PETER: He doesn’t want me to go to Europe; he thinks the political climate is ‘unsuitable’. Since he became president of the Medical Board he’s taken an unnatural interest in politics. Like you. At the moment he’s trying to get the medical profession to protest against the deregistration of Jewish doctors in Germany. I say to him, ‘Why bother? Australians don’t give a damn.’

FRANCIS: [sarcastically] Perhaps the English will.

PETER: Who cares, anyway? I want to enjoy myself over there; get to know my mother’s relatives, Esther’s family—

FRANCIS: [interrupting] Esther’s family?

PETER: She’s partly why I’m going.

FRANCIS: You’re not marrying her?

PETER: When I return.

FRANCIS: I thought you said you wanted to enjoy life. Think of all the women you’ll never get to know.

PETER: You boys from the slums.

FRANCIS: I have my standards: I only go out with rich girls; I’m trying to rise above my class.

PETER: Is that why you mix with me?

FRANCIS: Of course. You’re my introductory service.

Suddenly a woman screams. Both men jump up. The scream goes on and on, anguished, passionate but almost ritualistic.

PETER: What in the hell is that?

It goes on, then abruptly stops. Silence. Both boys are scared.

That was a person, wasn’t it?

FRANCIS: No animal could sound like that.

PETER: Maybe it was an animal in pain.

They take their lanterns and go to the area from which they judge the cry came.

FRANCIS: Here.

PETER comes over and shines his lantern. It reveals the corpse of a young man, his body covered in rotten flowers.

PETER: Christ, I’m going to be sick.

He moves away. FRANCIS holds his lantern closer and examines the body.

FRANCIS: He’s been dead for some time. I wonder why no-one’s buried him. They’ve covered him in flowers; why not bury him, then?

PETER: Perhaps someone wanted him left that way.

FRANCIS: He seems quite young.

PETER: God, he stinks. How can you be so close?

FRANCIS: There’s something about his face…

PETER: It’s rotten, that’s all. Come on, Francis, let’s get going. That screaming…

FRANCIS: It’ll take us days to get back. [He spots something.] Jesus…

He holds the lantern closer.

PETER: What is it?

FRANCIS: His mouth is full of gold.

PETER comes closer. FRANCIS takes out a small piece.

See?

PETER: You’re like my father: nothing bothers you.

FRANCIS: [handing the gold piece to PETER] See?

PETER: [repulsed] No thanks, not from a dead man’s mouth.

Silence. Unnoticed, the silhouetted figure of a woman enters.

FRANCIS: Flowers… bits of gold…

PETER: Perhaps he was murdered.

FRANCIS: Why would a murderer do this to him? Anyway, you told me nobody is supposed to be living way out here.