Counting and Cracking
Page 3
Beat.
PRIEST: [sympathetic] Okay. [To siddhartha, in English] Come. Together, together.
He walks into the river.
SIDDHARTHA: Do I follow?
RADHA: Into the river.
SIDDHARTHA: Are you serious?
RADHA: No questions.
SIDDHARTHA: I should have worn shorts.
RADHA: Jeans is bad enough. Your ammamma would be disgusted.
SIDDHARTHA: I’m not sure we should walk into the Georges River. It looks pretty green. This is probably illegal.
RADHA: Kunthavi Aunty did her mother’s funeral rites here and said it was fine.
SIDDHARTHA: Oh if an aunty said so … Can I put my shirt back on?
RADHA: I don’t think anyone cares about your stupid body that looks like a stick.
SIDDHARTHA: So can I?
RADHA: No. Go. Go.
SIDDHARTHA follows the priest into the shallows.
The priest chants in Sanskrit, then:
PRIEST: [English, to SIDDHARTHA] Okay okay, now, you.
The Priest gestures to Siddhartha. SIDDHARTHA looks to radha, confused.
[To RADHA] அஸ்திய தண்ணீல கலக்க சொல்லுங்கோ. (He must release the ashes.)
RADHA: [to SIDDHARTHA] You must let the ashes go into the water.
SIDDHARTHA: Yes.
PRIEST: [English] Let go. Let go.
SIDDHARTHA slowly empties the contents of the urn into the water.
Without looking at siddhartha, the priest takes the urn and returns to the bank.
RADHA: Come.
SIDDHARTHA: [returning to the bank] That’s it?
RADHA: No questions! Yes.
SIDDHARTHA: That’s it.
RADHA: That’s it. Good boy. Why are you crying? I’m not crying.
SIDDHARTHA: [crying] I’m not crying.
RADHA: Now she can rest. Put your clothes back on. Here.
She takes a towel from her bag.
What, Siddhartha?
SIDDHARTHA: What?
RADHA: Don’t think at me.
SIDDHARTHA: I don’t understand anything that’s—
RADHA: Your ammamma doted on you. Even when you left she didn’t say anything—
SIDDHARTHA: Amma—
RADHA: She doted on you. Now she can rest. Now I have to do all the worrying about you.
SIDDHARTHA puts his shirt back on.
Will you move back home now?
SIDDHARTHA: Amma …
RADHA: You’ve been in Bondi for six months.
SIDDHARTHA: Coogee, Amma. Bondi’s full of backpackers.
RADHA: What’s wrong with Pendle Hill?
SIDDHARTHA: Coogee’s closer to uni. I’ve told you this. I study better.
RADHA: What is media studies anyway?
SIDDHARTHA: Amma—I should go. I don’t want to—I’ll call you in a week or so. / And come over for dinner.
RADHA: Fine.
SIDDHARTHA: / We don’t have to fight.
RADHA: / Off you go.
SIDDHARTHA: / I’m glad I came.
RADHA: Take the towel for the train. Don’t wreck it. Wash it carefully in a delicate cycle and bring / it back.
SIDDHARTHA: Amma—
RADHA: Go. I want to talk to the priest.
Beat.
SIDDHARTHA: I’ll come over soon okay. [To the PRIEST] Thank you. Goodbye.
PRIEST: No goodbyes!
SIDDHARTHA is confused.
RADHA: In Tamil we don’t say goodbye. Only, I will go and come back.
SIDDHARTHA: Okay. I will go and [leaving, as The Terminator] I’ll be back!
He goes.
RADHA: Stupid boy.
She gives the priest two fifty-dollar notes.
அவ என்னோட இருக்கிறத விட, தன்ர ஆக்களோட இருக்கிறதத் தான் விரும்புவா. (My mother will be happier with her ancestors than she was with me.)
PRIEST: Chi.
RADHA: She didn’t raise me, ayar. My grandparents did. And Nihinsa—
PRIEST: Radha. [He gestures to say ‘enough’.] She is home now.
Beat.
RADHA: Ayar. Twenty-one years ago I left Sri Lanka with my son in here [touching her belly] and my grandfather’s ashes in a Tupperware container. Nine years ago my father’s ashes were handed to me by this sweet woman named Shirley at Rookwood Crematorium. My accountant took them back to Sri Lanka in his suitcase and my father’s ashes were scattered in the Kelani river. Today, his wife’s ashes have been poured into the Georges River, and they are together again. No more violence. No more exile. No more waste. Ayar. My grandfather’s ashes have been sitting under my bed for twenty-one years.
