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The readers - The Open College of the Arts

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The readers

The following is written by OCA student Jane Moore.
TeaInTheAfternoon.3
The Readers sit on their stage: The Northney Tea Room Theatre set amongst leafless
Oaks against a backdrop of grey burdened skies.
You, the photographer, excited about Spain, sit with your lens taking more black and
white images. You want your freedom, you mutter your mantra: “No anchor, ball or
chain.” I hear you and I wonder if you realise that I have. You have pointed and
snapped some shots. You shoot the elderly readers. You lean across and show me.
Your complacency precedes you. You have snapped the present, dry it out, pierce it,
mount it, there you have it. You have the fiction of permanence, an imagined
unchanged ability, which you build anew daily to serve some present need. What is
your need?
We sit with our tea, building anew our narratives, to serve some present need. What
is my need?
Our needs are never spoken.
You complain about the price of the salmon and egg breakfast, the teaspoon seems
not to fit on the saucer so you drop it without care on the wooden oval tray. The sound
hurts me. And the milk – there does not seem enough for you. Your cross actions do
not complement your softly spoken utterance: “Nice tea. One day we will be like
that.”
A raised eyebrow hints towards stage left where two characters of advanced years sit.
She is tall, elegant and slim wearing lime green corduroy trousers, tailored shirt and
Guernsey knitted jumper. He in tweed green, small and thin. He sits with his pencil
in hand, the skilled tripod grip, lose and light like that of a dental surgeon. He scans
for clues up, down and across.
He looks up at her; she is reading. He surveys her. He seems pleased with her but
hesitant. She reads. He is wondering about a clue and if he should interrupt her and
ask for help. He does not; he returns to the crossword.
She pours him more tea.
“Oh, no more for me, I will be billowing out all over the place.” She smiles, he
laughs. She continues the ritual act of mother and adds the milk. And here I sense
some complaisance. She seems to be accepting her role without protest. Accepting a
role of pleasing this aged husband. In the afternoon show she plays mother whilst
pouring the tea. Yet the other side of her is someone who is tall and strong and holds
the Daily Telegraph with a wide wingspan interested in the business news.
She returns to her Daily Telegraph. The large paper held up high above the tabletop
suggests the wings of an eagle. Her practiced elegance is beautiful.
I pour my tea. You pour yours.
“I’m struggling with fifteen across – it’s contp.”
“No – it’s comp.”
“Is it n or m?”
“It’s M for mother.”
“Complacency, yes, yes.” His pleasure is notable. He has struggled and now he is
released as a little mouse might be lifted from a trap.
Red pencil in right hand, held with exquisite control, now darting up and down left
and right like the beak of a sparrow exploring its food.
She reads aloud, “Hayling Island, land of health and enjoyment.” He laughs.
Now an eager waitress enters she darts, she cuts in quickly. “Have you finished?”
“Yes, take it away.” He does not lift his head but stays on task. The interference is
not well received. He is in his element; she wants to shut up shop.
The plates are removed creating noise. “Are you throwing us out?”
“No.” And then a false smile is offered to cover her deceit.
“Come on, it’s time we left.” She speaks softly and with care.
“I suppose we can’t stay all day.”
They stand with ease and put on their coats. She is already planning the dinner. In
her hand she carries a bright red pot with a flowering yellow primrose. There is a
reminder of the spring to come. They exit stage right. Then through the gap, like a
seagull, the waitress swoops in landing heavily.
I look up, “What time do you close?”
“Oh, around four thirty, four forty-five,” she replies in passing.
I am ready to leave.
The matinee has ended.
I exit having acted the part of “extra.”

OCA Student Jane Moore

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