Bracing Smell Pounding Rhythms

Eight o'clock. The entire cast is bunched behind Nobby, who is playing the curtain.

Except Arthur, who hasn't turned up yet.

Nobby can't rise as a curtain. His dual role as an orange tree prevents it.

It would be too confusing.

So the cast walk on stage, around Nobby.

The audience applauds.

The funky modulations of BCUC pound through the air.

Vello adjusts his earplugs.

Candide's Garden commences.

Candide: It's good that we're all out here working in our garden.

Cunégonde: Yes, even the old lady.

The old lady: But why is it so smelly?

Candide: It's the Dynamic Lifter. We must dig it in.

Doctor Pangloss: Why not leave it? It's a very bracing smell.

Martin: Name me one good quality of Dynamic Lifter.

Doctor Pangloss: It's bracing smell.

Martin: I can't hear you for the pounding rhythms.

Cunégonde: It's African-gungungu. Psychedelic music.

Paquette: It's pretty. Earlier they played Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen. They made it sound like a weapon of political liberation.

Brother Giroflée: Do I hear cowbells  and whistles?

Paquette: Yes, and a tambourine and shaker.

Stink Bug: Are we sinking yet? When are we sinking?

Elodie and Sikong Shu, dressed in black clothing, emerge from behind Nobby and pull out his paper flowers, leaving only the oranges.

They lift him speedily onto the table.

Candide: Woa! Like what just happened?

Cunégonde: Is everyone all right? Martin, Doctor Pangloss?

Martin: What's that?

Cunégonde (pointing to Nobby's new location): MARTIN, ARE YOU OKAY?

Martin: O yes! No. Of course, I knew this would happen.

Doctor Pangloss: Don't mind him, He's deaf. I'm all right though. As ever.

Paquette (fluttering up onto the table to look down on the others): There go our pistachios!

Brother Giroflée (hopping up to join her): And our oranges.

Nobby: But I'm still up here.

Brother Giroflée: Yes, we must harvest your oranges while we may.

Old Lady: Everything will change now in our garden. We must plant different trees and shrubs. We must shore the walls up. And someone must bring us a ladder.

Candide: Why don't you call Costa?

Old Lady: Good thinking. I will.

But she is drowned out by the cowbells and whistles, and the audience shouting:

Call Costa!