The priest looks at her.
தெரியும் … அவர் நல்ல கோபத்தில இருப்பார். (I know. He’d be furious.)
The priest keeps looking at her.
சண்ட முடியட்டும் எண்டு பாத்துக் கொண்டிருந்தனான் … திரும்பப் போகலாம் எண்டு நினச்சன் … (Maybe I was waiting for the fighting to end. Before going back home again …)
PRIEST: Apah’s ashes have been under your bed?
RADHA: In Pendle Hill. For twenty-one years. Ayar …
She takes a small Tupperware container from her bag.
Please.
Beat.
PRIEST: உங்கட மகன் தான் இத செய்யோணும். (Your son should do this.)
RADHA: அவன ஏன் கரச்சல் பண்ணிக் கொண்டு? அவனுக்கு ஒண்டும் விளங்கப் போறதுமில்ல. அவன் இப்ப ஒஸ்ரேலியாவில. கூஜீயில இருக்கிறான் … Media studies படிக்கிறான். (Why bother the poor child? He doesn’t understand all that. He’s in Australia now. In Coogee. Studying media studies.) What does that mean? Studying studies?
PRIEST: மன்னிக்கோணும் ராதா … அப்பிடிச் செய்யேலாது. (Radha. I’m sorry, no.)
With his hands he gestures: I’m sorry, no.
RADHA: அப்பிடியெண்டா? (Then what?)
PRIEST: செய்யேக்க ஒழுங்கா செய்யோணும். சரியான நேரத்தில செய்யோணும். இப்ப இல்ல. (It must be done properly, at the right time. No.)
Again the priest gestures: I’m sorry, no.
RADHA: சரியான நேரம் பிழையான நேரமாப் போச்சு. (The right time was the wrong time.)
PRIEST: சரியான நேரம் வரைக்கும் காத்திருக்கோணும். (You must wait for the right time again.) Apah was my friend. No.
Again the priest gestures: I’m sorry, no. The sound of a car horn.
RADHA: ஐயர் … (Ayar …)
PRIEST: மருமகப் பொடியன் என்ன woolliesக்குக் கொண்டு போறான். அவன்ர அப்பர மாதிரி அவனுக்கும் அவசரம். (My nephew is taking me to Woolworths. He drives too fast. Like his father.)
Beat.
RADHA: சரி. (Okay.)
PRIEST: போயிட்டு வாறன். (Goodbye.)
RADHA: போயிட்டு வாங்கோ. (Goodbye.)
The priest begins to leave.
[Calling after him] You should try the Aldi’s in Bankstown. Their prices are much better.
The priest is gone.
Radha puts the Tupperware back in her bag.
நீங்களும் நானும் மட்டும் தான் இப்ப … தாத்�
�ா. (Just you and me now, Grandfather.)
SCENE TWO
Sully Street, Coogee, 2004. Distant sound of party.
Siddhartha and lily are walking away from the party to the park opposite. Both are drunk. Siddhartha is struggling to roll a joint. He is wound up.
SIDDHARTHA: See people think they’re talking to each other but we don’t really see each other—we see the image of what we are, not what we fucking actually are. Soon …
He takes out his Nokia 6630.
… we’re gonna have phones that have tiny friggin’ cameras and TVs in them and we’re gonna become just—simulations performing for each other. What Baudrillard calls simulacrums. Can you hold my phone? [He throws it to her.] Thanks. It’s like, the only way humans can handle living together is if we all live in our own virtual realities. Tiny, isolated, private universes. Thanks for dancing with me, by the way. You’re an excellent dancer.
LILY: You’re a brave dancer.
SIDDHARTHA: Thank you.
He puts the rolled joint in his jeans pocket and starts feeling for his lighter.
We’re disconnected. Waiting for the wave to crash. I’m paraphrasing now. John someone, uh—‘We are waiting with the cruel, / experienced eye—
LILY: We’re quoting now?
SIDDHARTHA: —cruel, experienced eye of a citizenry that has lost respect for its leadership in general but hasn’t quite worked out what to / do about it—’1
LILY: Here’s one for ya. ‘We have successfully constructed political systems in which the power of the state is constrained. This success lies in recognising that power can only be controlled by power.’
