Daniel Gavilovski presents the conclusion to his bizarro horror tale written for the stage.
The loud sizzle and squeal of the deep frier. Burn is deep frying a batch of frozen chips. He takes out the dipper and finds that they're all burnt. He tosses the charred chips in the bin and tosses the contents out through the door.
BURN M.L: Fuckin' thing.
At the island a chicken burger is already assembled. Burn sits down to eat it.
BURN: Christ, burger 10th day in a row. Or... how long has it been?
(BITE)
Same old thing. Same old thing day after day.
BURN M.L: Aren't you sick of it?
BURN: It makes me want to puke.
BURN M.L: You'd rather starve, is that it?
BURN: Than eat another bite of this American shite? I'd rather starve. God, I miss it all. I miss my dog, my life, the sun, rain on my face.
(pause)
I miss mam's cooking.
BURN M.L: The beef stews
BURN: The chicken broths. Even though she never bothers to take out the bones. Even though she under salts and the carrot bits are the size of my big toe.
BURN M.L: What about the bean chili at that one place in Spain.
BURN:The Indian curry on New Year's. What I'd give for a drop of paprika.
BURN M.L: But this...
BURN: Just looking at it makes me wanna...In a rage, Burn takes all the cheese and dumps it into the deep frier along with the onions and buns.
Defeated, he leans over the frier, staring into it.
BURN M.L: Look at that grease bubble. That's 190 degrees hot juicy oil. How long would it take to deep-fry my head if I just... Would it be alright the next day? Do I reset as well? Would I even feel it? Would I be OK? Can I open my eyes under grease or would it sting...?
Throughout this monologue Burn gets closer and closer to the frier. Finally, realizing he's losing his mind, he backs away.
BURN: Jesus, control yourself. It's OK. Someone's coming.
With his mind clear, he lifts up the dipper. Burn tastes the deep-fried cheese with onion. A combination he's never had before.
BURN (cont'd): Deep fried cheese and onion. That's a new one... you know, that's not bad. Damn that's tasty.
Pause.
BURN (cont'd): What if I...
Burn rushes to take out a whole stack of patties and begins dividing them, then dicing them, with a knife.
BURN M.L: What are we--?
BURN: (feverishly) Chili. Bean chili. That's minced meat right? Well, I'm mincing meat. And beans? Okay we don't have beans. But...yeah. Yeah add some pickles in instead. And onions right? Chili has onions?
BURN M.L: You know what else chili has?
BURN: Paprika, spices? Anything aside from bland old burger ingredients? Well that's OK. We'll make something of this yet. I'll turn silver into gold.
A giant stock pot is steaming on the grill. Friers are sizzling. Tap is running and all manner of crockery and pots litter the stovetops.
Burn is running around juggling each element of the busy kitchen, spoon in hand with which he plays a folksy tune like with castanets. Also he whistles.
BURN: Now, we might be getting somewhere.
After last Thursday's disaster of a beef stew my ego can't take any more burnt meals. Let's see, let's see.
(tastes )
Oh yeah, now that's a nice tomato sauce. Simmering that's the key. You
try to rush it and you end up with a burnt mess. But this...
BURN M.L: Mmm.
BURN: This is good. But it's missing some spice. Mustard?
He spoons out a dollop of mustard into the pot of tomato sauce. Then he tastes.
BURN M.L:That's...
BURN: That's hot!
The sauce is too spicy and with his tongue on fire Burn rushes to the tap and drinks the cool clear water.
BURN (cont'd): Oh thank God. That's a bit spicier than mam used to make it.
(Pause)
If only I had something to wash it down with. Even a cup of tea. Nothing
but tap water. Not even a single drop of Coke or Fanta or anything. First thing I'll do when I get out of here is I'll go straight to O'Riordain's and order a nice cool pint of sweet dark Beamish. I'll say to the barman well how are things and down it right there and then at the bar. No, not Beamish...it takes too long. A Heineken then. And I'll down it right there and then. God it just had to be morning deliveries this week eh? Not so much as a drop of anything sweet.
At that moment the radio wheezes to life. Through wisps of static a voice comes on that's unlike any radio presenter. It's the voice of Aoife.
AOIFE: Can't anyone help me? Won't anyone... Won't anyone help...
She sounds defeated. As if this is no longer a cry for help but her mourning herself. Clearly she's lost all hope and is talking through tears.
Burn climbs up to the radio, unhooks the cord from around the radio and listens.
BURN: Aoife? Are you there? Aoife I can hear you!
