Avalanche

CHARACTERS

Rōnin – a recluse monk, sixty-seven years of age.

Conscience

 

SETTING

 

Mountain.

 

In the distance, a shrine.

 

A vicious blizzard whips across the remains of an avalanche.

 

The horizons are visible, curved around the scene, as if Rōnin is trapped in a snow globe. 

 

 

NOTATIONS

 

• Denotes an interruption.

/    Denotes a cross-over of dialogue.

…    Ellipses alone, they denote a pause.

 

Paragraph breaks suggest a pause.

 

Action in the pauses and breaks are for the director to decide. However, Rōnin should take his time in these moments, as the tempo slows and his thoughts shift.

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                        CHERRY BLOSSOM FALLS WITH THE SNOW.

 

                        A PETAL LANDS ON A MOUND OF ICE. IT BECOMES A SAPLING, A SHRUB PUSHING UP FROM THE SNOW. IT TRAVELS                             SOMEWAY, STRETCHING AGAINST THE STORM, BEFORE IT SHRIVELS AND WITHERS. VANISHING.

 

Plant a seed in ash

And watch as it flourishes.

The scent is still sweet.

 

                        THE BLOSSOM STOPS FALLING. THE BLIZZARD BECOMES AGGRESSIVE.

 

                        HANDS SHIELDING HIS FACE, RŌNIN STRUGGLES THROUGH THE STORM.

 

                        WE CANNOT SEE CONSCIENCE, BUT THEIR VOICE COMES FROM EVERYWHERE – OFFSTAGE, THE WINGS, FROM THE                         AUDIENCE; EACH LINE ORIGINATING IN A DIFFERENT PLACE, SHIFTING AND TORMENTING.

           

Conscience:     You can’t run from me, you know. You can’t run from yourself.

 

Rōnin:             

 

Conscience:     We can’t hide. We can’t ignore.

 

Rōnin:              Go –

 

Conscience:     You tried to, though. You tried to forget. But I –

 

Rōnin:              Get out –

 

Conscience:     I remembered.

 

Rōnin:              Get out of my –

 

Conscience:     Head? Only you can do that, Rōnin. Only you can choose/ to fight.

 

Rōnin:              /I want peace. I want peace./ I want peace. Please!

 

Conscience:     /Where are you going?

 

RŌNIN STOPS.

 

Rōnin:              (WHISPERED) I want peace.

 

                        THE BLIZZARD SHOWS NO SIGN OF CALMING.

 

                        RŌNIN SHIELDS HIMSELF; LOOKS ABOUT DELIRIOUSLY.

 

                        THERE IS THE HAUNTING SOUND OF SHATTERING GLASS AND THE WAIL OF SIRENS. RŌNIN SHAKES HIMSELF                                         AWAKE. THE SOUNDS FADE AWAY.

 

                        RŌNIN BENDS DOWN. SOMETHING IN THE SNOW HAS CAUGHT HIS EYE.

 

Rōnin:              Tracks? My tracks, my footprints – how?

 

                        CONSCIENCE APPEARS. THEY MIRROR RŌNIN. TOGETHER, THEY RETRACE THEIR STEPS, HEADING BACKWARDS.                                 (THE BLIZZARD QUIETENS.)

 

Both:               Those stories of grandma and grandpa – we had so much still to tell her. The tale of Golden Creek. The Mystery of the                                 Black Box. The Adventure of Sobo visiting our city for the first time. The stories of when they came here, and the stories of                             our ancestor’s home.  

                       

                        She used to love listening. We remember her staying up, sitting on the edge of the bed, refusing to go to sleep until we had                         told her a story. One night she was so mesmerised by a tale that she made us repeat it four times. The tale of the Flying                                 Carp. Jiji told us it.

 

                        AS THEY HEAD FURTHER BACK, A SHRINE POST MATERIALISES NEXT TO A LITTLE STREAM.

 

                        In that faraway place, out walking in the forest one day, Jiji came across a stream. It was a beautiful stream, the water all                             shimmering and cool, and he could see both through it and at it, like a mirror or a crystal ball – the faint reflection of his                                 face stared back, rippling on the calm waves. It made him look younger, the lines of the water replacing the lines of his                                   face. And it reminded him of a younger time. A simple time.

