Ablutions

Patrick deWitt, FellSwoop Theatre

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9781783198719
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Littérature
• Subtopic: Théâtre canadien

Picture yourself as a bartender, sipping top-shelf whiskey and watching your customers descend into nightly oblivion. Your heart is broken by the world around you and, leaving the whisky aside, you hatch a devious, unthinkable plan of escape… Award-winning FellSwoop Theatre present Ablutions: a dark, modern drama, adapted from the novel by Man Booker shortlisted author, Patrick deWitt. A grimly funny tale from the sodden depths of the Los Angeles underworld, Ablutions blends a live soundtrack with detailed mime and deWitt's heart-wrenching humour.

Part One

Ghost Ship

The jukebox plays the GHOST song.

GHOST (singing):

The light through dirty glass

Catches the soapsuds

Draws rainbows on your arms.

She steps out of the jukebox, which continues to sing:

Droplets of dishwater

Fly as your hand scrubs

Collect in dribbling swarms.

YOU:

It begins with the ghost woman that hovers by the tequila bottles. Like all murdered ghosts, she needs impossible assistance. You see, or believe you see, movements of light just over your shoulder or reflected in the glasses of the bar.

YOU are alone in the bar, washing glasses in the sink.

YOU:

You are playing a game you invented some years back. You play it when you are nervous. You run your hands under hot water and attempt to count the scars accumulated on your palms after years of broken glasses.

YOU count:

1, 2, 3…

The jukebox stops as the GHOST turns the tap off.

YOU:

Who’s there?

GHOST:

Audrey.

YOU:

Hepburn?

No answer.

YOU:

Fuckin’ air con…

YOU shiver and reach out to adjust it.

GHOST:

Are you cold?

YOU:

A little.

Do you come here often?

You sound like you come from a movie.

YOU go to make yourself a drink.

How rude of me. Would you like a drink?

GHOST:

I’ll take a Bronx.

YOU:

What’s that?

GHOST:

Well I don’t claim to be the barman, that’s your job. But I do believe it to be a gin with both a sweet and dry vermouth, and just a squeeze of orange. It’s my usual here.

YOU begin to mix the cocktail. The jukebox plays a hint of the GHOST Song as the GHOST steps forward and squeezes your shoulder.

YOU shudder.

GHOST:

That’s enough. I don’t drink like you do.

YOU:

Here, help yourself…

YOU leave the bottle and return to the sink. She slides it across the bar toward YOU as she talks.

GHOST:

You know your friend Simon? He’s not doing too good. Not been taking care of himself. Well, tonight will be his night of reckoning.

YOU:

What do you mean?

GHOST:

If you carry on the way you’re going, you’ll end up just like him.

He continues to wash his hands, counting the scars.

Are you through with your ablutions yet?

She throws the bottle to the floor – the jukebox makes the sound of it breaking, then begins to sing softly:

Take time

Catch breath…

SIMON enters, noticing the mess of glass and booze on the floor.

SIMON:

What the fuck, dickwad? That’s a really expensive bottle of tequila, you gonna clean that up? You still haven’t done the bathroom either. There’s shit all up the walls, it looks like World War Three in there…

He doesn’t wait for YOU to answer –

You shoulda been there last night man – me and Curtis got this new hooker, she’s like nineteen, let’s you do anything you want; Curtis starts ploughing her from behind, still wearing his sunglasses – oh shit, the boss wants to speak with you.

The OWNER’s office – the jukebox playing the OWNER and OWNER’s WIFE theme –

OWNER’S WIFE:

Thanks for comin’ to the office.

YOU:

Sure…

OWNER’S WIFE:

Would you like a drink?

YOU:

Yeah.

OWNER’S WIFE:

Jameson’s?

YOU:

Please.

OWNER’S WIFE:

Double?

YOU:

Okay.

OWNER’S WIFE:

Here you are. That’ll be ten dollars, please.

YOU:

I don’t have any money…

She takes it back.

OWNER’S WIFE:

Despite my husband saying repeatedly that every customer pays every penny for every drop, you and Simon seem to think it’s okay to feed these peoples’ addictions with the product that he owns – for free. Which makes these ‘regular customers’ serial thieves. Which makes Simon a thief. Which makes you a thief. You’re lucky that we don’t report you for…

To her husband:

What’s that word again, honey?

OWNER:

Embezzlement.

OWNER’S WIFE:

Yeah – (struggling to pronounce it) – im-buzzle-munt… Starting from next week,...