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               Two women enter a room. One of them is obviously in
               control, some kind of therapist maybe. She is carrying a
               pad on which to write and invites the other one to sit
               down. The other one is obviously a guest or an interviewee
               or in a weaker position in some way. She sits down
               hesitantly and waits for the interview to begin.

               The interviewee, whose name is SARAH, betrays a kind of
               shyness in her gestures but there is nothing fundamentally
               weak about her.

                         Take a seat, Sarah.

               As Sarah is about to sit down the therapist starts
               rearranging the chairs and Sarah has to wait a moment.
               Sarah then sits down and waits for the interview to begin.

                                   THERAPIST (cont'd)
                             (sitting down on a chair
                         Right Sarah, before we start, I'd
                         like you to close your eyes and
                         think, silently, for a few
                         seconds about what brought you
                         here. Before you say anything, I
                         want you to be clear in your mind
                         about what it is that is
                         troubling you.

               Sarah gives a half smile and closes her eyes.

                                   THERAPIST (cont'd)
                         That's right. I want you to
                         recover the emotions that you
                         were feeling at the very moment
                         you decided you needed my help.
                         Picture in your mind where you
                         were and what you were doing at
                         the very moment you thought to
                         yourself, "I need help".

               Sarah opens her eyes and starts to object to the
               therapist's assumption but the therapist stops her with a

                                   THERAPIST (cont'd)
                         No, no, no. You must keep your
                         eyes closed until I tell you.
                         This will only work if you do
                         what I ask you. That's right,
                         keep your eyes closed and think
                         back. I'll leave you to your
                         thoughts now, and next time I
                         speak, I want you to open your
                         eyes and tell me what it is that
                         is troubling you. Okay...

               While Sarah's eyes are closed, the therapist cradles her
               own head in her hands and rocks it between her legs as if
               she's in distress. She messes up her hair. When she lifts
               her head up she grabs a vanity mirror from her handbag on
               the floor next to her and looks closely at herself in it,
               alarmed. She strokes her hair back into place, replaces the
               mirror, composes herself and says:

                                   THERAPIST (cont'd)
                         O-kay. Open your eyes and tell me
                         what it is.

                             (opening her eyes)

               A pause.

                         Bees? As in pollen?

               Sarah nods assent.

                                   THERAPIST (cont'd)
                         You came to me because of bees?

               The therapist gets out of her chair and walks around as if
               suppressing her anger.

                                   THERAPIST (cont'd)
                         That is so - I don't know how to
                         express it - trivial. You have a
                         phobia about bees and you expect
                         me to cure you? A doctor could do
                         that, a psychiatrist even. I am
                         much more than that. Don't you
                         understand? I'm a spiritual
                         counsellor! I deal with the soul
                         and all its side-effects...
                             (with scorn, pointing at
                              the side of her head)
                         I don't deal with the mind. I
                         don't deal with the brain.
                             (the therapist walks
                              right up to her and
                              bends down so that
                              their faces are almost
                         I do not deal with consciousness
                         or unconsciousness, the id, the
                         ego, the super-ego, the anima,
                         the animus, the wounded self, the
                         child within, your inner man,
                         your inner woman, your inner
                         I don't deal with any of those
                         rag bag of witch-doctor concepts
                         foisted on us by a bunch of self
                         serving narcissistic
                         psychological career monkeys. I
                         deal with the SOUL. You probably
                         don't even understand what that
                         is but let me tell you it is not
                         a phobia about bees. And if you
                         think you are going to sit there
                         and insult me with the word
                         "bees", you can just walk out of
                         here now and pay me double!

                             (completely composed,
                              slightly amused)
                         It's not a phobia.

                             (walking over to her,
                         What do you mean?

                         It's an obsession. Something I
                         can't control.
                             (she looks down at her
                              belly and holds it with
                              both hands)
                         I have something beautiful
                         growing inside of me. Something
                         new and wonderful.

                         You're pregnant?

                         No. I'm full of new life. Not
                         this life, with all its problems
                         and diversions, but a greater
                         more intense life, full of
                         concentrated beauty and wonderful
                         structures. It's just waiting to
                         burst out of me, if only I can
                         let it. You see...
                             (she motions the
                              therapist to come close
                              to her, and whispers)
                         In here...
                             (pointing to her
                         I'm stock full of happiness.
                         Brought to me by the bees.

               The therapist stands up straight, pauses.

                         This is interesting. When did it

                         It didn't just happen. It's
                         always been happening, since I
                         was a little girl. At night, the
                         bees come to me and they
                         impregnate me with joy and when I
                         wake up, the room is full of
                         light and smells of flowers.
                         That's how I know.

                             (sitting down)
                         Know what?

                         That I'm not mad. Otherwise the
                         room could not smell of flowers,
                         could it?

                         No. And there would be no light

                         Unless what?

                         Unless it was daylight.

                         No, it's much lighter than that.
                         It's a light you've never seen
                         before. It's like the inside of a
                         sun filled with honey and
                         exploding all over your face.

                         Hmmmm... And how do you feel when
                         you wake up. Happy or sad?

                         I feel so happy! So happy I could
                         kiss the world with my tongue. I
                         want to run up and embrace
                         everyone I see as if they were


                         Yes, eggs. And I was a sperm
                         who'd been swimming for centuries
                         through the fallopian tubes, lost
                         and alone, and suddenly I see
                         them there before me, big
                         luscious egg people, waiting to
                         be embraced. And it makes me so

                         You think you're happy.

                         No - I am happy.

