Away In A Sand Dune (AKA Jesus vs. Cannibals)

by Harley Byrne

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  BYRNE. What a fascinating culture you are, Jonathan!

  JONATHAN. Yes. On Christmas day we wake before the break of dawn and gather around a tree to sing a seasonal song -

  BATT. Ah! A Christmas tree!

  JONATHAN. It’s just a tree. It’s mainly trees around here, else we’d gather around something better. A stereo system for example.

  BYRNE. You know of stereo systems, Jonathan?

  JONATHAN. No.

  BARNARD. What a coinky-dink, eh? These injuns have Christmas too. Then you must believe in the Baby Jesus?

  JONATHAN. Baby who-zus?

  BARNARD. Jesus. Jesus. He’s really great. He flew to earth so that – well, it’s complicated, he did a lot of good works. And then, he was really just a lovely guy even when he wasn’t particularly concentrating on a particular – miracle. Miracles he was big on. None come to mind. Look, I don’t have to prove myself to anyone, alright?

  NADIA. But you don’t believe in Baby Jesus? Then how can you have Christmas?

  JONATHAN. It’s less to do with the – with any particular – it’s more timed to be a winter solstice sort of thing. A celebration of the winter and its rebirth into solstice. –tidude.

  BYRNE. But this is the southern hemisphere. It’s winter solstice in the northern hemisphere right now.

  JONATHAN. Er. Yes. And we think that’s great

  BYRNE. I’ve never known one hemisphere show as much respect for another hemisphere’s winter solstice as your hemisphere shows for the other hemisphere’s winter solstice.

  JONATHAN. Any excuse for a party. Monkey kebab?

  JONATHAN takes a big bite from a monkey kebab. Re-enter HIWA with a tray of steaming mugs.

  HIWA. Were you telling them about your birthday festival tomorrow, your majesty?

  JONATHAN’s mouth is full.

  BARNARD. Hold on. Birthday?

  BATT. Oh! Happy birthday!

  BYRNE. He said that your festival is to do with the winter solstice.

  HIWA. I’ve never heard of that. On this island, Christmas is when we celebrate the anniversary of Jonathan’s arrival among us mortals.

  HIWA hands out the tea.

  BYRNE. Jonathan?

  JONATHAN (swallowing). I was being modest.

  HIWA. Yes, Jonathan’s parents are sky gods. His father is Fedex, the God of Sacred Deliveries, which is why he plopped Jonathan on the beach for us. His Mother is Dulux, the God of Many Shades, which is why you’ll notice he’s a little paler than the rest of us. We were going to kill and eat him until he explained that one.

  BARNARD spits his tea out.

  BARNARD. This is hot sea water!

  JONATHAN. Thank you. It’s my own recipe.

  BYRNE. Fascinating. What a culture! A modest god. A winter festival in the middle of summer. And just like us, you exchange gifts in the frustrating disguise of brightly coloured paper.

  JONATHAN. Not exactly. The gifts are all for me. It’s my special day, you see.

  BATT. Then the squaw should be wrapping them. You’ll spoil the surprise.

  HIWA. His majesty is the only one that can work the magic sticking tape. With his powers.

  JONATHAN. Anyway, we only have a limited supply of gifts, so they just re-wrap and give me the same presents each Christmas. Every year it’s socks! That’s just a little joke we have. It’s quite culturally specific.

  BATT. No! We have that joke too!

  JONATHAN. Please don’t steal our joke. We don’t have much on this island. Just our jokes and our music and our socks. And a few LPs and an electric man-razor.

  BYRNE. We’ll be stealing more than your jokes! First thing in the morning, I intend to record your Christmas song. I’ll take it back to my employers at the Universal Ear Record Company and before you know it, you’ll be rich and famous. The island will be buzzing. Jonathan, the child of the sky gods, will be known to the whole world!

  JONATHAN. Okay. Two things. Number one: you are not recording my Christmas song. And number two: you can never leave this island. Welcome. You are one of us now. All four of you. Thank you. Hiwa will find you some skirts.

  BYRNE. Here’s two things for you, your majesty. Number one: It is my job to record and make available for download all the world’s music ever and I am going to record that song. Number-

  BARNARD. Really? That’s your job?

  JONATHAN removes a pair of shades from his pocket and silently puts them on.

  HIWA. You are making Jonathan angry. You don’t want to see him angry, especially when he’s wielding the magic sticking tape.

  BYRNE. Angry or not, I’ve got a job to do, and you don’t stand in the way of a man who’s in regular employment.

  JONATHAN. I have spoken. Hiwa – skirts.

  BATT. I think you’ve made him cross.

  BYRNE. The best thing is to be straight with these people.

  BATT. How about we either use a bit of guile or change our intentions to something that won’t get us killed?

