sky and lands at GABRIEL’s feet.

Black.

Gabriel York’s Room

Alice Springs 2039

GABRIEL YORK stands holding the fish.

GABRIEL. I do not believe in God. I do not believe in miracles. I cannot explain this.

It began with a phone call. It was Friday evening. About 10 p.m. Which was unusual. The phone rarely rings and never at that hour. I was reading. As I do before bed. A history. The Decline and Fall of the American Empire 1975–2015. I am fascinated by the past. Which may, at least in part, explain the fish.

I have not seen a fish like this for many years. Not since I was a boy. I mean, I have seen pictures of them but not one in the flesh. They are, after all, or at least they are meant to be, extinct.

Though I have heard rumours that they are still occasionally caught and served, secretly, in the most exclusive of restaurants, but only for the select few and only for those who can pay. If I was to purchase such a fish, if purchasing such a fish as this was still possible for the man in the street, it would cost me a year’s wages. I could never dream of affording such a delicacy. If such a delicacy still existed.

He looks at the fish.

Which strangely, it seems to do.

He lays the fish on the table.

I hesitated before answering the phone. Wrong number, I thought. Surely. Who would call me? Me? At this hour?

It was my son. Andrew.

The name was his mother’s choice. I had wanted to call him Joe. After a man I once knew. Joe was a good man. He told me he only swore once in his life and that was the day he met my mother. And he was always losing his hat. He liked to walk and one day he went for a walk and never came back so it was probably better that it was Andrew and not Joe.

I haven’t seen Andrew for many years. I left when he was a boy. It was cowardly of me, I know. But I was not the fathering type and to be perfectly honest I thought the boy had a better chance without me. I sent money, of course. When I could. And a card. Now and then. For the first few years. I’m not proud of it.

Anyway there he was… this Andrew, this son of mine, on the phone at 10 p.m. on a Friday night. ‘Hello? Is this Gabriel York? It’s Andrew here. Your son. I hope you don’t mind me calling you like this. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that I’m in Alice. And I was wondering if I could see you. Dad?’ Only it went more like. ‘Hello?… Is this… Gabriel York?… It’s Andrew here… Your son… I hope you don’t mind me calling you like this… I hope you don’t mind… It’s just that… I’m in Alice… And … I was wondering if I could see you?… Dad?’

And my mind was racing, trying to stay calm, trying to take each piece of information in and just as I came to terms with one extraordinary fact, such as ‘It’s Andrew’, he would say something else, like ‘Your son’, until I felt unable to reply and the longer I said nothing, the harder it became to say anything at all and so I hung up. And returned to my book. The Decline and Fall of the American Empire… 1975–2015.

I can’t imagine what he thought of me.

I tried to concentrate on the page I was reading but found myself rereading the same line over and over again, its meaning escaping me, when I tasted something salty in the corner of my mouth and realised that I was crying. The tears were falling from my eyes, rolling across my cheeks and gathering in the corners of my mouth. And of course I knew I was crying because of him, hearing his voice, the voice of an adult now when I could only remember the child but it also felt like I was crying for so much more.

So I lifted the receiver and recalled the last number. ‘Andrew?… I’m sorry. That was unforgivable of me.’ And he didn’t say anything and I realised that he was crying too and I wondered whether his tears tasted as bitter as mine. I hoped not… ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said… ‘I’d like to see you very much. Why don’t you come for lunch tomorrow?’

And as soon as I had given him my address and hung up I knew that it was a mistake. Lunch? What was I thinking? What would I give him? I can hardly feed myself, let alone a son I haven’t seen for what… twenty years? What do you serve for lunch in circumstances like that? I mean, lunch hardly seems the point.

And besides, what will he ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Original Production
• A Family Tree
• Characters and Settings
• When the Rain Stops Falling
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information