OFFICIAL: It’s all over can’t you see it’s all over?
(Suddenly the second man bursts into tears.)
All over?
All over?
(The two go to drag him, but the prisoner weeps and resists at the same time. The official is patient, and walks as if meditating a few yards in each direction, the sound of weeping rising and falling orchestrally about him. The guards look at the official, puzzled to see him sit on the ground, one knee drawn up and resting his chin on his hand, staring vaguely into the distance. The weeping stops as suddenly as it had started. The second man is resigned. The two lead him away. The official leans back, and watching the clouds, weeps…)
*
21
A woman, once a dancer, leaning on a cane. She stares into the distance, perfectly immobile. A girl fidgets beside her, pulling one hand with the other, bored and petulant. She walks up and down. She draws attention to herself.
WOMAN: Go in now
(Affecting to be piqued, the child stamps her way off. The woman remains stoically still, but some pain causes her to lift one leg a little off the ground. She allows her high-heeled shoe to fall. She repeats the action with the other foot. Less elegant but more comfortable, she maintains her position in stockinged feet. At last, sensing the futility of her vigil, she turns to follow the child. She uses her cane to retrieve a shoe, picking it off the ground, but instead of simply removing it from the cane, observes it clinically, hoisted before her eyes. Leaving it suspended in the air, she staggers into the second shoe, easing her foot into it. Now she goes to follow the child, but the disparity in the height of her heels, and a possibly arthritic hip, combine to make her moves angular and bizarre. She stops. She wonders whether to wear the second shoe, still held on the cane, or kick off the one she has replaced, and so even herself. As she struggles with the decision, a man appears, unobserved by her. He watches her pitiful irresolution. She becomes aware of him, and becomes yet stiller. The man advances and stops a little behind her, so as to remain unseen…)
MAN: Go in now
(The woman is filled with shame, and her shoulders fall. The shoe drops off the cane. Immediately the man hurries and retrieves it, but only to keep it. The woman’s eyes meet his for the first time. There is an understanding between them. She flings down the cane. Putting her hands on her hips, she walks, one foot high, one foot low. The man watches in wonder…)
*
22
A man walks with faltering steps, and stops. He waits, without moving. Slowly, a second man comes into sight and stops. The first man walks on, in the same way, going out of sight. The second man sets off, as if this were routine following. Suddenly the first man returns and confronts the second, afraid but provoked.
FIRST MAN: What is this? Who are you? Why do you follow me?
(The second man hangs his head, his hands also. The first man stares, sensing the silence of the other is absolute. He becomes larger, as his fear recedes. Almost reluctantly, he resumes his journey. The second man remains immobile, but then goes to follow. After a few paces, he sinks to the ground, dying, first onto his knees then onto his side. He lies in perfect stillness. The first man comes back, his hands in his pockets, frowning. He walks around the dead man. He extends a foot and gently prods him. He deduces the second man is dead or feigning death. He goes out, as before, and as before, hurries back in, as if he might expose a trick played on him but the second man is certainly dead. The first man sniffs, moistens his lips, thwarted. He is about to depart for the third time when he becomes aware that a third man is hovering on the edge of his vision. He casts a glance at him. This causes the third man to hang his head and his arms. The first man walks away briskly. The third man copies his decision but collides with a woman entering from the direction in which the first man had departed. She seizes him in an embrace, kissing him fervently. They slide to the ground, the dead man acting as their pillow. Her legs come apart, their passion is swiftly consummated, the third man lying spent on her shoulder. The hand of the woman lifts a compact mirror high in the air. She examines herself. The first man returns, irritable, his fingers wildly moving. He controls this nervous anxiety by folding his arms. The woman declines to notice him. The first man kicks the ankle of the sleeping third man, but his rest is beyond disturbance. The first man is at a loss, and only accidentally observes a fourth man waiting distantly. His look causes this man to act as the previous two, his head and hands falling. The first man, charmed, continues his journey…)
