Darkness. the voice of the Writer can be heard.
Voice of the Writer: This is the 7th Day I am here in St. Andrews as a writer in residence. I have written 6 very short plays for each day. So each play –consciously or unconsciously– has a sense of my daily experience.
This is the 7th day of the creation. The creation of a small world, with its airplanes, bathrooms, seagulls and cemeteries… Now I am so tired. I thought I had to rest in the 7th day, but I can’t. I am worried about my character’s future… OK. Let me confess that the woman– my character– is on the very edge of several crazy changes in her life. Everything is going to change. I mean everything is going to lose its form: the narrative, the narration and the narrator…
I must go to the Market Street. I must buy a handbag with a Scottish pattern. I must eat fish and chips in the small restaurant on the corner of the union street. I must sit somewhere on the coast of the north sea and look at the horizon, the waves and the seagulls. I must go to Dundee for shopping. I must go to the beautiful farm that my friends told me about… to have clotted cream and scone: the fruity type. I must go and dance Cèilidh with them.
…But I can’t…I am so worried about the character. This is when the woman is supposed to visit the University of St Andrews for the first time, one of the most crucial moments of the play. I can’t leave her alone in this very dramatic moment.
I lie down on the small couch, under the delicate ray of sunlight that has found its way into the room through the window. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on the woman’s future… How she reminds me of Hamlet. She studied philosophy and her father’s ghost appears to her. Aren’t these enough to remind me of Hamlet? Or maybe it is because I am currently researching Shakespeare…Or better to say I am currently being swallowed by Shakespeare…Who am I? A woman swallowed by Shakespeare? Am I the Shakespeare’s sister? Am I Cleopatra? Am I Hamlet? Am I Ariel?
I lie down under the delicate ray of the sunlight and close my eyes: Colours…Scottish colours conquer my dream…
Suddenly, the Scottish colours and patterns are projected in the darkness.
Voice of the Writer: I have heard there is a different pattern for each different clan.
The map of Scottish clans is projected.
Voice of the Writer: I am reviewing the patterns, and I realize I love MacGregors and Crawfords… . MacFarians are a little bit too serious for me…and Chattans a little bit too Cheerful! But they are all the same in having checked designs and giving the sense of a colourful order. There is no bias or curved line. The patterns are made of different colours, but are simultaneously orderly in their lines. A narrative based on these patterns should be the same: made of different colours, but orderly in its lines. I think my first six episodes reflect these patterns. I am not sure if the link I have established here is real or the result of my subconscious associations, but I am really happy with this association. So I wish to dedicate the first 6 episodes to MacGregors and Crawfords and will be honoured if they accept it!
From the moment, my protagonist sets foot in the university, this dramatic structure will begin to change …. The lines become curvy. There are many things in my mind that make the lines curvy, twisted and even deformed: sanction, isolation, doubt… regression, transformation, love…, politicians, immigration, fear… , Shakespeareasation, Hamletisation, Arielisation, madness.
No! I can’t follow the narrative of the woman. Not today!
-My dear…, my dear character, May I ask you to go to the university only one day later?
The woman appears in the corner.
The woman: I need to find some Iranian friends, someone who can speak Persian.
Voice of the Writer: I know! But I am not asking for much, just one more day ….
The woman: So what should I do today?
Voice of the Writer: Lie down under the delicate ray of the sunlight, close your eyes and try to concentrate on…On nothing!
The woman: OK!
Voice of the Writer: Thanka a lot. I really appreciate your understanding!”