The last show is here, Denmark, Western Australia. Earlier, Elke took Thierry and I for long drives through forest, woodland, desert and beaches from Katanning here. We stopped off, dove into the clear cool salty water, lay on the beach a while, returned to the car, sped off again. We visited a honey farm/honey winery - who knew such things existed? - visited Elke's artist and friend in his gorgeous exhibition space and studio, before arriving at the venue for the show. We pulled into the parking lot and Colin, our production assistant had a barbecue cooking in the back of the tour van. Onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, bread, cheese and the meat was Kangaroo - sausages, burger and a steak so fresh, it was hopping. Thierry couldn't contain his excitement, kept hugging and thanking Colin as a child might for a new toy. The steak was finished medium rare, diced and we tucked into the meat, our legs dangling from the back of the van, talking excitedly in the perfect perfect weather. Our mouths full. There are a many things I will never forget about this journey. Of the team with me; playing Bob Marley's 'No woman no cry' as loudly as we could in Katanning and singing - if you could call it that - as loudly as we could in the town hall, and this moment, our fingers stained in the parking lot, goats cheese, cherry tomatoes, content. The meal is done. I persuade Thierry to come play basket ball with me and a few kids who played locally and halfway through the game, Rob, our production manager calls us to begin the tech for the show and we return to the venue to begin.
Thierry sits in the dark, I field questions to him on positioning and he answers, asking Rob other questions for clarification. But, the more I ask Thierry, the shorter his answers get. Thierry, says I, are you okay? I don't, know says he, I'm feeling hot. He comes to the edge of the stage in the pitch darkness of the theatre, I shine my torch light on his face, and gasp. His face is swollen, red and blotchy. He darts out of the theatre and I follow seconds after, into the men's room, he is doubled over at the sink, his eyes reddening. He gets steadily worse outside and we try to figure out if it is something he ate?...
Thierry says he once had a similar reaction to Ostrich meat. His chest is tightening, his throat closing up. We call Elke, the qualified nurse, who takes one look at Thierry and asks him into the car. As they drive off, Colin, Rob and I hop on the side of the road like Kangaroos, laughing at Thierry who is good humoured enough to throw up his middle finger. We return, finish the tech and just before the show starts, Elke returns and we realise how much danger Thierry was in.
His throat was closing up, he chest tightening and he could not breathe Elke says. She considered contingency plans as they sped to the hospital. She would have to resuscitate him on the roadside if he passed out, or cut a hole in his throat and stick a straw down so he could breathe. They got the hospital, finally checked him in and even then, the nurse had a shot of adrenaline ready just incase everything failed. I gulp in the changing room, imagining how close it came, but the show must go on. I am called to the side of the stage and before I go on, do the obvious thing of dedicating the show to Thierry.
But also to Australia. It is the last performance and I want to make it count. I think of Elke's advice of living in the moment. Of the life I lead in London and things I want to, must change. I think of this vast, sprawling conitinent-country, its triumphs, truths, lies, and tragedies. I imagine a current of stories - spinning in all this out of controlling, all this dreamtime and waking - I imagine something flowing from here, to Thierry in the hospital, to those at Fuel who got me here, family, to poetry itself, I say the rather egotistical funny lil prayer I say before stepping on stage "God, grant me wings, I'm too fly not too fly". I sit down, the light goes up and I begging telling the 14th Tale. "The light that limps across the hospital floor is as tired as I feel..."
Epilogue.
It is 6.18 am right now. I have been awake since 4.40 a.m. My body still operates on Australia time and I just had a nightmare. The last seven since I returned have been crazy. One of my closet friends left London for South Sudan to work for Medicine Sans Frontier. The part of the county she is working in is a strong hold of a malicious, merciless rebel group called the LRA and a couple of days ago Joseph Kony, leader of the LRA hit global mainstream media for his crimes. I fear for my friend. I miss her terribly. Later today, Black T-Shirt Collection, my new play, will open to an audience in Liverpool. I am as excited as I am terrified of how it will be received. The changes I promised to make to my life here, I think I am making them, only time will tell, but I must focus on Black T-Shirt Collection today. I am convinced of the transformative power of language and storytelling; it got me to the other side of the world and back. James Baldwin said that "...while the tale of how we suffer, and how we are delighted, and how we may triumph is never new, it always must be heard. There isn't any other tale to tell, it's the only light we've got in all this darkness." and tonight I hope to shine something bright...