                         You see, Sarah, sometimes what we
                         see as happiness can actually be
                         a special kind of misery.
                         Something horrible and
                         destructive waiting to take over
                         our soul and drive us down into
                         the dirt, like the worthless
                         remains of a ripped up scum bag.
                         We trip over it, we fall, we're
                         in the mud, while up there,
                         happiness is leaning over us
                         laughing, and crushing us with
                         its big boot. Could that be
                         what's happening to you?

                         No. This is real happiness. The
                         kind you could drive sheep
                         through. And never come out the
                         other end.

                         I know that's what it feels like
                         to you now, but what worries me
                         is that you may regret it later.


                         When you are woman.

                         But I am a woman.

                         No. That is a mistake that many
                         people make. They mistake being
                         an adult with growing up.
                         You see, the ancients tell us
                         that the soul starts life as a
                         worm, wriggling in the mud. Then
                         it becomes a knife and cuts
                         itself in two. When you have two,
                         you always get many, it's a
                         fundamental principle of the
                         universe, and from these many you
                         get one.

                         One what?

                             (taps her head and
                         Think about it! It's obvious.

               Sarah thinks for a moment, shrugs her shoulders and smiles -
               she is obviously non-plussed.

                                   THERAPIST (cont'd)
                             (getting up and fetching
                              the mirror from her
                         Right, I'll demonstrate.
                             (holding the mirror in
                              front of Sarah's eyes)
                         Now, look in your eyes and tell
                         me what you see?

               A pause.

                         I see the world through many
                         angles, like segments of a fruit
                         broken open by the summer.

                         Now look in my eyes and tell me
                         what you see.
                             (she holds the mirror
                              between them so that
                              looking into it they
                              can see each other's
                              eyes; long pause)
                         Well? What is it?

                         I see trauma. Trauma and dreams
                         all washed down with a mouthful
                         of hatred.

               The therapist jumps backwards, outraged.

                         You do not see hatred in me. You
                         see a journey! One long journey
                         from being a worm to being a god!

               Sarah stands up and faces her.

                         I see hatred in you! But you deny
                         it. You are jealous and you can't
                         comprehend. You don't know what
                         it's like to have the love that I
                         have here, buried inside me like
                         a womb.

                         Don't you talk to me about love!
                         Wait until you have evolved a bit
                         before you come to me wittering
                         about love and bees and honey,
                         you... you retard.

                             (shakes her head
                         Oh you poor, poor thing. You just
                         don't understand, do you. I could
                         teach you to love.




                             (pointing to her belly)
                         Put your hand here, unless you're
                         too scared.

                             (standing back, scared)
                         No! I won't.

                         It won't hurt you, you know. It's
                         what you've always been waiting
                         for but were too scared to ask.

                         No. It's disgusting. To commune
                         with bees like some drunken lama.

                         You don't have to be ashamed.
                         Everyone has these feelings of
                         resistance at first. Come, give
                         me your hand.

               The therapist shakes her head while looking at Sarah's

                                   SARAH (cont'd)
                         Come on. Here, watch me do it
                             (she rubs her belly and
                              closes her eyes as if
                              in bliss; she opens her
                              eyes, full of ecstasy)
                         You see what joy it can bring.
                         Please will you trust me?

               The therapist reluctantly gives Sarah her hand which is
               placed on Sarah's belly. Sarah smiles.

                                   SARAH (cont'd)
                         You see, there is goodness in
                         this world. More goodness than
                         you can ever keep, filling up
                         like clotted cream in a dairy
                         full of sponge. Can you feel it?

                             (quietly ecstatic)
                         Yes. Oh yes! It's a feeling like
                         I've never had before. I think
                         I'm going to faint.

               Sarah sits down and the therapist kneels in front of her
               with her head in Sarah's lap. Sarah strokes her hair.

                         Sometimes, it takes a shock to
                         make you realise that all we see
                         is not gold. Sometimes it is coal
                         or amber, sometimes chalcedony.
                         Sometimes it is only wood or
                         charcoal. But in every one of us
                         there is a soul, something
                         rotten, that can become a worm,
                         and then a knife, and then a sun.
                         If only we could believe.

               A long pause. The therapist might be crying.

                                   SARAH (cont'd)
                             (suddenly becoming
                              organised and
                         Now, I think I'm going to write
                         you a prescription. Just a little
                         something to take your mind off
                         things. Could you pass me that
                         pad over please?

               The therapist crawls across the floor and returns with the
               pad. Sarah writes in large letters, "SUICIDE", tears it off
               and gives it to the therapist.


                         Yes. It's what we recommend for
                         your type. It shouldn't take long
                         and I think you will find that
                         very quickly you can face up to
                         things again, without the need
                         for crutches or remorse. Is that

                         Are you sure?

                         Absolutely! It's never failed
                         yet. Afterwards you might feel a
                         bit woozy, a bit wobbly at the
                         old knees, but that will soon
                         pass. In fact, everything will
                         soon pass, that's the beauty of
                         it. Blam, no more worries. And if
                         you have any questions, just get
                         back to me, through the old
                         spirit world - Ouija board, and
                         all that.


                         And I don't think we need to meet
                         every week from now on. Let's
                         give it some time for the wounds
                         to heal, shall we?
                             (scratching her arms)
                         Brrrr, too much abrasion.

               They both stand up and look at each other. Sarah offers a
               handshake. The therapist looks at her, unhappily. Sarah
               tenderly pulls her towards her.

                                   SARAH (cont'd)
                         Oh my poor little darling, you
                         look so lost.

                             (with her head buried in
                              Sarah's shoulder)

                                        THE END
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