Notes on Falling Leaves

Ayub Khan Din

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781780013503
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

A poignant, elegiac short play from the author of East is East.

As his mother fades away, a son returns to the house where he grew up. It is empty, but full of reminders of how she once was. She, meanwhile, has her own foggy memories and feelings about why they try to communicate, but just can't.

'wonderful, Beckettian evocation of a mind struggling to comprehend the loss of its own faculties and the running down of the self' - Evening Standard

'Ab Khan Din's deeply moving new play lasts only 50 minutes, but it conjures up a world of loss, love and grief. At times the writing is as spare as Samuel Beckett's, but there is also a warmth, and a vivid eye for detail, that make the piece overwhelming in its emotional impact' - Daily Telegraph

Leaves completely cover the stage and wings. A rusty iron bench is centre stage. A WOMAN in her early fifties stands upstage centre in the semi-darkness.

The WOMAN has short grey hair. She wears a large maternity-type dress with a Peter Pan collar. She plucks at the waist of the dress all the time, as if irritated in some way. On her arm she carries a handbag. When she moves, it is in a stooped shuffle. She slowly bends and picks up a leaf and whispers to it and then drops it again. She shuffles towards the bench and contemplates it. She knows there is something she has to do with it, but it doesn’t come to her.

Beat.

She looks about her, a pained expression on her face. She moans little moans. She comes to the front of the bench and lowers herself down towards the seat, but misses it completely. Slowly she squats down in front of it, whispering to the leaves as she picks them up. Upstage, a MAN, twenty-six, slowly follows her forward. He lights a cigarette. He clears his throat. He does this throughout his speech. He stands and stares at her. In his hand, he holds a bright-pink child’s drinking beaker with a lid and two handles.

MAN. I stayed at the house last night. Your house… Last night…

He clears his throat again. The WOMAN does not acknowledge him but carries on handling the leaves.

I stayed in your house last night… Our house. The house we all lived in.

The WOMAN pays no attention to anything the MAN says. Her focus is never on him.

WOMAN. Hanawahd. I couldevin…

She moans. He clears his throat again.

MAN. It was there… but it wasn’t… bit like you really. Shadowed. Dirt on the handle of the fridge. Fingerprints that belong to fingers that don’t feel any more. I touched them. Ran my fingers over them. You. Everything I touched had you on them. Every room had conversations in them.

It was all there exactly as I remembered it, nothing changed. But it’s a dead house. If houses can die, then your house is dead. The girl I’d brought with me thought it was spooky. She sat in a chair afraid and wouldn’t move. Followed me about like you did… Could hardly tell her to ‘Fuck off and sit down,’ could I? It was cold. Soulless. There was still a distinctive odour of stale piss around the place… not your fault, I know. She smelt it. The girl. The moment we walked in. She didn’t let on but I know she smelt it. I knew it was coming at the top of road. Even before I put the key in the back door. You’ll be pleased to know I used the back door. Even though I’d brought a visitor. It made ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Dedication
• Original Production
• Characters
• Notes on Falling Leaves
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information