Mr Takahashi
Page 2
She hands it to GRACE.
GRACE: Thank you.
AGNES turns to leave.
RUBY: Nice hat, madame.
AGNES: Thank you …
RUBY: Ruby.
AGNES: Thank you, Ruby.
She goes to walk out the door.
RUBY: But that frock, madame.
AGNES: Yes …?
RUBY: You need … a yellow one … maybe with a square neckline.
AGNES looks in the mirror, doubtfully.
AGNES: Grace said it was alright.
RUBY: She’s just a blackfella.
AGNES: Well, I don’t have time to change now. Ruby, come and see me after lunch. Maybe you can be my special adviser!
She leaves.
RUBY plonks down in front of the mirror.
RUBY: Sorry, Sis. Wanna wear some ‘milk tone’ …?
Lights up on DOLORES, CONCEPTUA and other relevant characters.
DOLORES: All of the women are preening.
CONCEPTUA: Pretty Lily combs lemon juice through her hair.
DOLORES: Coconut oil for Ruby.
CONCEPTUA: A final glance in the mirror for Mrs Agnes Lamb.
DOLORES: A final chance to finish off head lice for Maggie.
CONCEPTUA: All clear, Kristina?
KRISTINA: All clear!
MAGGIE: Phew! I’d die if I took nits down there—those Brisbane kids would scream.
KRISTINA: Wish I was going to Brisbane.
MAGGIE: I wish you were, too.
KRISTINA: Who am I gonna play with?
MAGGIE: I’ll be back in the holidays—alright? And I’ll write to you—long letters.
KRISTINA: You’ll forget about me.
MAGGIE: No, I won’t.
KRISTINA: Maggie, what if you change?
Beat.
You might go all ‘lah-di-dah’ at the nunnery.
MAGGIE: It’s a school. And I won’t. Promise.
KRISTINA: Hey, Mags … you wanna be blood sisters?
MAGGIE: [uncertain] Yeah …
KRISTINA: Prick your thumb. Here …
She grabs some bougainvillea, pricks MAGGIE’S thumb with a thorn.
MAGGIE: Ouch!
KRISTINA: Now, I’ll prick mine.
She pricks.
Then … we mix the blood.
MAGGIE: I’m Catholic!
KRISTINA: Yeah …? Catholics don’t have germs! That’s the communists.
She presses her thumb to MAGGIE’S.
MAGGIE: I’m a bit scared, Kristina …
KRISTINA: The nuns won’t know!
DOLORES/CONCEPTUA: Oh, really?!
Beat.
MAGGIE: No … about … I have to get on the boat—by myself—and—
KRISTINA: Yeah, but you’ll be alright now! You’ve got my blood.
MAGGIE: Yeah?
KRISTINA: We’re part of each other now—sisters … best friends forever.
MAGGIE smiles.
MAGGIE: Amen.
Lights up on the post office where JOAN sorts the mail into two piles—‘Darwin’ and ‘Other’. With each ‘Darwin’, she takes a swig from a long-neck.
JOAN: Darwin … other place … Darwin, other, other, everywhere else, the rest of the world … Darwin!
BETTY enters with a pot of soup.
BETTY: Are you okay …?
JOAN: Dandy. Darwin … [pointing to the pile] civilisation … [pointing] that’s you—your pile for the knife.
She demonstrates a knife slitting a throat.
BETTY: We were going to see The Hound …?
JOAN: Right. Horror?
BETTY sighs.
I’m a bit tired, Betts. Darwin!
She swigs.
BETTY: Here’s some soup.
She puts the food out.
Did you hear any news?
JOAN: News? Well … there are whispers about Takahashi.
She taps her nose, secretively.
BETTY: I mean about Dad.
JOAN looks blank.
I thought you got a letter today?
JOAN: No?
BETTY: From Hong Kong?
Beat.
JOAN: That’s right! Well … it wasn’t much—more of a note, really—to tell me he’s, you know, still got a head! He said to give you a kiss.
BETTY: Yeah?
JOAN: He was very proud of your promotion.
BETTY: Oh, really? Can I read it?
JOAN: No! I mean … it’s at home. I left it at lunch. Are you checking my mail?
BETTY: Sorry. Of course not. No! And I only check outbound, anyway.
Pause.