AOIFE: Please... I don't deserve this. I was good all my life. Why is it just me? I can't feel my fingers.
BURN: Aoife. I'm here can you hear me? I'm here!
Burn is desperate, but Aoife is fading away.
AOIFE: I don't deserve hell. Why is it me?
BURN: It'll be okay Aoife.
AOIFE: I'm going to die here... I'm going to die alone in this fucking place. Alone. My hands are swollen. I'm in hell and I'm going to die.
BURN: You're not going to die. Aoife? Aoife!
The static along with Aoife's pleading fades away and is replaced by generic radio chitter-chatter.
BURN (cont'd): My God.
BURN M.L: She must've gotten trapped the same way when she left.
BURN: What am I doing here. She's suffering and what am I doing?
BURN M.L: Killing time?
BURN: Killing myself. I feel weaker for some reason. Something isn't right.
BURN M.L: Haven't been keeping up with your exercise, sunlight intake? Maybe it's all the fast food. Have you been keeping a balanced diet?
BURN M.L (cont'd): Who the hell wouldn't feel worse in your situation?
BURN: Maybe it's in my head. No I definitely feel...different.
Pause. He dismisses the thought and gets up, clutching his heart.
BURN (cont'd): Who I'd kill for a drink. Why couldn't I work in one of those German McDonald's?
He goes to check on the sauce and other cooking bits.
BURN (cont'd): How the hell do they make Beamish anyway? Don't they ferment...grains? Barley.
BURN M.L: I don't have barley. Or any of those big metal things. Fermenting is it? How do you ferment something. That makes alcohol doesn't it? Is that how they make wine? Hold on, it's sugar isn't it? You dump a whole load of sugar into water and let it sit. I saw it on the telly.
BURN: Well I have sugary water! I have-
BURN M.L: No. We have no fizzy drinks, remember.
Pause.
BURN: Well what else is sweet and watery?
He starts digging through ingredients.
BURN (cont'd): Ketchup!
BURN M.L: There's no way you can make drink out of ketchup right? It'll take ages.
BURN: Just think, we could turn this dry hole into a real public house. Imagine, stacks of drink, lining the shelves.
BURN M.L: If this works out.
BURN: Of course it'll work out. I don't care how rancid ketchup drink is. Alcohol is alcohol, and if it means I have to wait a month for it - by God I'll wait.
BURN M.L: I'll wait.
BURN: It's not like we have anywhere to be. I think we'll be fairly busy, after all.
The lights are off. A soft blue hue illuminates our hero sleeping on the floor. He's covered himself in a makeshift blanket made of napkins. His head rests on his backpack.
One by one, the soft tap tap tap of one raindrop after another begins from somewhere outside. There's an eternity between drops. They're muffled, first quiet and gentle and elusive and then gradually growing into an undeniable radio static of pitter-patter hitting hard the roof above.
Burn rustles from his slumber, slowly. At first, he isn't sure if the noise is his imagination. It is noticeable but not unmissable. If a frier had been on, he would've missed it.
BURN (cont'd): What's that?
BURN M.L: Rest your head. Sweet adventures await.
BURN: I'm sure I know that sound.
BURN M.L: It's the radio glitching out again. Should've turned it off.
BURN: That's right... He drifts off.
BURN (cont'd): Wait a minute. That's rain.
He gets up and stares up at the roof as the rain intensifies. He puts his ear to the door.
BURN (cont'd): It's even hitting the door.
Burn is in total awe, almost as if he's briefly escaped outside.
BURN M.L: Sweet water, raining down buckets, cats and dogs, pouring rain, lashing.Drizzle, mist, autumn nights, falling in mud, grass, soccer nets muddy and soggy.
He clambers up onto the island, trying to inch closer to the noise, closer to freedom. A leak is now starting to dripdrip-drip through the roof. He grabs a plastic cup and jumps over onto the cool grill. He monkeys up on the grill's upper parts, using it as scaffolding. Finally he reaches to the source of the leak, right at the ceiling.
Burn puts the cup to the leak and fills it for a moment, then puts it to his mouth and drinks the accumulated drops.
He sets the cup down.
BURN (relief): Rainwater...
Pause.
BURN (cont'd): The kitchen looks so weird from up here. Funny how different something can look from a new angle. Even after months of nothing but these walls I'm still discovering new things. Like that grime on top of the frier fans in the shape of a dragon.
BURN M.L: I wonder if it's night time.
BURN: Or that spatula under the sink.