*
23
A mortuary. Some bodies on slabs, covered by shrouds. A man and a woman enter. The man’s arm is around the woman, to support her. They are apprehensive, they linger at the door. An attendant enters, in an overall. He is infinitely self-disciplined, his every move rehearsed, minimal and characterized by tact. He allows a few moments to pass, his hands folded in front of him, his head lowered. Then he moves forward, passing the couple at a discreet distance and positions himself at the heads of the dead row. He draws back the cloth to reveal the face of the first cadaver, lays it flat and steps back, again adopting the hands-folded posture. The man’s arm falls from the woman, freeing her. They walk forward together. They look at the face of the cadaver. They simultaneously shake their heads, neither consulting nor meeting one another’s eyes. The attendant covers the face and moves to the next. He repeats the operation. As if reluctantly, the couple move on, the woman first, subtly taking the initiative. She alone shakes her head. The man strokes his face in his anxiety. The attendant covers the face. As the attendant uncovers the third cadaver, the man is staring at the ceiling, unwilling to see. Thus he is a few feet away as the woman moves on, and it is her alone who shakes her head, for the first time looking at the attendant, who meets her eyes and covers the face. As he goes to the fourth, his hand reaching for the cloth, she quietly speaks.
WOMAN: Not yet
(The attendant is patient and hangs his head, his hands folding in front of him automatically. The woman tips back her head, her eyes shut, her lips tight, one of her hands lifted and active. The man cannot trespass into her pain and remains at a distance, observing her and only her. Now the woman swiftly nods, as her hand freezes. The cloth is drawn back. She makes a fist of her raised hand, and then looks into the exposed face. She is perfectly still, her expression unaltered. After some seconds she nods, and nods as if she could not stop. The man, not seeing the face because of his distance from it, lets out a great cry that ends the woman’s nodding. The attendant’s chin is pressed into his chest in his discretion. He walks out, without a sound. The woman walks calmly away from the slab, as if to make way for the man. She folds her hands in front of her. The man goes to her place, but evading the viewing of the face, strokes the upturned feet, which remain covered by the shroud, over and over, as if he could warm them. She watches him, as if slightly irritated. Then she goes to him. She places her arms round his waist and lays her head on his shoulder, from the back, and is still. The man’s hands work on and on…)
*
24
Moonlight and its shadows. An old man appears in slippers and a dressing gown. He walks, stops. His breath seems affected by the atmosphere.
OLD MAN: Cold enough
(He inhales, and exhales…)
Cold enough surely
(With only a moment’s hesitation, he unfastens his gown, and lifting it a little in both hands, slips it off his shoulders. The effect is immediate. In his thin pyjamas, he shudders. The cold causes him to shrink no matter how he resists shrinking. He seems to lean, as if on a wind, even though it is windless. For some moments he suffers, then with measured moves, he shakes off one slipper, then the other. He puts both naked feet on the frozen ground. The cold surges up his limbs. He closes his eyes. At last his fingers grope towards his pyjama jacket, and fumble with the first button, so badly that he renounces the effort and his hand falls again. At last he summons the energy for a second attempt, frees one button but cannot attempt
the second. The hand drops in the identical way. He aches. He shrinks, his head dropping. Again his hand travels to the pyjama buttons. He undoes a second, lets the hand fall and using the other hand, proceeds to fumble with the third, but it is not his natural hand and the fumbling becomes an episode, an ordeal in futility, concluded only when he jerks the jacket and the button spins away into the shadows. The pyjama jacket hangs open. With a deep breath he drags it off himself, holds it, and lets it fall. He is still, enduring the pain and the solitude. The moon travels, the shadow of the old man moves in accordance with it. At last he exclaims in a weakened voice.)
Cold enough surely?
