I am not crying

I am not crying
I have rain in my eyes
And the rain is summer rain
The rain that nature lends

I am not crying
I have rain in my eyes
And the rain is the softest rain
That the autumn season sends

I am not crying
I have rain in my eyes
And the rain is winter rain
The rain that never ends

I am not crying
I have rain in my eyes
I have rain in my eyes

Airport arrivals

An elderly couple catches sight of their daughter. There are long, long hugs. Mum hides her tears by straightening her daughter’s collar, Dad does the same by busily wheeling the trolley away. Daughter does not hide her tears, she lets them flow from wide-open eyes, but slows them by smiling tight-lipped at people in the waiting crowd. And the tears seem to be as catching as yawns; I am one of the grown men clearing my throat, my fist to the bridge of my nose. Then, recognising a shared emotion through the tears, we nod and smile at strangers. And then we all move in our own directions.


He took a pre-emptive swig from the bottle of indigestion remedy, put it back in his pocket and strode with a sigh into the bodega. “Now listen here, compadre” he said, as patiently as he could. The barman looked at Johnny. “Sì?”


The barman looked at him. So did the other people in the bar. Johnny belched quietly. He heard himself being too loud. He did not want to seem unreasonable.

“Yes, of course, mister Johnny. No pigeon pie this time. Nothing to eat at all? I recommend –”

“There is only one thing I want. I told you last time but you gave me that pigeon pie. It’s lying heavy, let me tell you.”


“Doesn’t matter. Just give me what I asked for before.”

“Of course senor. Here is your fino. And this one is on the house.”

Johnny flushed. “Thank you. But to eat?”

“I am sorry mister Johnny. But here we do not have the macaroni pie.”

Johnny sat heavily on the wooden stool and closed his eyes. He sank the sherry in front of him in a swallow and a single tear squeezed from his eye. He rubbed it into his cheek. He had been away too long.

Rosanna and Carlino: Scene 1 – in the classroom

Rosanna is a kindergarten English teacher in Italy. There are nine or ten children in the room, all doing different things until she calls them to her. She is sitting on a low chair and has a colourful book on her knees.

Rosanna: Children, come, come. Bambini, venite.

The children gather round and after some pushing and scuffling all sit cross-legged around her.

Rosanna: Look! Look! Who is? Who is? Guardate? Chi è? Sapete chi è?

Children: Shouts of ‘Sì’.

Rosanna: It’s the wolf! Look, it’s the wolf! Sì, sì, è il lupo. See his eyes! What big eyes! What black eyes! Che occhi grandi, no? Avete visto che occhi? Carlino had such eyes. Such deep black eyes. He looked at me and I was lost. I forgot he was the wolf. Che occhi….

The children look at one another as Rosanna’s voice tails away. She touches her eye with the tip of a finger. FADE