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Tonight's Dream
Dec. 1st, 2010 06:04 amI just had the most vivid dream. I need to write this down to clear my head so I can go back to sleep but I also fear I'll utterly forget it if I do sleep.
This might make an interesting two person, one act play. It seems so obvious and complete however that I can only assume I've read this somewhere before and it's been lurking around in my subconscious.
---
Setting: A simple, primitive peasant one-room farmhouse. No plumbing, no electricity, few possessions, sparse furnishings.
The son been away for most of the day, whether in town for supplies or working in the fields doesn't matter. He's in his thirties, a big, strapping man but simple-minded, slightly retarded. He is a good and honest person but limited vocabulary, slow to speak, easily excited, ruled by spontaneous emotions, childlike.
And he's discovered his mother in bed, dead, having passed away quietly in her sleep.
She's only in her 50s but even laying there she appears easily to be 90: her body is worn completely from the hardship of her widowed peasant life, aged and withered far beyond her years.
The scene opens with the son returning home. He brings in firewood, fetches water, washes his hands and face, talking to his mother in a stilted, stuttering way, describing the highlights of his day. After a few minutes, he realizes something is wrong and looks to his mother. She is silent, her hands are cold and stiff. He howls in shock and profound pain as he realizes the truth.
But is she really dead?
Mother moans and rouses. She tells him to stop making such noise. He is ecstatic with joy that he was wrong. Mother is alive!
She is briefly confused. As she collects herself, they talk. He attempts to describe his horror and pain about thinking she had died while he was out, and his tremendous relief that he was mistaken. He could not bear to live without his dear mother. She reassures him that she will be with him all of her life and that her love for him will go on when her body cannot. They recollect her late husband/his father, their grief for his loss after all these years, their ties as a family and thoughts of a better future.
Reassured, mother and son go through the usual routines of their evening. He does chores on scene or just off-scene while she slices vegetables and prepares their evening meal. They never stop talking. They have had a long life together, her trying to teach her slow son the most vital life lessons so he will be ready for the world.
The son steps outside to chop firewood. After some time, Mother realizes something odd: she's standing straighter than she has in years and no longer needs her walking stick. Her hands are no longer wracked with arthritic pain. The cold no longer bothers her. She feels more energetic. At a random glance in a mirror, she sees her face isn't as wrinkled or worn as it once was. Her limp has gone. On a whim, she changes into her best dress --still a simple, modest affair but clean and unpatched. Her unusual vigor jogs her memory of her late husband when they were so in love decades ago, dancing together. She remembers him so vividly he almost materializes before her eyes but the image fades suddenly when she remembers too that he has been dead for several years. How can any of this be?
She realizes in a flash the truth of the situation: she is indeed dead. She feels more alive than she has in decades; she feels warm, she checks her pulse by touching her neck. But how can she possibly be youthful and healthy again?
She hears her son calling from outside/off-stage, and almost as quickly, her thoughts are turned not to her situation but that of her devoted son. Is she a ghost? A character in his dreams? A self-aware hallucination of his grief-stricken mind? It does not matter: she knows intuitively her time is very limited yet she must teach him one last vital life lesson while she still can.
When he returns with firewood, she serves him dinner and tries to appear unfazed by her discovery. She guides him back to his father's death, the things they did together to prepare his body, the ceremonies of the burial, the process of the funeral. He talks slowly, trying to verbalize the emptiness he felt when his father died and how he couldn't face the pain of losing her too but she reminds him gently that no on is immortal: she too will eventually pass away and so will he in his turn.
They eat together a simple meal, then clear away the dishes. By candlelight, they go through their usual evening ritual, lessons in reading and religion; she has been making him practice reading by having him read chapters from their ancient family Bible for most of his life. This time, however, she carefully selects passages relating to the nature of life & death and the process of grieving.
Gradually, mother is fading. Her shuffling limp has returned. She wraps her shawl tighter to fend off the cooling night air. She moves more sluggishly than she did only minutes ago.
She stops his reading and asks him about his plans for the future. After all these years of patient, back-breaking struggle on the farm, he has never seen much more than the few miles around their house. She reminds him of the bigger world beyond, both good and bad, that she remembers from her childhood and that they have experienced by their reading lessons together. He openly ponders the two of them going out into the world. She insinuates that he must think to his own adventures without her; he doesn't quite grasp her meaning so she becomes more direct: she's not going to be with him for such an adventure and he will very soon be alone.
He resists the notion but mother is adamant: staring at her newly-again gnarled hands, she tells him about the loss of her own parents when he was just a baby. All who are born must eventually die. Even mothers. Even when a son is left behind in a lonely peasant farm house.
The lesson penetrates. He is slow but not stupid. And he understands why she is giving this lesson now.
He asks how he can possibly continue without her. She reminds him of their lifetime of lessons together, all they've done. They have survived biting winters, brutally hot summers, illness and loss. He knows everything he needs to, he just needs to have faith that he can cope.
She is once again as old and withered as when we met her. Her walking stick is across the room so she asks his help to make her way back to her bed. He makes her comfortable. She reminds him to be kind, gentle and honest and to practice reading every day. He promises to do so.