SIDDHARTHA: Faaaaark. Who said that? Thomas Jefferson? / Lincoln?
LILY: / What? No!
SIDDHARTHA: Mao? Trotsky! Foucault!
LILY: Idiot. It’s what they tell senators when they get inducted into the Australian Parliament.
SIDDHARTHA: Law. You’re a law student.
LILY: Gold star to you, kiddo.
SIDDHARTHA: Can you guess what I’m studying?
LILY: Mate you’re clearly an arts student.
SIDDHARTHA: Arts and media studies.
LILY: What even is that?
Siddhartha’s phone starts ringing.
SIDDHARTHA: Why do people keep asking me that?!
LILY: Your phone’s ringing.
SIDDHARTHA: It’s alright. It’s just Amma.
LILY: Who’s that?
SIDDHARTHA: Amma. Means Mum.
LILY: Then answer it!
SIDDHARTHA: She’s a Lankan mum! Shit’s urgent all the time, y’know? She calls me at five a.m. to catch me at parties and make sure I’m alive and stuff.
LILY: Is that normal Sri Lankan mum behaviour, or—
SIDDHARTHA: Pretty normal, in my experience. But no definitely not. Even for a Lankan mum she’s like fully over the top. Do you have a lighter?
LILY: I’ve got some Sri Lankan in me.
SIDDHARTHA: You do?!
LILY: This DNA scientist came up to our place and took swabs from inside our cheeks. Couple of months later they told us we’ve got Sri Lankan in us.
SIDDHARTHA: From when?
LILY: About four thousand years ago.
SIDDHARTHA: Faaaaaaaark!
LILY: Right?
SIDDHARTHA: So some Lankan fisherman or something made their way to Australia four thousand years ago?
LILY: Maybe. My aunties reckon they were traders.
SIDDHARTHA: That’s three thousand eight hundred years before the English came.
LILY: Yep …
SIDDHARTHA: Wow. Prior claim, white guys.
LILY: What?
SIDDHARTHA: Shit sorry / I’m a moron. Respect—
LILY: Tell me about your mum.
SIDDHARTHA: [laughing, defensively] What?
LILY: Ahah! Tell me about your mum.
SIDDHARTHA: Why?
LILY: Do it, Mister Eyelashes.
SIDDHARTHA: Excuse me?
LILY: Tell me about your mum!
SIDDHARTHA: [laughing] I don’t know. She’s my mum. We fight. I moved out of home. She stopped talking to me. I don’t know.
LILY: Why’d you move out of home?
SIDDHARTHA: Cause we fight all the time.
LILY: Why do you fight?
SIDDHARTHA: [laughing] How would I know? I fight with my amma. She fought with her amma. That’s what we do.
LILY: How come she’s calling you if she stopped talking to you?
SIDDHARTHA: Because my ammamma got sick—
LILY: Ammamma?
SIDDHARTHA: My mum’s mum.
LILY: Amma’s amma.
SIDDHARTHA: That’s it.
LILY: Then what happened?
SIDDHARTHA: Why do you want to know?!
LILY: Come on, Eyelashes. Why did your amma fight with her amma?
SIDDHARTHA: I don’t know.
LILY: Ask your ammamma.
SIDDHARTHA: She died. A few days ago.
LILY: I’m sorry.
SIDDHARTHA: No that’s okay. It was time. That sounds a bit—I loved her, I really loved my ammamma. Her name was Dhamayanthi. She always wore blue. She spoilt me. She never told me anything. ’Cept just before she died she leans over to me and whispers, ‘You were the only good thing that came out of your parents’ marriage.’ She told me that.
LILY: What about your dad?
SIDDHARTHA: Ha! No dad. He died. Also.
LILY: I’m sorry.
SIDDHARTHA: It’s okay. It was before I was born.
LILY: Was he Sri Lankan?
SIDDHARTHA: I think so. His name was Thirru Sivakumar. Which I only know ’cos Amma had to give me my birth certificate when I got a passport.
LILY: So where were you born?
SIDDHARTHA: Here. Liverpool Hospital. 1983. Amma came to Australia when she was pregnant with me. And that’s it, okay? That’s all I know!