BURN M.L: It's colder up here.
BURN: I wonder if it's a sunny kind of rain, or just a gloomy cloudy gray rain. I hope it's a sunny rain. That's good for Mary Donahue's garden. I wonder what Dad and Ma are up to right now. I hope the clothes aren't out on the line. Maybe they're wondering why I'm not home for dinner. Oh they've probably forgotten about me and given my portions to the neighbor's dog, that scamp! Ah he deserves it. Don't be ridiculous I'm sure they just make less portions now in the first place. I wonder how Ryan's doing and if the business is still going strong or if he's had to hire new help. They're probably not as good at making chicken wraps.
Pause.
BURN M.L: Thank God I'm alive.
BURN: It could've been so much worse, you know. The tap water could've stopped flowing. I could've run out of food. God it could've been worse. I mean, the door could've just locked and that's it and I'd be stuck in the same kitchen until the stock ran out and I'd drink dish soap until I starved to death.
BURN (cont'd): The fact that I'm still breathing must mean someone wants me alive.
Pause.
BURN M.L: It all looks so new from up here.
BURN: You can go your whole life without noticing the ceiling.
BURN M.L: Could use a wash.
The rain finally stops.
Once again all manner of crockery is steaming and it seems like there's not a machine that isn't buzzing. The kitchen is the messiest and most disjointed it's ever been.
Burn stands on the overturned bin and clips his fingernails into the steaming stock pot, with a loud CLICK, CLICK,
CLICK.
He tries to whistle but flinches in pain.
BURN: Can't even whistle.
BURN M.L: What's wrong?
BURN: It's nothing. I'm getting pains in weird places.
Click, click, click.
BURN M.L: I had this idea last night...
He smells the aroma of the cooking.
BURN: Uh-oh! He's thinking again!
BURN M.L: That maybe we can try finding a way out again.
BURN(distracted):Oof! I really chucked everything I have into this pot. Shame we have no olives. I always loved olives. But...(tastes) That more than makes up for it. Come to think of it. Hang on...
He grabs a plastic bottle filled with pinkish liquid.
BURN (cont'd): I have all this wine I've made. Why not chuck some of it in for taste. You have to use every part of the buffalo.
He does so, and tastes.
BURN M.L: We could probably try the ceiling tiles again.
BURN: Alright we'll do that. Look at this steam from the wine.
He whiffs the vapors coming from the evaporating wine. It condenses on the metallic walls behind the grill. Burn takes his finger and wipes up the droplets, then places thumb in mouth and tastes them, eyes closed, taking in the flavor.
BURN (cont'd): Look, the wine steam makes droplets on the wall. What's it called? What's it called Burn? That's right condensation.
BURN M.L (more frantic): Maybe pry them open with one of the spatulas. And if that doesn't wo-
BURN: It's stronger than just the wine, see? It's like vodka straight on the wall. Here's a thought: if we could burn a lot of wine at once and gather those droplets I'm thinking we could make a whole load of vodka.
BURN (cont'd): Of course that means first making a new batch of-
BURN M.L: There's no need to give up figuring out an escape! We should try...
BURN: Absolutely, look we'll have a look again soon.
BURN M.L: After dinner.
BURN: Tomorrow morning. I'm busy today.
BURN M.L: Don't you care about escaping?
BURN: Of course I care.
BURN M.L: Don't you want to see your family again? And your friends and get back to your life?
BURN: Of course I do.
BURN M.L: Then why don't you want to find a way to escape?
BURN: Look I do, I do! It's just that I'm busy OK? You think I wouldn't take a chance to bust out of here like that? You think I LIKE being here? Of course not! But we've been over this charade so many times. I've looked over every nook, every tile again and again. There's nothing. Just the same four walls, one ceiling, floor, over and over and over in a bottomless fucking loop. Of course I want to get out, but for God's sake it always just ends in me being more miserable, more hopeless. I'm busy can't you see? At least when I'm busy I can forget about all that misery. I mean for God's sake I'm doing something I enjoy. I'm not just busy...
BURN (cont'd): I love this. I love this like I never did before this nightmare. I can forget about my parents, and grass, and the ocean, and dolled up girls and stars. When I'm cooking, I actually feel... happy.
BURN M.L: Burn?
BURN: Yeah?
BURN M.L: Do you think we'll ever find out why we're here?
BURN(melancholic): I don't think so.
BURN M.L: You don't? Surely there's some part...
BURN: I don't think I'll ever find out. But honestly, I... don't think I care anymore either. I mean sure I'd take an answer but... It's OK.
