Patricia Cantwell Kintsugi (A Radio Drama

Kintsugi (A Radio Drama)

patricia cantwell

Cast List Annie (Aged 97): A resident of a retirement home, present day. John (Aged 29): Her deceased husband.

Scene 1: a bedroom in the retirement home. It is late evening and Annie is preparing for bed.

ACT ONE

FX: The play opens with the music of Mick Del’s orchestra playing old-time dance music and fades …

ANNIE They keep the lights on here at night. (chuckle) They think we’re afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of the dark John. I’ve known the dark - worn it like an old raincoat. Isn’t it strange John, sometimes in the half-light I think I see you there, over in the corner, looking down on me. Not as you would be if you’d lived, all old and wrinkled like myself, but as you were when you left, your lovely dark hair and your laugh, ahh, your laugh, I think that was the first thing I fell in love with.

Do you remember when we met? Of course, you do.

The whole world was in tears. We heard of these terrible things happening in Dresden and Hiroshima and places we couldn’t pronounce. But I had your laugh and we had each other, and the dark times didn’t seem so dark at all.

Do you remember the day we married John? It rained all day the day before, bucketing it down. My mother put out the Child of Prague the night before and I was up at dawn, couldn’t sleep with the excitement and the sun never shone as bright as on that day.

JOHN

ANNIE And we settled into happiness, you and me. And the little girls came along. God how you loved them. I used to chide you and say you were spoiling them and all you’d do is laugh and wink at them behind my back, oh I saw you alright. They loved that—the whole conspiracy of it. Then when we thought we couldn’t take any more happiness, little Patrick came along. The neighbours all joked with you that you had your heir now and the dynasty was secure. All you’d do is laugh. And then, oh God John, when we thought we had it all, along came the darkness…(pause)

Winter came early that year. Frost on the bushes in October. You didn’t feel yourself, though you never complained. They said it was only a routine operation. I visited you the night before and you hurried me off home, said the children would be missing me and I wasn’t to worry and when I came in the next day you’d be in a different room. And you were John. You were. That was a strange Christmas alright . . . .

Isn’t it a strange thing Annie— see you as you were the first time I laid eyes on you. Your dark hair and your eyes, oh God, your beautiful eyes. My friend Jim McCormack dared me to go over and ask you to dance. You were the prettiest girl there Annie. Sure, I didn’t think I stood a chance. My heart was beating like a hammer in my chest as I went over to you. And you said yes. I thought my heart would burst. I was the happiest man there. I surely was.

They say that happiness is wasted on the young, but it wasn’t wasted on us Annie. We knew what we had was precious even then and we didn’t waste it. We packed a lifetime of happiness into those six years. Six years Annie. It might have seemed unfair. I know that’s what everyone said, but they didn’t understand what we had, sure, how could they? And God, I didn’t want to leave you my darling. And I didn’t. I haven’t. You must know this … I never, ever left you…

It snowed all day, the day of your funeral. The gravediggers took twice as long to dig the grave the ground was so hard. It was a hard winter. But worse was to come. The baby got sick. We thought nothing of it at first. He was always such

JOHN

ANNIE a good baby, never a minute’s trouble. But he went off his food and didn’t look himself. Oh God John, how I wished you were here with me then. He got worse and we took him to the hospital. It was the first time I’d been there since you left. The smell of the place, I still remember it. They diagnosed meningitis. I still thought he’d be okay. I prayed to God. I didn’t think God could do it to me again. But He did John, He did. The first daffodils were showing their heads when we laid him beside you.

But I had to keep going. For the sake of the girls. They missed you so much and they missed the baby. We didn’t talk about it much, people didn’t in those days. Thought it better not to be troubling their little minds, hoping they’d forget. One evening I called them for their supper, they were out in the haggard at the back of the haybarn playing and they didn’t hear me. I kept calling and calling and when I found them do you know what they had? Oh John, his little shoes, the baby’s black leather shoes, with the shape of his foot still in them . . . .

That was the worst time Annie, I know it was, but I was so proud of you, the way you put the girls first. What a strong woman you were. Little did I know when I twirled you round the dancefloor that first time what a great woman you’d turn out to be. Well, God had his plan and sure there’s no way he’d have taken me from you, and taken the baby, only he knew how strong you were, how brave you were. (sigh) I know how hard it was.

Sometimes, I’d sit by the end of the bed on those nights, and I’d hear you crying. I knew you cried when the girls were asleep so as not to upset them. Great big sobs. I wished I could’ve reached out and touched you and told you everything will be alright - but in a way, I think you knew, knew that me and the baby were there, always there. Otherwise, how could you have gone on . . . ?

