Shelley

read a passage from a “Foundations of The Heart” extract, the novella from which the screenplay was adapted;

A densely knitted blackness surrounded them after the sun had completely disappeared from the sky. The gypsies moved around her, carrying drums, pipes and tobacco. One of the uncles sat and began to lightly strum on his mandolin, the music trickled over her ears and consciousness beautifully, and relaxed, she stood up and began walking back to the caravan, the sweet smell of barbecued meat, in the open atmosphere, following her. She stopped and looked outwards at the white bark trees which were spread around her. She walked past the van, and rested against one of the trees which lined the outskirts of their modest encampment. These were pre dynastic trunks of silver eucalypti, outlined by navy sky.

The forest seemed stunning to her, in its eternity and purity, especially at nightfall, when its shapes were most distinct; the natural surroundings of her home in Edinsworth had taken on a new clarity when contrasted with the night sky. She could only hear the nocturnal screams of the possums as they defied gravity amidst the heights of surrounding trees, in search of food. She loosely strolled through the wooded enclave, lifting her skirt casually, here and there, to avoid barks and twigs scattered on the forest floor.

Then it seemed, for once, that she was perfectly alone; only herself , and the forest seemed left, in the entire world. She closed her eyes, and listened to the sounds of the wooded enclave; they withheld beauty in their stark quality, when compared with the surrounding bushland. She opened her eyes and began to think of Edinsworth and Etta, poor Etta; she could imagine her at home, sitting, listening to the radio, or trying to complete her homework, on the match stick table set up on the veranda. She felt her stomach. It seemed difficult to believe that she was actually pregnant. Then she heard the crack of twig in the underbrush. She remembered Myra’s letter which had detailed her brush with a vagabond traveller, back, on the family property, at Edinsworth. She panicked and began to sprint back to the gypsy camp. She looked around her, at the pristine wilderness, enmeshed in darkness. No human or animal seemed immediately visible. She made it back to the caravan swiftly, and almost fell against a truck, pushed by the velocity of the wind. She was content to be reunited with the warm interior of the caravan she shared with Yeshengo. Yeshengo had known nothing, and she was glad of it. He was already asleep on the lounge seat, tired from a full day of consistent travelling.