 

                        RŌNIN INTERACTS WITH THE STREAM AND SHRINE.

 

Rōnin:              As he thought of this, he heard a splashing. Soft and far away, at first. Then closer. Closer and louder. He looked down the                         stream, wondering where this noise was coming from, and he saw a fish, a carp in the shallow streams, jumping from the                             water. It was travelling against the current, up the craggy rocks that would take it to the top of the mountain. He had heard                         stories of this migration, this myth – the carp that had travelled against the great waterfall, where, reaching the top, it had                           transformed into a golden dragon. Just as the legend went, Jiji watched as the carp took the strength of the current. And it                         leapt – flying up the stream, shimmering and dripping against the sun. And in that moment, that glorious moment, it                                       transformed into the golden beast, majestic against the sky. It was a magnificent sight – to see the myth made real before                         your eyes.

 

                        She asked me if it was true – ‘Of course it is,’ I told her. ‘Magic is real.’ And she had giggled at that. She had Jiji’s laugh –                                 bright and lively, all smiling.

 

                        I miss that smile.

 

                        RŌNIN STARTS WALKING FORWARDS. PERPETUALLY.

 

                        THE SHRINE AND STREAM FADE AWAY AS THE BLIZZARD BUILDS ONCE AGAIN.

 

Conscience:     We can still go back.

 

Rōnin:              How can I?

 

Conscience:     Time heals.

 

Rōnin:              It’s too great a wound to fix.

 

Conscience:     No. You’re scared.

 

                        RŌNIN SPEEDS UP. CONSCIENCE IS STATIONARY – NEITHER FOLLOWING, NOR GETTING FURTHER AWAY.

 

Conscience:     You’re scared. You blame yourself.

 

                        FASTER.

 

Conscience:     You know – and you remember.

 

                        FASTER.

 

Conscience:     And it hurts.

 

                        FASTER.

 

Conscience:     It hurts, hurts like a knife. Like your heart’s been wrenched away. Like there’s a mirror to face, shouting at you, asking                               you to look at it, look at it right in the face, and you aren’t listening, you refuse – because you’re afraid.

 

                        THE STORM BATTERS RŌNIN.

 

Conscience:     Because you’re frightened and alone and don’t want to hurt anymore. Because you’re exhausted and lost, swimming                             blindly through the storm. So, you try to forget. Try to ignore, ignoring the face that’s screaming at you – your face – and                               the mirror, to cover the mirror with a cloak, with a blizzard. To shut off the images. To ignore yourself. To ignore me – the                                 face, the mirror, the temple you see up here, the mountain of everything, of despair, of pain, of fear, of death – JUST LOOK                           AT YOURSELF!

 

                        RŌNIN STOPS RUNNING. HE TURNS TO CONSCIENCE.

 

Conscience:     The way you look at me – she looked at me like that.

 

Rōnin:              She looked at us –

 

Conscience:     No. She looked through you, right through you and saw me.

 

Rōnin:              You just told me/ to look at you.

 

Conscience:     /But you’re not seeing.

 

Rōnin:              What?

 

Conscience:     You look but you don’t see.

 

Rōnin:              I don’t –

 

Conscience:     You look through me.

 

Rōnin:              I don’t /understand.

 

Conscience:     /You’re doing it now.

 

Rōnin:              Well, what do you want me to do?

 

Conscience:     For you to stop wandering around here as if something will happen. For you to stop following the tracks and forge new                           ones.

 

                        I want you to see me. To see yourself and stop – stop looking through me, or your eyes drifting away.

 

                        Look at us!

 

                        RŌNIN TURNS AWAY.

 

Rōnin:              I can’t! One slip. One slip – and we couldn’t keep it together. Not for myself. Not for… her… I can’t look at you. I can’t face                             you. I can’t forgive you. Because every time I try, you hurt me. Because every time I look at you, I see her.

 

Conscience:     Stealing Her words now, as well as Her eyes.

 

                        THEY DRIFT APART.

 

                        RŌNIN STEPS OUT OF THE BLIZZARD – SNOW SETTLES ON HIS SHOULDERS NONETHELESS. HE CROUCHES TO THE                         EARTH.

