LIZ: What did you want me to say?
GAZ: Nothing. Go back to New Scientist and Omni.
LIZ: Gaz, I’m sorry.
GAZ: Christ, what the hell have you got to be sorry for?
LIZ: You wanted me to see what was happening to you, and I wouldn’t believe it. I looked the other way. [Pause.] And I was wrong.
GAZ: What do you mean, you were wrong?
LIZ: People can change.
GAZ: I thought you said change was impossible.
LIZ: I think differently now. I’ve changed. What right have I got to say it can’t happen to you? It’s just harder for you. You got thrown in at the deep end, and suddenly you were in a different world.
GAZ: [scratching] Or a lunatic asylum.
LIZ: I know where you are, Gaz, I’ve been there all my life.
LIZ takes out a handkerchief. She goes to him.
Spit.
She cleans his face.
One thing I’ve learned reading physics—the feminists were right.
GAZ: About what?
LIZ: About not taking this reality too seriously—because it’s not the only one. Imagine a universe that split off from ours hundreds of years ago. A single quantum particle made a different choice, chaos magnified the difference, and they live in the best of all possible worlds.
GAZ: Bully for them. It’s not going to change this one.
LIZ: It has changed; if science can look a bit deeper and see many universes, we can change the way we see this one.
GAZ: You’re grasping at straws, Liz.
LIZ: Of course I’m grasping at straws! In the past all I ever had were straws anyway! The thing is to grasp something and keep going. The worst thing is to think you have to solve it all and make some vast change in your own lifetime. It’s not possible. You burn out that way.
A silence.
GAZ: I’ve lost the business, you know. I threw it away really.
LIZ: Maybe it was time to.
GAZ: I’ve started drawing again.
LIZ: I never understood why you stopped.
GAZ: I couldn’t seem to do things the way they wanted me to do them. But who told me my draughtsmanship was ratshit? Saul! And teachers at East Sydney Tech!—the same people who didn’t think to mention there’d been women painters prior to Bridget Riley! I’ve been drawing things the way I see them, not the way someone says I should—or trying to. It’s bloody hard. It’s like trying to get rid of an old self and grow a new one. [He looks at the wall.] What happened to the Hockney?
LIZ: It’s out in the shed.
GAZ: I don’t like that colour, you know. It’s a disaster.
LIZ: What’s wrong with it?
GAZ: We said white.
LIZ: This is white.
GAZ: This isn’t white; this is a sort of pinky, peachy mushroom.
LIZ: Make up your mind.
GAZ: We said white.
LIZ: I wanted some warmth in it. This is wild rice.
GAZ: It’s not wild rice. It’s not like any wild rice I’ve ever seen.
LIZ: Well you weren’t here, were you?
GAZ goes to the window.
GAZ: Jesus Christ—what happened next door? All the trees are gone!
LIZ: She’s allergic to birds. They decided to chop down all the natives, put in a lawn and plant roses.
GAZ: Why did they come to the Mountains? They could have stayed in Sydney and avoided nature altogether.
LIZ: I told them they’d destroyed our windbreak, and they said, ‘That’s your problem, not ours’.
GAZ: It looks terrible!
LIZ: They said it was untidy.
GAZ: What was untidy?
LIZ: All the gum trees.
GAZ: What do they want? Do they want to chop down the whole of Australia and make it tidy? [Shouting] Bastards! I’m calling the council!
LIZ: I called the council. They said they’d write them a letter.
GAZ: They’d write them a letter. That’s great. That’s just great, fellas! Just great.
LIZ: We’ll plant more. We’ll make the neighbourhood really untidy. We’ll make it glitter.
GAZ: Glitter?
LIZ: Haven’t you noticed how Australian trees glitter? Other trees don’t do that. Somebody must have known. Somebody must have said, we’ll have a blue sky, an intense blue sky, and some wind, and tall, skinny trees with leaves that glitter in the sun.
GAZ shivers.
Are you cold?
GAZ: It is a bit cold… Do you think I should light a fire?
LIZ: Yes, light a fire. I’d like that. [She smiles.] Do you realise it’s almost autumn?… Soon we’ll have been here a year.
The lights fade.
THE END
The Girl Who Saw Everything Page 7