Susie Gharib is a graduate of the University of Strathclyde with a Ph.D. on the work of D.H. Lawrence. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in multiple venues including Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Curlew, The Ink Pantry, A New Ulster, Down in the Dirt, the PLJ, and Mad Swirl.
A WIND-BENT DAFFODIL
FADE IN:
INT. FLAT IN GLASGOW #1 – DAY
A young woman is sitting tense on the phone in a room sparsely furnished.
A MAN (V.O.)
(into phone)
What’s the colour of your eyes?
CLARE
(into phone)
Golden brown.
The Stranglers’ Golden Brown as a soundtrack, faintly heard in the background.
A MAN (V.O.)
(into phone)
Your interview is at the address
provided in the newspaper at eleven
o’clock, tomorrow. We look forward
to meeting you, Clare. Good Day.
CLARE
(into phone)
Good Day.
(hangs up)
CLARE (V.O.)
What a relief! The end of an ordeal.
I need eye contact in my interaction
with mankind. On the phone, I feel
blind.
INT. MANSION ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF GLASGOW #2 – DAY
In a long yellow dress, Clare arrives at a huge mansion with a half-erased coat-of-arms. She views the boat, the anchor and the dolphin with reverence. She is received by an elegant housekeeper whose smile intensifies upon greeting Clare’s golden-brown eyes. She leads the way to a hall whose main characteristic is light. Irises and daffodils adorn every corner. A young man greets from behind a grand desk.
MR. MCSLOY
Good Morning, Clare. How are you?
CLARE
Good Morning, I am very well,
thank you, and you?
The young man, her employer, responds with a beautiful mouth and a pair of probing eyes.
MR. MCSLOY
I shall feel better when I know how
you feel about my offer. How do you
feel about a very quiet company?
CLARE
What has the colour of my eyes
to do with this?
The housekeeper whispers in Clare’s ear.
THE HOUSEKEEPER
You’re not expected to ask any
questions concerning your employer’s
preferences or even to speak of your
situation outside this present circle.
With a simple nod of the head, Clare accepts the job.
EXT. GARDEN OF THE MANSION #3 – DAY
Sitting opposite his lofty chair in a spectacular garden, Clare smiles her morning greetings. Mr. McSloy’s eyes are fixed on the water-lilies that deck an expansive pond. After the lapse of thirty minutes, he leaves with a graceful bow and she continues contemplating beauty alone. She waits to be ushered out to head home.
INT. FLAT #4 – NIGHT
As she writes in bed, Clare reads her entry into a very thick diary
CLARE (V.O.)
This is my first day at my weird job.
As I follow his gaze, I imbibe the
translucence of my favourite flower.
When our eyes meet for fleeting seconds,
it feels like an overwhelming deluge of
warmth. Strange as the situation sounds,
the thing does not sound like dating.
I am beneath his station and he is too
serious for anything flirtatious.
INT. LIBRARY-ROOM #5 – DAY
Because the weather is chilly, this meeting is in the library-room that is full of Scotch broom. Clare nearly swoons when she encounters a pair of golden-brown eyes watching her from above. A large portrait of a beautiful woman covers half the wall. Mr. McSloy follows the direction of Clare’s gaze and joins her in contemplating the portrait.
INT. FLAT #6 – NIGHT
In bed, Clare reads aloud a new entry into her diary.
CLARE (V.O)
When I looked at his upturned face today
to detect any resemblance to the portrait,
his emerald-green eyes responded to my
glance with a galaxy of lights. I wonder
what sort of things he sees in mine and
why of all the people I am employed as
his companion. I stop worrying about
what to wear at work. Mr. McSloy does
not notice my clothes or anything below
my orbs. I stick to my daffodil dress
because it makes me feel like a Tibetan
monk gone on a retreat. I begin to
cherish our meetings, which are fairly
brief, and begin to pray for his health
because at times he looks as frail as the
flowers that adorn his house.
EXT. GARDEN #7 – NIGHT
At dusk, they sit side by side. Mr. Mcsloy is looking at the stars.
CLARE (V.O)
We bask in the gloaming, imbibing every
shred of light. I follow his gaze to the sky
and walk above a mat of stars. Infinitude
is our rite tonight. It is Mr. McSLoy who
teaches me how to star-walk. I still recall
how as a child I enjoyed counting the
stars, but was admonished by my
superstitious aunt who told me that
the ugly warts on my hand, which
rebuffed the clasps of my schoolmates,
were some kind of retribution for my
star-counting. The more I counted, the
more mushrooms sprouted, and the
uglier grew my tiny hands. I wondered
how such beautiful lights could hurt.
