FRANCIS: They are war criminals: who needs a trial? We should execute them straight away.

CORRIS: Got a real bee in your bonnet.

FRANCIS: [coldly] And you’re a bloody idiot: you let him go.

Silence.

[Looking around] This is where the world ended.

CORRIS: What I wouldn’t give to be back in Australia. Know what I learned in four years of fighting the Krauts? One German phrase: ‘I surrender’. And to prove I was Australian I’d hop about like this.

He starts to hop. Suddenly FRANCIS pulls out his revolver and fires at CORRIS. CORRIS ducks. There is a cry from the ruins. A figure wearing a dirty suit jumps into view and runs for CORRIS’ gun.

FRANCIS: Get out of the way, Corris.

He fires and hits the MAN again.

Grab him.

CORRIS and the MAN struggle with the rifle, but the MAN is weak and bleeding badly. He falls to the ground.

[To the MAN, pointing his revolver] Don’t move.

CORRIS: That’s the bugger, Lieutenant. [Looking closely] Jeez, he’s badly hit.

FRANCIS: He must have been waiting all the time, waiting to jump you and get your rifle.

CORRIS: [motioning with his rifle] On your feet, Fritz. [To FRANCIS] I think he’s hurt too bad. One in the leg isn’t too bad, but the chest…

FRANCIS: Understand English?

MAN: English? Nein.

FRANCIS: Get someone to help us carry him back.

CORRIS: Those Americans will help us. Be back in ten.

CORRIS heads off. Silence.

FRANCIS: Not such a big boy now. What’s the point? You’ll get off.

The MAN is dying.

MAN: Kill me.

FRANCIS is surprised.

Kill me. Please.

The MAN is in incredible pain. FRANCIS puts his gun to the MAN’s head and calmly shoots him.

SCENE THIRTEEN

William’s study, night. WILLIAM sits in a high-backed chair finishing the remains of a bottle of whiskey. He is drunk, but full of purpose. On his lap is an open cut-throat razor. He listens to a recording of AYRE’s voice for the umpteenth time. As she slowly speaks he unconsciously translates.

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, ’airy brain ’n’ cradlepain. Pitch dark glommen is dry sheb and rottin’ tarse. The circle is burst…

WILLIAM: ‘We came past river, past tides of kelp and mud, moss and into the sea of green and came to here. There! The time of our ancestors. A dreamtime in the green stomach of heaven. All around the spirits of the fertile valley. Home. It is not home. Then something happened: there were harelips, soft brains and children in pain. A darkness of sterile girls and boys. The circle is burst. Broken.’