It’s just … I only got that scabby postcard.
JOAN: Oh, Betts … He’s on a ship, baby?
BETTY: So?
JOAN: It’s a long swim to the mailbox?
BETTY: Other dads send letters!
JOAN: Billy’s not ‘other dads’—he was never one for the ‘chinwag’.
BETTY: Chinwag?! Doesn’t he miss me?
JOAN: Of course!
Beat.
He’s just … not … literate!
BETTY: Mum!
JOAN: Shall we teach him how to write …?
She grabs a pen and paper.
Dear Dad, this is a letter. And these are letters I’m writing on my letter … I hope that doesn’t confuse you …?
BETTY smiles.
Let’s go to the pictures. You need some cheering up.
She swigs at her beer.
Wear that rose frock of yours. It brings out your colour.
BETTY: You sure you’re alright?
JOAN: Good as gold. Last sip. [She slugs it back] No more. I’ll wait here while you go change.
BETTY leaves.
JOAN carefully withdraws a letter from a hiding place. She opens it, takes a brief look. Then she pops it down her bra.
CHORUS: Someone must have picked it up and put it in their pocket …
Lights up on the maids’ bedroom at Government House.
GRACE sits before the mirror. Her face is smeared with make-up, and she’s not entirely happy with the effect. So she slaps on a bit more, and a bit more. Just as she’s finishing, RUBY turns the door handle. GRACE hops into bed and pulls up the sheet.
RUBY: Grace … You comin’ to the pictures?
She shakes her gently.
You’re not asleep, Girl! Come on.
She pulls on the tight sheet.
Come on, Gracey …
She yanks her out and laughs loudly.
Oh, dear Lord! You’re as white as the missus’ arse!
GRACE: Stop it!
GRACE flops back to bed.
RUBY: You look like you’re dead! I’m gonna call you ‘Ghost Girl’ now … ‘Ghostey’. Get up, Ghostey. Come on—time to go.
GRACE: I’m not comin’.
RUBY: Ghostey …
GRACE: Go away.
RUBY: Ah, come on, Grace. ’Course I’m gonna laugh—you look funny!
GRACE sits up.
GRACE: I look like Joan Crawford! What would you know? You’re just a blackfella!
RUBY: Well, I know something … She’s got you wrapped around her little finger—her and her used-up creams.
GRACE: No, she hasn’t!
RUBY: I wouldn’t take her scabby jars.
GRACE: They’re nice! And they’re my only things …
Beat.
RUBY: Come here, Gracey …
She starts cleaning GRACE’S face.
You don’t need her make-up. Look! You’ve got a beautiful face.
GRACE: No, I don’t. My eye’s wonky … I’m too dark.
RUBY: So’s honey … You want them bees buzzing around? Come on. Picture’s started.
Lights up on the Star Picture Theatre.
A camera flashes as LILY walks down the aisles, a tray of peanuts poised at her breasts. ROSE is selling lollies. The newsreel begins, and the sisters hurry back to their seats.
CHORUS: A people’s war is being waged in Chin
a. Guerrillas in every village are working behind the lines to repel the Japanese. Using home-made grenades and Molotov cocktails …
ROSE: What did the soldiers want?
LILY: [shrugging] My name, how old I am …
ROSE: Too young!
CHORUS: Shhhh!
LILY: I sold lots of peanuts.
ROSE: I knew this would happen! We can’t go anywhere without getting humbug. It’s like you’re the queen.
LILY: Princess.
ROSE: What?
LILY: They said I was a princess.
She beams innocently. ROSE groans. Everyone turns around.
CHORUS: Shhhh!
LILY: Charles is down there …
ROSE: I know. I saw him.
LILY: I thought you liked him?
ROSE: I did.
LILY: Maybe he likes you, too?
ROSE: He prefers you.
Beat.
I’ve been waiting ten years for you kids to get off my back.
LILY: I’m big now, Rosey—I’m right.
ROSE: You’re still a child. And I’m becoming the Smith Street Spinster …
ROSE shifts the tray of goodies and accidentally spills aniseed balls that clatter down the aisle.
CHORUS: Oy!
The film slows and keeps clicking as it rotates. The lights die.
DOLORES: Something’s wrong—the air is shifting.