EXT. CHAPEL IN THE MANSION #8 – DAY
The housekeeper leads Clare out of the familiar surroundings to a submerged path that leads to the family chapel. A tiny stone church meets Clare’s eyes but Mr. McSloy is not to be found. She walks round the church to the backyard where she finds a small cemetery. On a stone bench sits Mr. McSloy contemplating a grave that bears an inscription: Hereby I purge my tongue, my mind, my heart, of thinking ill of a ring of holy monks, Knights of Light, who will forevermore remain enshrined in many hearts. Clare stands at a loss what to do. Her eyes are mesmerized by his ring that bears the same coat-of-arms engraved on the edifice.
CLARE (V.O)
It feels like walking into a fragile
page of a history book that in grand
libraries one cannot touch without a
pair of white gloves. It must be very
lonely to be the last of a dying race.
INT. BEDROOM IN MANSION #9 – DAY
In a large bed, Mr. McSloy lies like an ailing bird. A tear hops on Clare’s eyelash. The housekeeper whispers in her ear.
THE HOUSEKEEPER
Tears are discouraged in the presence
of a sickly friend.
Clare slowly advances towards his bed. The housekeeper is at a loss what to say and ignores Clare’s gradual advances. Clare sits at its very edge and places her hand next to his. He looks too weak to act so she takes his hand and imparts what neither words nor gazes can convey to him. He lies very still. She feels his hand slowly wilting in her gentle grip. She only releases it when she knows that all contact with him is definitely lost.
CLARE (V.O)
It will not be long before he is dead.
EXT. CHURCH #10 – DAY
Clare arrives at a church wearing a black dress, long after the wedding ceremony. On a finger, she wears Mr. McSloy’s ring which he had bequeathed to her in his will. Her sister Adele had been too busy with guests to notice her absence.
ADELE
Are you engaged?
CLARE
No, I am not. This ring is a
gift from a friend.
ADELE
It looks very expensive. I didn’t
know you were capable of socializing
with the gentry. You should have
introduced the man to me.
Clare grins.
ADELE
He is very welcome to accompany
you when you decide to pay your
elder sister a visit to offer your
congratulations.
CLARE
He is dead. You cannot table-dance
to him.
ADELE
My husband would be interested
in purchasing such a ring. It looks
historic. The money would be useful
for your literary studies.
CLARE
One does not sell a friend’s gift.
Did you contact our mother?
ADELE
I didn’t, dearest. I am so sorry.
It would have broken my heart
to see mum walled in. I also do
not take to nuns. I will send her
a letter with my latest news.
Clare curls her lips with disgust as her sister’s elderly husband approaches. She pretends to be looking in her handbag for something, kisses Adele quickly, and vanishes from the scene of festivity before being forced to shake hands with him.
INT. HOSPITAL IN MELBOURNE #11 – DAY
The surgeon helps Clare to mount a few steps to a high and narrow bed.
THE SURGEON
Are you scared?
CLARE
Yes.
He compassionately holds her hand.
THE SURGEON
Please count to ten.
A needle penetrates her skin. She loses consciousness before her half-uttered three.
LATER
When she wakes up, she sees a large room through the oxygen mask fitted to her face. Her eyes inspect the warden that is full of women. The benevolent-looking doctor is asking questions of a few of them. When he sees her eyes wide-open, he releases her of the mask and asks her how she feels.
LATER
THE NURSE
Are you expecting someone to pick
you up?
CLARE
No. I know no one in Australia.
THE NURSE
I shall order a taxi for you. Do you
need help with getting dressed?
CLARE
Thank you. I can manage on my own.
The nurse brings her the plastic bag in which she had deposited her clothes. As Clare is buttoning up her long yellow dress, she feels light-headed and faints.
A neighbouring patient calls the nurse when Clare does not emerge from behind the curtain. Two nurses revive Clare and look worried. They examine her stitches and one phones the doctor.
THE NURSE
The surgeon saysyou are welcome
to spend Christmas with his family
if you like the idea.
CLARE
Please thank him for his kindness.
I promise to call for help if anything
goes wrong.
Waiting for a taxi in a wheel-chair, Clare looks like a wind-bent daffodil.
INT. FLAT IN MELBOURNE #12 – DAY
Clare feels a lot of pain as she prepares her meals. She cooks omelets.
CLARE (V.O.)
I had assumed that a day surgery
is like paying a doctor a fleeting visit.
