Hiro Kanagawa - Indian Arm

Acknowledgements

Indian Arm was commissioned and developed by Rumble Theatre. Additional development under Arts Club Theatres 2013 ReACT: New Plays in Progress series. Excerpt from The Lost Island from Legends of Vancouver (1911) by E. Pauline Johnson. The playwright gratefully acknowledges the help and co-operation of Leonard George, Dennis Thomas, and the Tsleil-Waututh Nation in the creation of this play.

Contents

Production History

Indian Arm was presented by Rumble Theatre from April 818, 2015, at Studio 16 in Vancouver, BC, with the following cast and creative team:

Cast

Rita: Jennifer Copping

Borghejm and Old Woman: Gloria May Eshkibok

Alfred: Gerry Mackay

Asta: Caitlin McFarlane

Wolfie: Richard Russ

Creative Team

Director: Stephen Drover

Production Designer: Drew Facey

Lighting Designer: Conor Moore

Sound Designer: James Coomber

Associate Director: Corey Payette

Stage Manager: Collette Brown

Assistant Stage Manager: Noelle Sediego

Production Manager: Becky Low

Technical Director: Robin Richardson

Characters

Rita: midforties, a once-promising combination of beauty and brains, now languishing as a wife and mother

Alfred: mid to late forties, Ritas husband, a once-promising writer, has just made a life-changing realization about his career and family

Asta: midtwenties, Ritas half-sister, still the pretty young thing Rita once was

Wolfie: mid-teens, Alfred and Ritas adopted son, native, was special needs for much of his life, now trying to assert himself

Borghejm: fiftiessixties, female, native, a residential school survivor, and member of the family who own Ritas leasehold

Old Woman: ageless, mythic (doubled with Borghejm and an alter ego of sorts)

Setting

ACT I: The kitchen and back garden of a family cottage on native leasehold land north of Deep Cove.

ACT II: A clearing in the woods.

Time

Summer. The present.

ACT I

Dark woods. A hard BC rain falling. Sparse, haunting music: a drum, a voice.

Onstage an old woman , native, sits on a stump or log, hunched inside a traditional bark cape and spruce rain hat. She is perhaps the source of the music, perhap s not.

Enter wolfie , a native youth in his mid-teens, breathing heavily, drenched to the skin in his modern clothes. He blinks and squints at his surroundings. He finds the old woman in the shadows of the f orest.

wolfie: Grampa? That you? J ordan?

The old woman ignore s him.

Hello? Is this it? Am I here?

The old woman pulls a bottle of hard liquor from her cape and takes a drink.

old woman: Who in the fuck you callin Grampa , boy?

wolfie: Im sorry. I lost my gl asses.

old woman: Youre a retard is what it amoun ts to.

wolfie: No. No, I ...

The old woman laughs a t him.

Ill be on m y way.

old woman: Where do you think youre going?

wolfie: Im looking for the Lost I sland.

The old woman laughs, harder than b efore.

old woman: Only one lost is you, you r etard.

wolfie: Stop calling me that! I... I had cerebral hypoxia when I was a baby

old woman: Oh? Is that your e xcuse?

wolfie: My brain didnt get enough oxygen, okay?

old woman: Cuz your mama was a drunken whore. Fuckin heroin a ddict.

wolfi e : no !

old woman: What do you know, boy? For all you know she stuffed you in a garbage bag and left you out back of St. Pauls. Out by the dump sters.

wolfie: No she never. She put me up for adoption. She was young, thats all. She couldnt take care of me and she put me up for ado ption.

old woman: Why you so retarded then? Were you a preemie? Cord wrap around your neck when you was born?

wolfi e : No.

old woman: So what happened to ya?

wolfie: I... I ...

wolfie is at a loss. The old woman l aughs.

old woman: Just another dumb I ndian.

wolfie: Fuck you. Im going.

old woman: Aint gonna find nuthin. Lost Island? Its lost, aint it? What the hell you think youre gonna find there?

wolfie: Our courage. Our strength. Our wisdom. Its there. My grampa kn ew it.

old woman: Your grampa? Your adopted grampa? Ol Erik the Red? He was a white man, moron.

wolfie: He was good. He loved this land. He was a giant among men. A warrior. And so was Jordan. Jordan was a warrior and he was looking for the Lost Island, too. What he was saying is, its time for us Indian men to warrior up. And Im gonna follow him. Im gonna find the Island, and were gonna rise up and be strong and live righteously, and... and... were gonna... were gonna

old woman: (mocking) Were gonna... were gonna ...

wolfie: Were gonna rock the world, you old hag! Ill show you! Ill sho w you!

The old woman l aughs.

old woman: (stereotypical elder voice) Yes, said my old tillicum. We Indians have lost many things... We may travel many days up the mountain trails, and look in the silent places for them. They are not there. We may paddle many moons on the sea, but our canoes will never enter the channel that leads to the yesterdays of the Indian people. These things are lost, just like The Island of the North A rm.

wolfie: Thats it. So you do know.

old woman: Fuckin fairy tale.

wolfie: No it isnt, its a myth, an ancient myth . Myths are true. Theres a diffe rence

old woman: Myth as in fiction, boy. Myth as in the pretty little lies white people tell to gussy up the mud and shit we all came from.

wolfie: Shut up. Who are you? Youre a witch. Im not listening t o you.

old woman: A witch, eh? Since were talkin myths maybe Im Raven. Maybe Im Great Spirit herself. (gestures to the woods all around) Well here you go, boy. Heres your Lost Island. Your Happy Huntin Gr ounds.

The old woman stands with a decrepit blanket. She indicates their surroun dings.

This is all there is, boy. Sky full of cold hard rain, woods full of smallpox and TB. So come on now. Come lie with me. Im a beautiful young maiden, cantcha see? Got a blanket for ya, right here.

She closes in on wolfie with the bl anket.

wolfie: No... No... ! Get away from me! Get away! Mom! Dad!

Darkness closes around them. The music and rain crescendo then cross-fade to the sound of a television new scast.

reporter: (voice only) reports of an individual on the bridge deck. Whether this is a distraught person or a demonstrator of some sort, we simply dont know

anchor: (voice only) and were getting live images now from our Chopper One, Eye-in-the-Sky. Police cruisers mid-span, officersit appearswith weapons drawn. Again these are live images. A disturbance in progress on the Ironworkers Memorial ...

TV sounds continue in the background as lights come up on the back kitchen of a rustic cottage in the woods. Large windows and French doors overlook a garden with the waters of Indian Arm beyond. DIY home renovation and cleaning supplies are scattered here and there.

rita stands at the windows with a glass of wine. Beside her on the counter is a three-litre box of wine. She stands there drinking, contemplating a strip of blue painters tape in her hand. We hear a knock and the front door op ening.

asta: (off) Hello! Rita? Wolfie? Ding -dong!

rita sticks the tape on a memo board, downs her wine, dries the glass with a dishcloth, and puts it with some unused ones on a drink cart.

rita: In here, sw eetie!

She makes a show of working on the window frame.