ache1:
Don’t you get it, I mean, can’t you see what
Skunk:
I get it I get it, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t, you know, why can’t
you play him at his own game? What’s to stop
ache1
(sighing): He can’t be
and
swallowing.
ache1:
How can you beat him at his own game? There is no game. It’s not a game
Skunk. This is no game.
Skunk:
I know that, but what I’m saying i-
ache1:
No! Listen to me. LISTEN. You can not beat him at his own game. He’s
making the rules as he goes along. How can
Skunk:
But
ache1:
Okay look, you want to try it? Try it. Try beating him at his own game. He’ll
just change the rules. I mean, don’t you think that I might know that by now?
Don’t you get it? You’re just not you’re just not thinking. The only thing you can
do is to... The
clapping
her hands to her head.
ache1:
Everybody’s life is, has has a... Everybody is restricted in some way, this is
just... I don’t see it as being such a problem.
Pause.
Skunk:
What about antler?
ache1:
What about antler?
Skunk
(snapping): “What about antler?” Jesus Christ! Are you trying to tell me
he’s not going to want some, some sort of
ache1:
He’s not Rumpelstiltskin, Skunk. He’s not about to, to fly across here and
demand...
and
then, recognising the watershed and wanting the edge off this
ache1:
Ho-kay. Look.
She
crosses the room to the bedside cabinet, swinging aloft the bulging little bag
of marbles.
Brother
Skunk tips back his head, stares to the ceiling.
ache1:
Skunk?
He
drops his head, regards her.
ache1
(chalking afresh the circle upon the carpet): If you win this, we’ll
argue the bones out of it for as long as it takes, okay? And if I win, then
sighing
ache1:
..then we’ll go for a walk or get drunk or or or... something. Okay?
He
allows for his undoing, even as he takes from his pocket the black and white
skunk shooter, rolling it around in his palm before it disappears inside
fingers now become fist.
Skunk:
Okay.