My miscalculations leave me with
a few eggs.
LATER
She spends her first Christmas in Melbourne listening to Bruce Springsteen’s Streets of Philadelphia, her only entertainment for the festive period.
EXT. MELBOURNE’ CENTRAL POST OFFICE #13 – DAY
She takes the train to the central post office every day. Her Box is always empty. There is not a single job interview in return for numerous letters.
EXT. NEW FLAT IN MELBOURNE #14 – DAY
Clare occupies a new flat, which is an improvement on the first, but remains unfurnished. It is an affluent neighborhood and each family keeps to itself. The block of flats in which she resides looks quiet at first. However, her first visit to the communal area is very intimidating. An old woman with spectacles ignores Clare’s morning greetings and rudely forbids her from hanging her washing.
ELDERLY LADY
You can’t hang your washing on
these lines. Do it elsewhere.
CLARE
I beg your pardon. I thought this
was a communal area.
LATER
Clare notices that this neighbour frequents her mail box and often leaves her letters open after perusing their content.
INT. LIVING ROOM #15 – NIGHT
Sitting on the floor, Clare is watching television. A strange sound outside her front-door makes her start and utter a single shriek. The second time the sound pierces the door, she finds it impossible to move a limb or stir her tongue in any form. She eventually manages to creep into her bedroom, firmly shuts its door, then fills her ears with cotton, shivering on her bed-less mattress until dawn when she sleeps out of exhaustion.
INT. MELBOURNE STATE LIBRARY #16 – DAY
Clare sits in the State Library, looking tired and jaded. In the hush of a seat beneath the Domed Reading Room, she dozes. She only opens her eyes when an accent with a Glaswegian accent imparts comfort to her ears. In the glow of a red lamp, her eyes meet a pair of bluebells, sparkling with concern. A handsome man in his early forties who frequents the library as much as she does and whose face has become as familiar as the books she reads, and with whom she has exchanged a few greetings, remarks on her altered looks.
DOUGLAS
Are you OK?
CLARE
I’m fine, thank you. I seem to
have a little problem with
some neighbour.
DOUGLAS
So you do not know which one!
CLARE
Nobody knows me here, so
it must be a neighbor.
DOUGLAS
May I ask what type of trouble?
CLARE
Someone is trying to scare me.
DOUGLAS
How?
CLARE
With sounds.
DOUGLAS
What type of sounds?
CLARE
Perhapsa rattlesnake’s, some
reptilian bells on tape! The sound
that chills in an instant.
DOUGLAS
Have you had any experience
with snakes?
CLARE
None. Only on television. It’s
my intuition.
DOUGLAS
I can definitely find out what
it is if you would allow me to
spend the night at your place.
The culprit will be caught in
the act.
CLARE (V.O.)
I feel like Red Riding Hood but
in the company of a very handsome
wolf. Married men waste no time.
I can see myself in his arms at the
first hissing sound.
CLARE
I am obliged to your kindness.
I need to rely upon myself.
DOUGLAS
You ought to call the police
if it happens again.
INT. BEDROOM #17 – NIGHT
The sound returns with more resonance, as if amplified. Clare panics but utters no sound and when she dials the police, no words are released. The policeman asks her to take a deep breath in the wake of which only confused words are uttered in no chronological order, so he informs her that they would call at her place at once. When she opens the door, two young policemen enter and look shocked at the bareness of her flat. There is not even a single chair on which to sit.
A POLICEMAN
Is this the first time you hear the noise?
CLARE
No this is the second time.
A POLICEMAN
Can you specify what it is?
CLARE
No, I can’t.
The policemen leave and speak to the neighbour next door. Clare overhears him
ELDERLY NEIGHBOUR
She screams repeatedly all night.
We cannot sleep.
CLARE (V.O.)
Why is he lying? He wants
to portray me as hysteric. If a
woman lives alone, people tend
to attribute the deeds of scoundrels
to an ailment in her head; a
psychoanalytic reading is ready
in the listener’s palm to be delivered
like a prescribed pill to the mentally ill.
LATER
When she hears the sound on the third night, she calls no police but rushes to hide in her bedroom, flooding her ears with Snap’s latest album from her new Walkman. Her indifference makes the horror series peter out and it finally stops with her lack of reaction.
INT. CLINIC #18 – DAY
Clare is too early for an appointment with a cardiologist, booked for Sunday. She finds the clinic closed, with no sign of any other patients, so she goes to a nearby little park and sits on a bench ruminating about the appropriateness of a medical consultation on a Sunday. When it is time she returns to the clinic and finds a robust man watering his plants.
