Gwen in Purgatory

Tommy Murphy

• Publisher: Currency Press
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781921429200
• Topic: Littérature
• Subtopic: Théâtre

Gwen is 90. She woke up this morning to discover that purgatory is sitting alone in a new house in a new subdivision on the edge of town, trying to work out if the remote in her hand operates the TV, the air-con or the fanforced oven. But the kids are coming round and Father Ezekiel is on his way to bless the house, so the beginning of the end is looking up...

Written specially for Company B, Gwen in Purgatory is Tommy Murphy's brilliant existential comedy about an African missionary in the wilderness of Australian suburbia. Gwen's brood of ordinary souls is battling along in a changing world and wringing out the last drops of their matriarch's faith.

Between them they may just find their way to some sort of forgiveness.

GWEN is at home, almost.

The room is brand spanking new with an open-plan kitchen and tiled floor. Boxes remain unpacked and Gwen’s new dining table is wrapped in protective plastic. A rolling pin and some baking utensils remain Mary-Celeste-like on the bench.

GWEN is waiting in her Sunday best, a stylish homemade outfit. She is attentive to the goings-on around her. There is seemingly nothing going on around her. Don’t sleep, GWEN. Don’t sleep, GWEN. Don’t sleep, GWEN. Dip by dip, GWEN ebbs into shallow sleep.

The phone rings! GWEN soon computes where she is and what is alarming her. The phone. She does her preparation for standing, gaining sufficient momentum, up, steady, and finally she can shuffle. She is but a few steps from her chair when the phone stops. GWEN stops. She’ll sit again.

As soon as GWEN is seated, the phone rings. The standing regime repeated, GWEN moves as fast as her frame of ninety years will carry her: it’s not a run and not much quicker than her walk, but her arms move more.

The phone stops when GWEN is achingly close. Bending is a strain, but GWEN picks up the phone. Ignorant of the benefit of a cordless, GWEN carts the entire apparatus back to her chair. The cord follows, freeing itself from the socket.

GWEN sits and waits for the disconnected phone to ring. A phone rings.

GWEN answers the phone on her lap.

GWEN: Hello. Hello?

GWEN does not see the ringing mobile on the bench behind her.

Are you there? Can you speak up? Hang on, the cord’s out.

GWEN places the landline phone on her chair and pushes it all to the socket. It isn’t easy but she manages to reconnect the phone, collect the user’s manual and sit in her chair. She’ll wait again.

GWEN opens the user’s manual. Her eyes strain. Where are her reading glasses? They are on a distant box. She stands. The phone rings. She answers.

Sorry about that. It wasn’t plugged in. How can I help you?

But it’s not this phone that’s ringing, GWEN; it’s that one over on the bench. She notices the ringing mobile now. The race is on. As GWEN hurries to the ringing mobile she sees that she might actually make it. Her hand is about to touch the mobile when it stops. Never mind. GWEN returns to her seat armed with all of the controls, the phones, her reading glasses and the user’s manual. She sits.

Doorbell.

GWEN stands. The doorbell chimes again and again on her approach. She slows. Someone bangs at the door. She halts. Someone is moving around the house, peering in windows. The menacing shape of a man at the glass has GWEN backing towards her phone. Another knock. GWEN’s hand is trembling as she holds the phone and tries to call a number. The phone rings in her hand and she throws it down. She turns to the other phone and it rings. She answers it.

Yes. Who? Oh. I’m scared half to death in here. Yes. Oh, will I let you in? Yes. Wait a minute while I find my key. Yes. I’m getting the key. You’re at my door. Yes. Come to the front door. I know. I have the key. I’m no good with the locks in this place. It’s like—My old place had—It’s like Fort Knox. Pardon? Yes. I’m going to let you in. No. Fort Knox. I’m doing it. I’ve got myself a new phone but I’m no—Yes but I didn’t—Yes. No. Fort Knox. You’re not hearing me. The United States Bullion Depository. Will you wait till I—Yes. Yes. Hang on. I’m no good with—

The door opened—

Thank heavens it’s only you.

DANIEL, GWEN’s grandson is at the door. He wears a ‘high vis’ fluorescent work jacket.

DANIEL: Yeah. He’s gone.

GWEN: Who’s gone?

DANIEL: That bloke. He’s long gone.

GWEN: I know he’s long gone. I saw him go.

DANIEL: What are y’worried about? He’s not coming back.

GWEN: What are you doing calling from the front yard?

DANIEL: Checking you’re okay.

GWEN: Come to the door then.

DANIEL: I did. You okay?

GWEN: I’m wonderful.

DANIEL: You didn’t answer.

GWEN: I thought you’d gone too.

DANIEL: I called from up the road but you didn’t answer so I came back.

GWEN: I didn’t know who this was at my door.

DANIEL: It was just me.

GWEN: Well that’s clear now, Mark.

DANIEL: Daniel.

GWEN: Daniel. I mean Daniel. You grandkids, you’re all the image of each other. Are you staying?

DANIEL: Nah, I’m going.

GWEN: But will you come inside this time? Come in, Daniel.

DANIEL: D’you know how to answer that mobile phone, Nana?

GWEN: Phones phones.

DANIEL: Y’right?

GWEN: No it is good when they all call. I’m alright. I’m teaching myself to use this phone Naomi bought me but I’ll need someone to organise the cords. I’ve read the manual to the air conditioner—

DANIEL: Okay—

GWEN: I’ve read the manual to the air conditioner and the oven but it was that hot here last night I thought—

DANIEL: You’d confused them.

GWEN: I said, I’ve gone and used the—

DANIEL: Air conditioner for—

GWEN: No, I’ve used the oven manual for the air ...