  BYRNE. Susan Batt, you have no backbone.

  BATT. I bloody do.

  BYRNE. We’ll see about that. Right, Jonathan, your majesty, here it is: you’re going to let us record you singing your Christmas song tomorrow morning, or you’re going to feel the might of my 21st century martial arts fusion weighing down on your ancient society.

  HIWA. But this is the 21st century. We are the 21st century.

  BARNARD. The squaw’s got a point.

  BYRNE. Right. Yes. I forgot I’m not time-travelling. I’m just travelling.

  JONATHAN. Hiwa!

  NADIA. I know what he’s going to say.

  HIWA. Yes, your majesty?

  JONATHAN. Pick up your spear.

  HIWA. Yes, your majesty.

  JONATHAN. Point it at them.

  HIWA. Yes, your majesty.

  JONATHAN. You are now my captives again.

  BATT. Yes, your majesty.

  The others mumble in agreement.

  JONATHAN. You will be sacrificed to the sky gods, who may or may not be angry with us right now. On Christmas day, in the morning.

  NADIA. Shit.

  Scene Five

  Our heroes have been tied to trees.

  BATT. It’s trees again.

  BARNARD. That’s for sure.

  BATT. And then death in the morning.

  BARNARD. Did they say it was in the morning that we’d be executed to death?

  BATT. I believe so, yes.

  BARNARD. Terrific. More delays.

  BYRNE (bellows). We’re doomed!

  They look at him in silence. Eventually, and I mean eventually:

  Sorry. I’m really hungry.

  BATT. I’ve got an idea.

  BYRNE. Let’s just have some quiet time.

  BATT. You could apologise and promise not to record Jonathan’s Christmas song.

  BYRNE. Not an option.

  BATT. Not for you, perhaps. You have your pride. But the rest of us could apologise on your behalf. You know, disown you.

  BARNARD. You mean save our own worthless skins?

  BATT. That’s exactly what I mean.

  BARNARD. How about if we traded Byrne’s life for our own?

  BYRNE. Fine.

  BATT. That’s more or less what I said.

  NADIA. It’s no good. The song is only half the problem – Jonathan said we can never leave the island. Do you remember that bit?

  BARNARD. You’re right, darling. And the lady is wrong.

  BATT. Better to be down there, living out a long and healthy life in paradise, than just completely killed tomorrow morning, don’t you think?

  BYRNE. I call that unpatriotic. I for one intend to die in Manchester.

  BATT. I don’t think that’s on the menu.

  BYRNE. I’ll decide what’s on the menu, thank you. Sweet Cheeses, I’m hungry.

  BATT glares at BYRNE, then squeezes her eyes tight shut.

  What are you doing?

  BATT. I am mentally striking you.

&n
bsp; BYRNE. Stop it! Why?

  BATT. I’m sick of your attitude towards me.

  BARNARD. Here we go.

  BATT. When I talk you talk over me. When I come up with an idea, you hijack it. When I touch you, you shrug me off or try to shoot yourself to death.

  BARNARD. I didn’t realise you two were on honeymoon. (laughs)

  BYRNE (confused). We’re not.

  BATT opens her eyes and glares at BARNARD.

  BATT. I’ll get to you in a minute, Barnard Barnard.

  BARNARD. Uh-oh.

  BARNARD looks to the others to see how his joke goes down.

  BATT. This is precisely why I never got married.

  BYRNE. I thought-

  BATT. Not for any of the reasons you may have come up with in your big overheating woolly head.

  BYRNE. This haircut is practical.

  JESUS appears and smashes BARNARD in the head with a log. No-one notices. JESUS unties BARNARD and drags him away into the brush.

  BATT. I used to work in Marks and Spencer’s. I’d see this shit every day of my life. And it’s worse at Christmas.

  BYRNE. Wait. Please don’t knock Christmas.

  BATT. The fact is, I just wanted to get away from those attitudes. And when we crash-landed on this island, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to build a new society.

  BYRNE. Is that what you were thinking about?

  BATT. Yes! No. First I was thirsty. And then I was scared that I was going to die without ever having – pleasure, again – which is why I tussled with you on the sand. It was nothing personal.

  BYRNE. Oh.

  BATT. But then when you started massacring the natives, it occurred to me we were writing history from scratch. It gave me the same feeling as when I watched a documentary once. And I knew I couldn’t let us follow your lead any more.

  BYRNE. I’ll stop you there, Batt. I’ve listened to you patiently, you saw that. Now let’s talk about me. I may be a record producer, but I’m what you might call an Extreme Record Producer. I have been all over the planet earth, time travelling across all of history and the future, to procure the rarest pieces of music from the most dangerous cultures, and brought them home in stereo and full metaphonic surround sound to my record company