LILY: Why don’t you ask your mum—
SIDDHARTHA: You ask my mum!
LILY: I will.
SIDDHARTHA: I fucking won’t. She’s a black hole. If I get too close I’ll be— It’s cold. Aren’t you cold?
LILY: So you’re Tamil? You’re not— what’s the other—
SIDDHARTHA: Singhalese. Nah, we’re Tamil. We’re the minority. But my name’s Sinhalese. And I don’t speak Tamil, and I’ve never been to Sri Lanka. Here I am with too much English, a Sinhala name, no Tamil and some very bad Spanish. I’m a terrible Sri Lankan. Muy terriblé!
LILY: [warmly] Idiot.
SIDDHARTHA: Today was Ammamma’s funeral. I chanted Sanskrit and poured her ashes into the Georges River. I thought before she died she might tell me, you know.
Pause. He rubs his arms, still shivering a little.
That DNA scientist guy. Came up to ‘our place’ you said. Our place. Where’s that?
LILY: Up North. Yolngu people.
SIDDHARTHA: Arnhem Land. Saltwater people.
LILY: Yeah. [Beat] My family are all in Yirrkala.
SIDDHARTHA: Yirrkala. Sounds like Tamil. Tell me about Yirrkala.
LILY: Oh you know. Red dirt. Deserted beaches.
SIDDHARTHA: C’mon.
LILY: Crocs. Sharks—
SIDDHARTHA: Yeah yeah, lots of animals that’ll kill ya and skies full of stars. I’ve seen the ads. Tell me about your home.
Lily sizes him up.
LILY: My Namala—that’s what we call our birth mums—she paints the stars.
SIDDHARTHA: Uh huh.
LILY: She painted me this story once. About the Milky Way. She drew this … massive body of water in the sky.
Lily draws a circle in the air above them.
It’s where we live for eternity. We’re all these tiny little fish that just swim up in there.
Lily fills the circle with lots of small crosses.
SIDDHARTHA: Huh.
LILY: And when the time comes to go down to earth, we get to pick who our parents are. You choose your amma, you know?
SIDDHARTHA: Woah.
LILY: So we come down from the Milky Way and swim to our chosen parents. And we live our lives down here, all this … stuff … but at the end we go back up there—in our Larrpan, this beautiful canoe—to Baralku, our island in the sky.
SIDDHARTHA: Back up there—to the Milky Way?
LILY: Yeah.
SIDDHARTHA: Huh.
LILY: What?
SIDDHARTHA: Well … You know how the stars and planets and stuff are all moving, right? Here.
He stands up. Pauses.
Even like this— [He becomes completely still.] We’re floating in space right now. We’re moving. We’re always moving. Right?
LILY: Yeah …
SIDDHARTHA: According to Ammamma, that mass of stars and galaxies is a dolphin in the sky. And the Milky Way is its belly. And all that movement? The flow of the stars? Ammamma called it the Ganges of the sky.
LILY: So we have Baralku. And you have the Ganges.
SIDDHARTHA: Water and water, Ammamma always used to say. Water and water. Down here, up there— [He leans in and touches her belly] and in here too. It’s all one thing, you know?
She nods.
They kiss.
LILY: Sun’s coming up.
SIDDHARTHA: Um. I don’t even know your name.
LILY: I’m Lily. And my Yolngu name is Yumalil.
SIDDHARTHA: Hi Yumalil. [Beat] I’m Siddhartha.
LILY: Sid—what—now?
SIDDHARTHA: Siddhartha. It was Buddha’s name before he became, well, Buddha.
LILY: Hi Siddhartha.
Beat.
SIDDHARTHA: What’s the date today, Lily?
LILY: It’s the ninth of March.
He looks at the phone, then her.
SIDDHARTHA: Five a.m. on the ninth of March, 2004.
LILY: Yep.
SIDDHARTHA: Five a.m. On the ninth of March. 2004.
SCENE THREE
Radha’s apartment in Pendle Hill.
An ornate wooden Sri Lankan armchair. The Tupperware container with Apah’s ashes sits on the chair.
Radha stuffs clothes and household items into large garbage bags: sarees, a cricket bat, medical items, etc. With her shoulder she holds a cordless phone to her ear.
RADHA: I don’t know, I rang the number on the Holroyd Council website and pressed three or nine and held and pressed five for—