CONCEPTUA: It’s waiting …
DOLORES: Waiting for the tardy storms.
CONCEPTUA: You could cut the humidity—
DOLORES: With the sword of a samurai.
CONCEPTUA: Where are the Japanese?
CHORUS: Closer.
DOLORES: In June, they were in—
CHORUS: China.
DOLORES: In July, they swooped down over—
CHORUS: French Indochina.
CONCEPTUA: Now, Hong Kong’s in their sights.
DOLORES: It’s August and the land is waiting.
An air-raid siren sounds. The lights dim on Star Pictures.
RUBY: What?!
GRACE: It’s that air-raid test.
RUBY: Bugger. How long’s it for?
GRACE: [shrugging] An hour …
RUBY: Eh?! They already tested the siren.
Beat.
You wanna smoke?
GRACE: We can’t—no lights!
RUBY sighs.
RUBY: I’m goin’ outside.
GRACE: Stay here, Rube—I’m frightened.
RUBY: What for?
GRACE: It’s dark and … quiet. What if they come?
RUBY: The Japs?! They’re a long way away! You’re myall*!
She goes to get up.
GRACE: I’m not gettin’ up in front of them white mob!
RUBY: I am. Gonna find me a big, strong soldier.
RUBY leaves.
GRACE: Sis!
The air-raid siren sounds. Lights crossfade to KRISTINA, sitting on her bed. She lights a candle, and begins a letter. Music underscores her thoughts.
KRISTINA: Dear Maggie, you should’ve been here! We had our first blackout tonight. It was eerie. The air-raid siren wailed like a wounded dingo. We had to turn out the lights, and pretend the Japanese were coming—not you; the real Japanese. It gave me the shivers.
Lights up on the post office where BETTY censors the letter with scissors.
BETTY: Dear Maggie, you should’ve been here! We had a black night. The air wailed like a wounded dingo.
CHORUS: [singing] Cut lights and the Japanese—
You, Japanese.
You gave me the shivers.
KRISTINA: How’s school? Are the girls nice? I hope you’re having a great time. You still coming back in December?
CHORUS: [singing] Nice girls and the Japanese—
You, Japanese.
You gave me the shivers.
KRISTINA: I went to your father’s studio. It was Mum’s idea—get a portrait done for my birthday. He’s got a lot of mirrors, hey? It’s to check your hair, they reckon.
BETTY: I checked on your father. It was Mum, full of ideas. A portrait, a lot of mirrors, smoke and mirrors and suspicious mail.
KRISTINA: You know, I have to ask you something … I mean, I don’t think it’s true or anything, but is your father a spy? The newspaper says that:
KRISTINA/BETTY: ‘Traitors deserve death’!
KRISTINA: Maybe you should—
KRISTINA/BETTY: Stop being Japanese—
KRISTINA: So you don’t get into trouble. Can’t you—
KRISTINA/BETTY: Change your name—
KRISTINA: Or something? I remain your best friend—
KRISTINA/BETTY: Forever and ever—
KRISTINA: Blood sisters until the end.
The lights cut out. A window shatters, a dog makes a racket, the Chorus (as soldiers) stamp down the street.
CONCEPTUA: The Hound of the Baskervilles has been released.
DOLORES: The hunt has just begun.
CONCEPTUA: They’re boys ruining uniforms.
DOLORES: They’re dogs on the run.
CHORUS: [singing roughly] Ten yellow bastards sitting on the wall …
Beneath the following dialogue, the CHORUS continues to sing.
Dim light on Chins’ shop where ROSE stands in the doorway. The dog is howling.
ROSE: Lily?!
CHORUS: [singing] Lily, won’t you blow, Lily, won’t you blow …
ROSE shuts the door. A bottle smashes outside. The singing continues.
DOLORES: Where’s your sister, Rose …?
CONCEPTUA: Your mother is rolling in her grave!
ROSE: Still at the pictures.
CONCEPTUA: Lord have mercy!
ROSE: I got sick of it—it’s like she’s a film star!
DOLORES: And you left her there!
CHORUS: [singing] Someone’s in the kitchen with Lily, someone’s in the kitchen I know-o-o …
ROSE opens the door.
ROSE: [yelling] Lily!
She closes the door again.
Please—I didn’t mean to …
CONCEPTUA: We’ll offer up prayers.
