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| [Sound: bird calls. The single piercing note of a cardinal. The Prodigy enters carrying a fishing rod. The Puritan moves quickly offstage to retrieve a rod of his own.] | |
| PRODIGY: | My mother and father worry that somehow the world will steal my childhood. That's why dad bought this cottage up on Lake Simcoe. It's my refuge. A place for me to connect with the important stuff ... trees ... birds ... bass fishing. Even here in paradise I am aware of a degree of separation. Others don't feel what I am feeling, [stepping into the boat] take Mr Ramsay, our neighbour. Mr Ramsay is a simple man with a narrow range of emotional responses. |
| PURITAN: | [as Mr Ramsay] Keep the tip moving, Professor. Gotta keep it moving. That's it. You want to fool that fish. Are you on bottom? You're not fishing if you're on bottom. [he intercedes with the Prodigy's fishing technique] You want the fish to think the worm is alive. |
| PRODIGY: | Mr Ramsay has taken it upon himself to provide me with some of the trappings of a normal childhood. The dog paddle. The sheep shank. The dramaturgy of worms. |
| [His fishing rod quivers.] | |
| [whisper] Oh no. Think I got a nibble. | |
| MR RAMSAY: | [whisper] He's gumming it. Don't move. |
| PRODIGY: | Mr Ramsay and I play our little game. He puts a worm on my hook. I play out my line until I feel the worm settle on bottom. I don't want to fool the fish. I want to fool Mr Ramsay. |
| [He jerks his line.] | |
| I stare at the distant shore and listen ... | |
| [Mr Ramsay turns to listen, momentarily out of character as he eavesdrops on the boy.] | |
| I'm inside Bach's music so much of the time now. I open a new score and the possibilities flash by me like dazzling lures - Zing! Zing! | |
| [Mr Ramsay casts with a loud zing, and continues eavesdropping.] | |
| I turn each new piece of music around in my head for days, structure moving like the shapes of a mobile as I assemble the mental image ... this emotion against that tempo! This wind against that light! The symmetries ring in the deep place between the notes. [in wonder] I converse with the dead. A joyous whispering of secrets. [pause] I want to be the greatest interpreter of Bach since Busoni. | |
| [Sound: the call of a cardinal. The twang of a breaking piano string. The beep of a life support system. Light shift: to red. The Prodigy's rod bends double, line races off his reel.] | |
| Something is happening! | |
| MR RAMSAY: | My goodness! Oh my goodness! Reel in! No! The other way! Look out, he's running! Let the drag off! THE DRAG! |
| PRODIGY: | [overlapping with Ramsay] Stop! Just do - any! - stop! It's-it's wrong! I-I won't be part of it! |
| [Pandemonium as the fish breaks water in a blaze of light and sound, then lands on the floorboards of the boat between them. Sound: fish thumping against boat. The Puritan goes into a horrified freeze. The Prodigy steps away from the boat, trying to escape.] | |
| The fish explodes from the water and lands in our boat. I see everything from the fish's point of view - its entire being this single glittering muscle. It flops on the floor boards - a fast cadence changing time in sporadic shudders ... the fish drowning in my air ... the movement becomes legato, soft little thumps ... as the sparkle dulls ... fades ... disappears. Dead eyes. Scales gone white. Silence ... | |
| PURITAN: | ... and me screaming at the top of my lungs. |
| [Lights fade. Another note from the ground bass.] |