The Unnatural and Accidental Women. Marie Clements

buzzing thirty years ago, or was it last year? Never mind, the buzz rings in their ears just as the sawdust used to rest in their belly buttons after a hard day’s work. Honest work. A tree for …

      REBECCA:

      … a thumb.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      A tree for a …

      REBECCA:

      … leg.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      A tree for their …

      REBECCA:

      … hearing.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      An honest trade made between a logger and his trees. No malice between the two—just an honest respect for the give and take of nature.

       SFX: The full buzz of a bar under.

      The woodchip blizzard clears, and crudely made stumps that look like bar stools remain behind her and deepen the look of the bar—the Empress Hotel. AUNT SHADIE walks across the bar but is also covered by it, in it.

      REBECCA:

      Now the loggers sit like their lovers, the trees—they sit like stumps, and drink, and think. And think the world has gone to shit. They think of a time when cutting down a tree was an honest job, a time when they all had their good-looking limbs, a time when they were respected by the tallest order, a time when drinking was not an addiction.

       AUNT SHADIE turns up a flight of stairs as we watch her shadow ascend.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      And the women. Oh the women strolled by and took in their young sun-baked muscles and happy cash.

       REBECCA turns back to her journal.

      REBECCA:

      If you sit long enough, maybe everything becomes clear. Maybe you can make sense of all the losses and find one thing you can hold on to. I’m sitting here thinking of everything that has passed, everyone that is gone, and hoping I can find her, my mother. Not because she is my first choice, but because she is my last choice and … my world has gone to shit.

       She looks around the room and raises her glass.

      Cheers …

       Lights up on the same hotel room, as AUNT SHADIE takes two old suitcases out from under her bed. She lies them on the bed and opens them slowly, hesitantly. Cree words spill out everywhere. She opens and closes the sound and begins to laugh. Affectionately, she snaps them shut, picks them up and walks towards the door and up. The suitcases get heavier and heavier as she rises.

       SLIDE: THE SWITCHBOARD—Reception

       AUNT SHADIE walks towards small lights that fade up and down. As she approaches, lights fade up on the back of ROSE sitting at her switchboard. Her lobby is a 1960s hotel. ROSE is dressed conservatively in 1960s attire. The switchboard beeps and lights. She connects throughout. AUNT SHADIE huffs herself forward.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Excuse me.

      ROSE:

      (not looking at her) Can I help you?

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Yeah sure. I’m looking for a place to leave my baggage for a while.

      ROSE:

      I’m sorry, I can’t do that.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Why, because I’m In—

      ROSE:

      —naked. Yes, that’s it. You’ll have to register first. I can’t be taking just anybody’s baggage now, can I? Can you write your name?

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Listen, I’m naked, not stupid.

      ROSE:

      Oh. Well, I’m just trying to help you people out.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Why don’t you look at me when you say that?

       ROSE turns slowly around revealing a black eye and bruises on her face.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Wow, they sure dragged you through it.

      ROSE:

      Humph. (ROSE looks away from AUNT SHADIE’s nakedness)

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Haven’t you ever seen anybody nude before?

      ROSE:

      Not up front.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      I’m not sure if I should feel sorry for you or not. Well, I went to bed wearing clothes, and then I woke up naked as a jailbird.

      ROSE:

      I woke up naked once.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      What, a million years ago?

      ROSE:

      Pardon me?

      AUNT SHADIE:

      I said, good for you.

      ROSE:

      Aren’t you cold?

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Of course, I’m cold.

      ROSE:

      Here, put this on.

       ROSE takes a big beige cardigan from her chair and hands it to her.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Now I feel ugly.

      ROSE:

      It’s from England.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Like I said, now I feel ugly.

      ROSE:

      It’s the same one the Queen wore on her inaugural visit to Canada.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Like I said, ugly. (looking at the sweater) Ugly. For a queen, you’d think she’d dress better. It’s almost like she’s punishing herself. If I had all her money, I wouldn’t be wearing all those dowdy dresses. Just once I’d like her to wear a colour. Something not beige or plaid. Something blue maybe. Something that gives her colour: Red!

      ROSE:

      Mothers of countries do not wear red.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      She’s a mother alright. Always did love those white gloves though. They remind me of white swans, especially when she waves. It’s kinda pretty actually.

      ROSE:

      My mother always wore gloves. She used to say a lady wasn’t a lady unless she wore gloves.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      Hmm. My mother wore mitts. They were white though, and furry. Big rabbit mitts. When my mother waved, it wasn’t so much pretty as it was sad.

      ROSE:

      Waving can be sad.

       AUNT SHADIE waves like a queen.

      Where you going?

      AUNT SHADIE:

      I’m dying for a smoke.

      ROSE:

      What about registering?

       ROSE watches as AUNT SHADIE signs her name.

      Rita Louise James.

      AUNT SHADIE:

      There,