DOLORES: Intercede.
CONCEPTUA/DOLORES: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with—
LILY bursts in the back door, all smiles.
ROSE: Where have you been?
LILY: You should’ve seen—this beautiful, beautiful man with wild, green eyes …
ROSE slaps her roughly, a few times.
CHORUS: [chanting] Long cummy whitey man,
Makey shutty shop.
Ching Chong Chinaman,
Chop, chop, chop.
A window breaks. The girls run behind the counter. There are smashing sounds, yells.
CONCEPTUA: Lily hides amongst the lemons.
DOLORES: Soldiers divide the spoils and spoil the stock.
CONCEPTUA: They finger, filch—
CONCEPTUA/DOLORES: Pinch, flog—
ROSE: Things that don’t belong to them!
She stands up with a shotgun; loads and shoots.
Get out, you mongrels!
She shoots again.
CHORUS: Ow! You bloody chink!
ROSE: Next time I won’t miss!
CHORUS: [from a distance] Slanty-eyed bitch! Why don’t you go back where you come from?
ROSE: Why don’t you?
She shoots again. The dog howls.
You tell ’em, Yellow Peril.
The noises fade. LILY creeps out.
ROSE: You alright?
LILY nods.
LILY: [breaking] I saw that beautiful man with the wild, green eyes.
Beat.
He called us Chinks!
ROSE: Don’t worry about it, Lily. Charles was there, too!
LILY: Hey, Rose—they wrote something …
She walks over to the window.
‘Come and get it’?
A bass line marches.
CONCEPTUA: Can you stand the attention
Drawn to a da
maged shop?
DOLORES: These soldiers claim affection,
Then spoil your wares, chop, chop, chop.
CHORUS: [singing/chanting] The enemy comes to the Territory.
Enemies go with the territory.
Whose is the territory?
Where’s the enemy?
We crossed the wire into enemy fire—
Chop, chop, chop.
Lights up on the post office.
BETTY and JOAN are reading the newspaper.
BETTY: The Labor Party said:
CHORUS: ‘Dissatisfaction with conditions triggered the riot.’
JOAN: Oh, poor dears. Flat beer?
CHORUS: Incoming!
Like Chinese whispers, the CHORUS pass mailbags to the post office. BETTY and JOAN simultaneously grab for the first one.
JOAN: It’s my job, Betty …?
BETTY relinquishes and returns to the paper while JOAN sorts mail.
BETTY: There’s a story on the Japanese:
CHORUS: ‘His skin is different, his brain is different, his soul is entirely different from the white man’s.’
JOAN: What about Takahashi? His brain’s alright.
BETTY: Maybe too right. People are suspicious.
JOAN: What people—Kristina’s mum? She’s a few cards short of a deck.
BETTY: She wanted to report him—said he’s sending Morse code to the Japs.
JOAN: Dot dot splat—save our brains?
BETTY: Well, he does have that mirror …
A spotlight on KRISTINA.
KRISTINA: [to CONCEPTUA] Sister, are Japanese souls really different?
CONCEPTUA: Kristina! If you don’t have anything nice to say …
KRISTINA: But are they?
DOLORES: Is Maggie’s?
KRISTINA: She’s Catholic.
DOLORES: Well, then …
KRISTINA: They just give me the creeps, you know?
DOLORES/CONCEPTUA: Kristina!
KRISTINA: Not the Takahashis—the real Japanese. What about China? I saw a photo of these people—women, too—and they had blindfolds on, and the Japs were pushing them down this hole …
DOLORES: Where did you see this?
Beat.
KRISTINA: Mr Takahashi’s …
Lights up on MAGGIE in her school bedroom
MAGGIE: Dear Kristina, almost holidays! I can’t wait to see you again! What’s it like? Is it dreadfully hot? I’ve grown used to cooler weather down here. What are you doing for Christmas? Come to the beach. I hope it storms! Remember how we used to sit on the cliffs, and watch them roll in? We’d count the gaps between the lightning and thunder, remember? Then we’d scream and run when it got too close! Anyway … my ship gets in on the twentieth of December. How was Pearl Harbour, hey? I can’t believe those Japanese! Will you meet me at the wharf?
The lights fade. Distant thunder
DOLORES: A praying mantis is clinging to the door.