CLARE
Dr. Ivy? I have an appointment
booked for me.
CARDIOLOGIST
Please come in.
Clare looks very uncomfortable with the closure of the front door. He asks her to wait in a little room whose every piece of furniture is covered with white cloth. His room is opposite the tiny reception room in which she sits. It overlooks the street, which is empty except for occasional visitors to a house on sale a few blocks away. The closure of his room’s door unsettles Clare and she sits on the armchair to which he points very cautiously. She abruptly stands at the sight of a large can of Pif Paf in his strong hand, the other pointing at a big fly far above his head.
CARDIOLOGIST
The buzzing will disturb me.
I need to spray it.
C LARE
I have allergies.
She opens the door and leaves the room. The front door has so many locks. She calmly opens the front door too despite the state of perturbation the Pif Paf can has caused. She stands in the middle of the front door wondering what to do because she has left behind her handbag. The cardiologist follows her.
CARDIOLOGIST
I won’t spray the fly now.
Come in please.
He closes the front door but leaves his wide open. The patient-doctor relation is already strained and tension is written all over Clare’s face. He slumps in a chair before a computer and begins inquiring after her family history, while pressing with two fingers the same two keys repeatedly.
CLARE (V.O.)
How can he type my answers
with only two keys! These
questions are quite irrelevant.
He avoids eye contact with Clare but uneasily views the people who pass by his window on a tour of the house on sale. It seems like something he had not calculated. He fidgets before concluding the prolonged interview.
CARDIOLOGIST
Are you allergic to anything else
other than fly-spray?
CLARE
No.
CARDIOLOGIST
Please undress and cover yourself
with the white sheet on the
examination seat.
He leaves the room, calmly closing the door behind him. As Clare is taking her woolen jumper off, she feels prompted to look at the computer screen which he has abandoned without closing its content. There was nothing but many dashes and slashes, not a single word typed during the entire interview.
CLARE
Holy Mother!
She rushes out of the room and would have fainted had not the front door given way to her frantic hands. She runs, but feeling her legs too weak for the strain, takes refuge in a beautiful lane and sits on the steps of a house bursting in tears.
INT. STONE HOUSE IN THE HEBRIDES #19 – DAY
Clare is sitting at a huge table writing a letter to Adele. She occasionally looks through the window at her father chopping some wood for the fire that kindles the living room. She looks healthy and contented with her surroundings.
CLARE
“I have chosen the subject of my
dissertation and my supervisor
is very pleased with my choice of
Virginia Woolf’s novel The Waves.
Dad keeps me warm with his endless
supply of wood. I watch the waves
from a wide window while ripples
of warmth lap my body night and
day. He cooks delicious food for
me. He has aged a lot but is still
fit. A new type of friendship is
struck between us. In the evening,
I read Woolf to him and he has taken
interest in my studies. You are
welcome to visit us, but make sure
he does not come with you. Dad
does not know that you are married
to your boss and that you now run
his club. I do not want to upset him.”
LATER
A nun calls at their house. Clare opens the door.
THE NUN
Good Day. Can I see Clare please?
CLARE
Good Day. I am Clare. Please come in.
THE NUN
A car is awaiting me. I am sorry
for your loss, but your mother had
entrusted us with this envelope.
She insisted that it should be
hand-delivered to you. I keep
a promise to her.
CLARE
Thank you Sister. The trouble you
took.
THE NUN
She donated her belongings to the
poor, but kept one thing with the
Mother Prioress for you.
Having delivered a sealed padded envelope, the nun takes her leave. Clare’s eyes fast fill with tears. She slowly opens it. It looks empty at first. She inserts her hand and with a finger brings out a ring, identical to the one she is wearing, Mr. McSloy’s gift.
CLARE
Gracious God. There must be a note
from her explaining the meaning of
this!
She re-examines the envelope and finds a very small piece of paper, probably ripped from the monastery stationary, with a few words scribbled on it: “Forgive me Clare for abandoning you. My father kept this ring until his death hour when he bequeathed to me. Please keep it safe. God Bless.”
CLARE (V.O.)
How can I be related to the McSloys?
She hides the ring in a box in her wardrobe then looks through the window at her father who is now painting a small rowing boat he has recently purchased. She makes coffee for him and covers it with a heavy lid. She wraps herself with a coat and heads towards him. He receives the coffee with a charming smile, hands her the brush, with which she delightfully continues painting their lovely boat.
FADE OUT.
THE END
impspired 