And they say good-bye.
This might make an interesting two person, one act play. It seems so obvious and complete however that I can only assume I've read this somewhere before and it's been lurking around in my subconscious.
---
Setting: A simple, primitive peasant one-room farmhouse. No plumbing, no electricity, few possessions, sparse furnishings.
The son been away for most of the day, whether in town for supplies or working in the fields doesn't matter. He's in his thirties, a big, strapping man but simple-minded, slightly retarded. He is a good and honest person but limited vocabulary, slow to speak, easily excited, ruled by spontaneous emotions, childlike.
And he's discovered his mother in bed, dead, having passed away quietly in her sleep.
She's only in her 50s but even laying there she appears easily to be 90: her body is worn completely from the hardship of her widowed peasant life, aged and withered far beyond her years.
The scene opens with the son returning home. He brings in firewood, fetches water, washes his hands and face, talking to his mother in a stilted, stuttering way, describing the highlights of his day. After a few minutes, he realizes something is wrong and looks to his mother. She is silent, her hands are cold and stiff. He howls in shock and profound pain as he realizes the truth.
But is she really dead?
Mother moans and rouses. She tells him to stop making such noise. He is ecstatic with joy that he was wrong. Mother is alive!
She is briefly confused. As she collects herself, they talk. He attempts to describe his horror and pain about thinking she had died while he was out, and his tremendous relief that he was mistaken. He could not bear to live without his dear mother. She reassures him that she will be with him all of her life and that her love for him will go on when her body cannot. They recollect her late husband/his father, their grief for his loss after all these years, their ties as a family and thoughts of a better future.
Reassured, mother and son go through the usual routines of their evening. He does chores on scene or just off-scene while she slices vegetables and prepares their evening meal. They never stop talking. They have had a long life together, her trying to teach her slow son the most vital life lessons so he will be ready for the world.
The son steps outside to chop firewood. After some time, Mother realizes something odd: she's standing straighter than she has in years and no longer needs her walking stick. Her hands are no longer wracked with arthritic pain. The cold no longer bothers her. She feels more energetic. At a random glance in a mirror, she sees her face isn't as wrinkled or worn as it once was. Her limp has gone. On a whim, she changes into her best dress --still a simple, modest affair but clean and unpatched. Her unusual vigor jogs her memory of her late husband when they were so in love decades ago, dancing together. She remembers him so vividly he almost materializes before her eyes but the image fades suddenly when she remembers too that he has been dead for several years. How can any of this be?
She realizes in a flash the truth of the situation: she is indeed dead. She feels more alive than she has in decades; she feels warm, she checks her pulse by touching her neck. But how can she possibly be youthful and healthy again?
She hears her son calling from outside/off-stage, and almost as quickly, her thoughts are turned not to her situation but that of her devoted son. Is she a ghost? A character in his dreams? A self-aware hallucination of his grief-stricken mind? It does not matter: she knows intuitively her time is very limited yet she must teach him one last vital life lesson while she still can.
When he returns with firewood, she serves him dinner and tries to appear unfazed by her discovery. She guides him back to his father's death, the things they did together to prepare his body, the ceremonies of the burial, the process of the funeral. He talks slowly, trying to verbalize the emptiness he felt when his father died and how he couldn't face the pain of losing her too but she reminds him gently that no on is immortal: she too will eventually pass away and so will he in his turn.
They eat together a simple meal, then clear away the dishes. By candlelight, they go through their usual evening ritual, lessons in reading and religion; she has been making him practice reading by having him read chapters from their ancient family Bible for most of his life. This time, however, she carefully selects passages relating to the nature of life & death and the process of grieving.
Gradually, mother is fading. Her shuffling limp has returned. She wraps her shawl tighter to fend off the cooling night air. She moves more sluggishly than she did only minutes ago.
She stops his reading and asks him about his plans for the future. After all these years of patient, back-breaking struggle on the farm, he has never seen much more than the few miles around their house. She reminds him of the bigger world beyond, both good and bad, that she remembers from her childhood and that they have experienced by their reading lessons together. He openly ponders the two of them going out into the world. She insinuates that he must think to his own adventures without her; he doesn't quite grasp her meaning so she becomes more direct: she's not going to be with him for such an adventure and he will very soon be alone.
He resists the notion but mother is adamant: staring at her newly-again gnarled hands, she tells him about the loss of her own parents when he was just a baby. All who are born must eventually die. Even mothers. Even when a son is left behind in a lonely peasant farm house.
The lesson penetrates. He is slow but not stupid. And he understands why she is giving this lesson now.
He asks how he can possibly continue without her. She reminds him of their lifetime of lessons together, all they've done. They have survived biting winters, brutally hot summers, illness and loss. He knows everything he needs to, he just needs to have faith that he can cope.
She is once again as old and withered as when we met her. Her walking stick is across the room so she asks his help to make her way back to her bed. He makes her comfortable. She reminds him to be kind, gentle and honest and to practice reading every day. He promises to do so.
And they say good-bye.
