THE GRAND CANAL MIDDAY – SUNNY

 

Enter SEAMUS walking along the canal, at pace. We are following from behind; he is shifting his bag onto the opposite shoulder as he approaches a bench and takes a seat.

 

SEAMUS

(Seated, rummaging through his bag)

Listen, I need to talk to you again, I changed some of the points around, but I just can’t get the story flowing at all.

 

Seamus pulls a tattered manuscript from his bag and flicks through it, creasing it along the edge. He turns to show it to the statue of Brendan Behan. The statue does not reply.

 

SEAMUS

(Sitting back and running his pencil along the pages, occasionally looking up towards the statue)

Why do you always look at me so interested? I haven’t written an interesting thing in this silly little book since I put the pencil to the paper.                                        I know we talked about pushing through and trusting the process but that’s easy for you to say, isn’t it?

 

He runs his hands over his face and back through his hair. A swan is leaving the water in front of him as he speaks.

 

SEAMUS

(Occasionally biting on his pencil and jotting on a fresh page)

This bit here ‘Big Troubles in Little Derry.’ Do ya really think they’ll take me seriously? I am all for a bit of humor but                                                                               that’s close to taking the piss. How did you do it, they talk about you like you weren’t half cut most of the time, and                                                                                   laughing at the world. I mean no disrespect, of course, I’m just trying to get it right. Take your man here for instance,                                                                             he’s some fella on the water but he looks a right eejit running along the path with those feet.

 

CUT TO:

CANAL BANK

 

Swan running along the water’s edge towards a pile of crumbs, flapping its wings as it waddles closer. Taking the bread, enters the water and glides away into the distance.

 

CUT TO:

 

BENCH

 

Seamus still seated and fidgeting with his pencil.

 

SEAMUS

(Getting animated, occasionally standing, and pacing while he points with his pencil)

Off he goes there, swanning around, eh? Look, how am I supposed to talk about the political landscape when I                                                                                           wasn’t even there, it’s hardly a biography now is it. There’s something to say about it all, even now, with years                                                                                            gone by, but who am I to tell that story. It just — It keeps me up, thinking about it all and feeling like there                                                                                                were so many voices, silenced or screaming into the void, for no one to hear. I hear them, I see them, they’re                                                                                               real to me.

 

Seamus, seated now, puts his book on the ground, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and lighting one up.

 

SEAMUS

(Agitated, speaking in broken sentences, aggressively puffing on a cigarette)

THE BORSTAL BOY. You knew how, to write it, to capture it. It wasn’t about us and them, was it. The                                                                                                         enemy, there’s one, the enemy, just people. What for, who for, people died, what about them. I’m not the                                                                                                     guy, I cant be, how do I begin, how does it end? It never will, it never will.

 

Seamus looking resigned pulls his pack from his pocket, extinguishing the cigarette and placing it back inside of the packet and into his pocket.

 

SEAMUS

(leaning back, hands rested on the back of his head, looking into distance)

We couldn’t have been romance writers, could we? Although, you weren’t too bad at making this                                                                                                                    place seem like the jewel at the centre of the world. I think the stories we tell, when they’re so full of                                                                                                              truth, are simply unpalatable. So, we soften them with prose, humor, and levity until it becomes less                                                                                                            about fact, and more about feeling right?

 

Seamus picks up the manuscript and flicks through it making different faces at sections of writing.

 

SEAMUS

(Shifting in his seat, showing parts of his writing to Brendan)

See this, well you’re lucky actually, you never did. There were ideals in your time, a battle against                                                                                                                  the system, the culture, the history. It got nasty when you left, when the voices of reason were                                                                                                                        drowned out by the undying taste for blood. It wasn’t just the enemy anymore, it was their own,                                                                                                                    it was ordinary people, it was anybody, and it was all the time. Bombs, bodies, secrets and blood,                                                                                                                  some would say for nothing.

 

Seamus folds the manuscript over and takes a picture from the back page to examine it.

 

SEAMUS

(Looking at the picture and speaking softly)

Aunty Eileen, what a woman, you’d have liked her. She’d a fierce sense of humor, the most beautiful                                                                                                             singer and she’d likely to be the first to the fight. This was the summer, the last one, before she                                                                                                                       disappeared. I was only a boy, but I know loved her, cause I feel it, I feel like I did, like I would, ya                                                                                                                 know. Sometimes, I can’t remember a thing about her, I forget her, like everyone else did. I don’t                                                                                                                   want to forget her, I don’t want to lose her, I want to find her.

 

Seamus puts the picture back in the manuscript and folds a leg over to lean the book on it, and begins to write.

 

SEAMUS

(Looking down and speaking as he writes)

What do you think justice is? Is it about payback, revenge, closure, I don’t know what I want.                                                                                                                          Guess, I just want answers, but I don’t even know the questions, or the person to ask. The thing                                                                                                                      about telling a story with a clear ending is figuring out where it all began, and I’m not so sure I                                                                                                                      know where that is. Maybe — the last time I saw her face, yeah — in the morning before the last                                                                                                                  day of school, before the darkest summer of my life.

 

Seamus sits for some time writing. Time passes, light changes.

 

SEAMUS

(Packing away his things into his bag and beginning to leave)

Well fella, we did good today, don’t ya think? I know what it’s about now, what I’m about.                                                                                                                                Her, it was always her, it had to be. Thanks for that, you’ve still got it. Now don’t go                                                                                                                                            anywhere will ya, I’ll be back.

 

Seamus rises, stopping to smile down on Brendan before walking away.

 

 

 

CUT TO:

 

REAR OF SEAMUS WALKING AWAY IN EVENING LIGHT

 

SEAMUS

(Narrating)

Chapter 1, Come Home Eileen.

She stood holding court in the kitchen, in the morning, I remember it was warm, she was warm. I felt safe, I felt loved, I feel like she deserved that too, she still does.