 

Rōnin:              That day… standing on the cold earth… Looking down – over the… I could see it… It was so small, so fragile, so… square,                         so bland, so impersonal. That was nothing – just a… box… Where was the laughter… and the smiles… and the rosy cheeks,                         and the innocent face, and the sweet voice, and love and heart and –? To think that all you bring into the world – oh, so                                   much light – and yet it's nothing but a speck in the storm, a seed against a mountain. All of that, and you get taken away in                         a box. Like furniture. Like a pair of shoes. And in your absence, everything that was you, your memories, your ghostly                                       laughter, all of it gets pushed away. As if you mean nothing.

 

                        But she meant something to me.

 

                        CONSCIENCE STANDS BEHIND RŌNIN.

 

Conscience:     We dropped the dirt on the box… and she was there, across the gap, the canyon, the Ocean, staring through us. And                               we knew then that we had to leave.

 

                        RŌNIN STEPS BACK INTO THE VOCIFEROUS STORM.

 

                        THE SCENE RESETS. EXCEPT THIS TIME, CONSCIENCE SHADOWS RŌNIN.

 

Conscience:     You can’t run from me, you know. You can’t run from yourself.

 

Rōnin:              Where –

 

Conscience:     We can’t hide. We can’t ignore.

 

Rōnin:              Where am I –

 

Conscience:     You tried to, though. You tried to forget. But I –

 

Rōnin:              I know where I am –

 

Conscience:     I know who we are.

 

                            Rōnin:                                                                         Conscience:

                           I remember.                                                               I remember.

 

                        RŌNIN STRUGGLES THROUGH THE STORM.

 

Rōnin:              What’s that?

 

Conscience:     Yes, what is it?

 

                        RŌNIN SPOTS THE SMALL SHRUB FROM EARLIER PEERING FROM THE SNOW.

 

Rōnin:              How is that /possible?

 

Conscience:     /A miracle. A beautiful, fragile miracle.

 

Rōnin:              The storm – it’s going to destroy it.

 

                        RŌNIN SHROUDS HIMSELF OVER THE PLANT.

 

Conscience:     Remember in the rain.

 

Rōnin:              Yes.

 

Conscience:     We did that with her in the rain. She was getting soaked – we used our coat, shielded her from the storm.

 

Rōnin:              She hated the thunder.

 

Conscience:     Always screamed when it rumbled – would hide under the table.

 

Rōnin:              She hid under me that day. Under the coat.

 

Conscience:     Did it all the way home.

 

Rōnin:              Giggling and screaming the whole way… It feels like a story now.

 

Conscience:     That’s all we are in the end.

 

PAUSE.

 

Rōnin:              I wish I could go back.

 

Conscience:     We can –

 

Rōnin:              No – back, back to when she was so small and delicate, here, in my arms. Back to when I told her those stories – and I’d                           have told her a new one. Of an amazing little girl, one who put a smile on everyone’s faces; one who made the sunshine                                 even in the storm. A story of her, all grown up – of what a great life she would lead. A life that I – a story cut short.

 

                        RŌNIN CRIES.

 

                        THE SNOW TURNS TO RAIN.

 

                        SLOWLY, RŌNIN IS DISTURBED, AS THE SNOW AROUND THE SHRUB THAWS AND THE SAPLING GROWS. IT GROWS                               TALL AND PROUD, BLOSSOMING FROM THE TEARS. A CHERRY BLOSSOM TREE.

 

                        THE RAIN STOPS.

 

                        RŌNIN STARES AT THE TREE. (CONSCIENCE HAS VANISHED.)

 

Rōnin:              (SOFT) You’re there, aren’t you…?

                        …

                        (TO AUDIENCE) All that I’ve pursued in my life, and I had what I really wanted. I already had my world. My family. At some                               point I stopped noticing. I stopped seeing. I started ignoring the tiny bonsai tree in the crack of the pavement.

 

                        But one day I looked down.

 

                        And now I’m looking up.

 

                        RŌNIN LOOKS UP AT THE TREE AND THEN AT HEAVEN.

THE END.