BURN M.L: It's really that painful, huh?
BURN It is. But you're right, I can't lose hope. I'll have another go at it. After dinner.
BURN M.L: No, tomorrow morning.
BURN: Okay. What's another day to this kitchen anyway? It's seen so many days. It's like it'll always be here and it's always been here. Never changing. I can remember still my first day here.
SWIG #3
BURN (cont'd): Wait a minute... wasn't there a ventbehind that grill? I could swear...there on the lower wall. It's not used anymore of course. It was forgotten once the new thing came in but... it has to still be there right?
He jumps to move the grill with an effort. His last hope.
Indeed, there is a vent on the lower wall opposite the Backdoor.
BURN (cont'd): It's real. Holy shit, it's real.
There's a vent.
Grill is moved and vent is revealed.
BURN (cont'd): It's a way out...It's real and it's a way out and it's...tiny.
It's tiny.
BURN (cont'd): It's fucking tiny. Goddammit all! I'll never leave this place!
Burn is furious. The radio wheezes in and out of life. Once again Aoife's cries can be heard. In a fit of rage Burn yanks out the plug and SMASHES the radio to the floor.
But he unbalances himself and topples backward toward the frier. He stumbles for support.
His right hand PLUNGES into the BOILING hot GREASE behind him.
BURN (cont'd): OW FUCK! GOD!
For that brief moment before he pulls out, his hand sizzles and smokes and the oil BUBBLES.
He yanks his hand out: its pink and bloody and monstrous.
The skin is peeling off.
BURN (cont'd): Oh God! Oh no, God, Argh! My hand! Please-
He descends to the level of a beast wailing in pain.
He stumbles over to the medical cabinet.
BURN (cont'd): C'mon, c'mon. Have to get to the medical cabinet, c'mon. Shit. I can't feel my hand. I can't feel my fucking hand! Fuck.
He yanks open a kitchen cupboard.The medical box tumbles out and in his struggle to catch it Burn loses his balance and hits the floor. In a frenzy he sterilizes his pink muscular hand and wraps it up in bandage.
In a moment of calm, he retraces his steps by lying back down. And looking under the frier.
BURN M.L:What is it?
Pause.
BURN M.L (cont'd): What do you see under there?
BURN: I don't know.
BURN M.L: Is it a wrapper? No...
Burn reaches the whole length of his arm into the crack under the frier.
BURN(growing frantic): I can't reach. I need to reach it.
He grabs a long spatula and reaches as far as he can.
BURN M.L: C'mon, c'mon. Got it!
BURN: It's a note. Looks fresh, Ryan stuck it for me to see before opening and it must've unstuck and fell under the frier.
Burn holds a white piece of paper and reads.
BURN M.L: What does it say?
BURN: Oh Jesus.
BURN M.L: What?
BURN: Oh my God.
He dazedly goes and empties the pots, the pans, everything that's cooking, and then throws out the food from the containers.
BURN M.L: What in the hell are you doing?
BURN: ...
BURN M.L: What did the note say?
BURN: I, uh, I have to get out.
He goes into a fresh kitchen.
BURN M.L: Calm the hell down. Pick up the note.
BURN: I don't want to.
BURN M.L: Read it.
Burn composes himself and reads.
BURN: "Burn, toss the ingredients that came this morning. They're no good.
BURN (cont'd): I don't know if it happened in factory or in delivery or what
because it's not just the meat but the buns and the drink and greens to." To, T-O. He means T-O-O. "The greens too. But I got a call from the factory telling me everything in this morning's delivery got seriously tainted. Insecticide. Some accident. Causes health issues. It's okay if you already sold one or two sandwiches. A small dose doesn't do much, but last thing we need is someone ordering a family meal deluxe of the crap. So toss it, I'll figure something out tomorrow."
BURN M.L: That's from today? Couldn't it be-
BURN: It's from today. It just unstuck.
BURN M.L: But that would mean he's talking about this morning's delivery?
BURN: This morning's delivery...
BURN M.L: And that would mean...
BURN: That's the food we've been living off of.
BURN M.L: That's the food we've been living off of.
BURN: This whole time.
BURN M.L: This whole time.
He sits down on a bin, hopeless and defeated. Soon he'll eat the same poisonous food, because he has no choice. Soon it'll run out, and he'll have to move to a new kitchen, again and again.
BURN: Burn?
No answer.
As the lights fade the radio glitches in and out, playing that familiar pop song.