Isn’t it strange John, how we never called him by his name, it was always ‘the baby’ though he was nearly four. Even the girls always called him the baby. Do you know it wasn’t till I saw his name on the headstone beside your own that it hit me, hit me right in the heart. ’John Patrick’ called after yourself. I said it over and over rolling it on my tongue like a prayer. John Patrick (she says it slowly and repeats) John

JOHN Patrick… I suppose if he’d have lived they’d have shortened it to J.P. But he’ll always be ‘the baby’ to us.

After you’d gone do you know the first thing I felt? Not sadness, no, not grief, but anger, John. Hot raging anger. Anger at you for leaving us, isn’t that ridiculous as if you chose to go. And anger at God for taking you both. Those were dark days.

Then that first spring, I went out into the garden, down to where you planted the cherry tree. You had always talked about planting a cherry tree and reciting a poem you learned in school ‘O loveliest of trees the cherry now’ . . . I can’t remember the rest of it. You finally planted it when we were married a year.

It was well established, so you said “‘twould take off no bother”. You got it from Mick Hayes when he was clearing the garden after his mother died. You looked after it like a pet, but it didn’t seem to do any good. I think you were a bit disappointed it didn’t flower. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the spring after you and the baby had gone, it started to blossom. Not great big blossoms but blossoms all the same and after the hard winter and all. It was strange and maybe ‘twas my mind playing tricks on me, I don’t know, but I took that as a sign that maybe things would be okay.

I remember too the first time I laughed again. It must have been about two months after we buried the baby. I was caught off-guard—something one of the girls said, something silly, I can’t remember, and I laughed, and I heard the girls laughing along with me. It was a strange sound. And suddenly a feeling came over me. Like I was being disloyal to you, like I had forgotten you. Wasn’t that ridiculous? Then I thought to myself if you were here, you’d be laughing along with us. And that made it a little bit better.

Sure, I was laughing along with you, all the time, and the best was seeing you pick yourself up and get on with it, as was always your way. I hated to see you grieving and I wanted to tell you there was no need. Me and the baby are together and we’re fine. And the cherry tree, (smile) oh God the cherry tree. I thought you wouldn’t notice, but you did. You did, and I knew then you’d be alright.

ANNIE The nights were the worst. That’s where I’d do my crying so the girls wouldn’t see. Oh, I must tell you this John. Years later I saw a play called ‘The Heart’s a Wonder.’ I don’t remember what ‘twas about but I always remember the title. ‘The Heart’s a Wonder’ (she says this slowly, wistfully). And it is indeed a wonder. The heart, I mean. It gets broken, but somehow, we manage to gather the pieces together and make something wonderful. A bit like the little bits of broken china we used to play with as children— chainies we called them. I remember reading in the Reader’s Digest years ago that the Japanese people put more value on the broken pieces after they put them back together with gold—Kintsugi I think they call it- the art of the precious scars.

And that’s what I did John, gathered up the pieces and got on with it. And I did make something wonderful out of it, didn’t I?—out of the beautiful sorrow. Your two lovely girls. God, I wish you could see them. They both have your smile and our eldest has the exact same funny way you had of brushing your hair back from your forehead. It caught in my throat the first time I noticed it. I had to turn away to hide the tears. But now it’s lovely. I love to see it now, it’s like you’re here with us.

And on their wedding days, oh, I missed you then. If only you could have seen them, you’d be so proud. Like angels they were. I wished the baby could have been with us too. He’d have been a grown man by then. I think he’d have looked exactly like you. But then again, it’s kind of nice, because he’ll always be that lovely smiling baby. Never growing old.

Wherever I went I took you with me in my heart. And we had great times. I even took the girls and moved to a big town. I bet you can’t imagine me doing that, and me a country girl. Well, I did, and I liked it too, all the hustle and bustle. And I set up a little shop at one stage, selling all sorts of sweets, jelly babies, Peggy’s Leg, liquorice all sorts and the rest (she laughs). What do you think of that now? Bet you never thought I had it in me?

And isn’t it strange I even found my singing voice again. The first time I sang after you’d gone it didn’t sound like me at all, at least I thought it didn’t. Like the voice was coming from someone else. But in time it came alright and became my own again.

JOHN

ANNIE My darling Annie what a life you’ve made of the broken pieces. Now, know this before I go—because I must go soon, morning is creeping over the mountains and the moon has waned. So, know this—I have always loved you my beautiful girl, my one true lovely Annie . . .

Before you go John, I wanted to tell you this: a woman called here last week, she was talking about stories from long ago and how people got through hard times. So, I told her all about you and the girls and the baby. And I told her about Kintsugi— the art of the precious scars, the art of the precious scars . . . (this last line is spoken very slowly as the music comes up . . .)

FX: sad, slow evocative music rises and falls, then fades . . .

The End

SECTION VI