AYRE’S VOICE: Past riverrun ’n’ turn o’ kelp int’ muddy moss, sea-y green ’n’ here. There! Ghost ’n’ sprit time. Goldy lifey, glommen lifey. Thee dreamytime in greeny belch o’ ’eaven. Sprits o’ cunty dell. Circle o’ greeny ’ome! Nowt ’ome. Burst mouth, hairy brain ’n’ cradlepain. Pitch dark glommen is dry sheb and rottin’ tarse. The circle is burst…

WILLIAM: Are you listening? That is Ayre’s voice. There is nothing wrong with your vocal cords and yet you don’t speak. Try again. [He makes elementary sounds.] Copy me.

But MAC isn’t interested. WILLIAM turns off the gramophone.

Alright, let’s get back to the test, then. Now concentrate this time, Mac. Concentrate!

MAC is exhausted. He angrily throws the manual skills test on the ground.

[Angrily] Pick it up!

MAC, obedient as a child, does so. WILLIAM, annoyed at his own anger, stoops to help him, then sits back on the chair.

I know it’s late. But concentrate, please. I’m just as tired as you are. [Smiling] I’m going to conquer you. Understand you. Now let’s go through this again. We’ll get it right this time.

Silence. MAC makes no move on the manual skills test.

If you do it right you can go back to your ward and see Angel. Angel. Do that test and you can go and see Angel.

MAC starts on his test.

SCENE THREE

The asylum gardens, afternoon. The wind sounds through the trees. MAC sits on a distant bench wearing an asylum uniform. STEF imitates the wind. His asylum jacket is very dirty. BETSHEB stands downstage in her beautiful bright dress. At her feet is a magazine. A magpie sings; she imitates its call. She begins to sing much more comprehensibly than before.

BETSHEB: [singing]

Glow white in ’er dress,
Gold, gold in ’er hair.
Ruby are ’er lips,
Love, love is e’rywhere.

The bird sings again. BETSHEB lies on her back and spreads out the dress like a fan. She strokes her dress: the material feels wonderful—so does the grass: warm and cosy. She feels her breasts and stomach: like a child unaware of anyone else she enjoys the sensations of her own body. A woman, DR SIMON, enters.

DR SIMON: [to BETSHEB] Such a dress! I would kill for one like that. Happy?

BETSHEB: Yes.

DR SIMON: [picking up a magazine] Who wouldn’t be on a day like this? Been looking at the pictures? Which ones do you like best? Aeroplanes? The cricketers? That’s Don Bradman. The dancers? The weddings?

BETSHEB laughs at a private joke. She knows which pictures she likes best but she is not going to tell DR SIMON.

You’re not going to tell me?

As BETSHEB continues to laugh, DR SIMON goes to MAC.