(Deprived of his death he painfully extends an arm towards the fallen dressing gown, then falls onto his side with a small cry. He lies quite still. The moon moves on, the shadows alter. Dawn arrives in the form of the chorus. The old man lifts one arm, half-irritation, half-concession to his continuing life…)
*
25
Two rich women cycle slowly, thoughtfully, into view. They reach the edge of a high cliff. They stand, one foot on a pedal, one on the turf, identically gazing out to sea. They look at one another, for a long time. A servant cycles into the scene, discreetly dismounting some distance away, laying his cycle down, and with measured moves, shaking out a rug which he spreads behind the women for their comfort. He then retires and stands, hands folded in front of him, staring at the ground. The women now step off their cycles, laying them flat. They remove their straw hats, and toss back their hair with identical gestures. One lifts her hand to the other, who, with a suggestion of reluctance, takes it. The stronger woman draws her to the cliff edge, her eyes fixed on hers. Sensing a hazard, the servant’s head lifts and he extends an arm, a warning finger raised. The women, as if rehearsed, turn their heads to him and laugh brightly, disparagingly. The servant’s arm falls. The women cease laughing at once, their eyes locked. The stronger woman’s grasp on the hand of the other is tightened, visibly, and she goes to leap from the cliff. The reluctance of her friend is now made obvious. She digs in her heels, pulling back her arm and breaking the momentum of the act. The stronger woman is horrified at the sabotaging of their compact. She throws her arms round the waist of the second woman and tries to throw her off the cliff, but the servant, rushing forward, likewise grabs the second woman round the waist. They struggle over her like players disputing possession of a ball. All three cry out, distinct, musical in contrast, but the strength of the man eventually tells, the stronger of the women renouncing the contest, and with her hands held out as if contaminated, flings herself weeping onto the rug and heaving great cries of despair, tosses and flails, watched by the second woman and the servant, who have not the energy to disengage. As the woman relapses into a stillness, the servant removes his hands from the waist of the second woman, and recovering his equilibrium, goes to his cycle and removes from a bag a flask. He pours out a cup, and goes to offer it to the second woman, but trips on the rug and spills it. He is still for a moment, then returns to the flask, his hand shaking so violently he fails to fill it again. Instead he sits, draws up his knees, and locking his hands together places them against his forehead. Now no one moves. The stronger woman rises from her prostration at last and leaning back on her hands, stares at the servant. Sensing this, the servant takes his hands from his face, expecting an instruction. She merely looks at him. The gulls cry. The second woman walks over to the servant and kneeling beside him, kisses him passionately on the mouth, so he falls back. The first woman watches them, unmoving, as their limbs rise and fall…
*
26
A remote place, where a wind blows unceasingly. Two men enter with bags and drift to a stop.
FIRST MAN: It’s as good a place as any
(They look around the whole horizon… their eyes meet…)
As good a place as any, is it not…?
(The second man’s face falls. The first man drops his bag and embraces the second, who makes pitiful, anxious noises… they remain thus for some time, then the first man withdraws from the embrace… he seems to wipe his hands on his clothes… he tightens his overcoat… he retrieves his bag. He stands looking at the second man, who forlornly nods his assent to an indisputable situation. The nodding goes on and on, a powerful sign of his reluctance which the first man breaks by shouting…)
It’s as good a place as any, is it not…?
(The nodding intensifies. The first man walks swiftly away, unable to tolerate his own pity. The second man stops nodding and follows the first man with his eyes. Suddenly he falls, violently seized by a fit. His back arches. His legs kick out, he shifts about the stage in his ordeal like a broken insect… the first man hurries back in, his bag in his hand, his face taut with resentment. He watches the second man as he writhes, then begins to rain kicks on him, as if he too were seized… they move in a curious dance which ends only when the first man’s anger is subdued by shame. As the second man twitches in his final throes, the first puts one hand to his head, a sign of loss… a stillness settles on the scene, and a silence but for the second man’s deep breaths. The first man looks over the land. Suddenly, thrusting his bag under his arm, he runs.
Time elapses. A woman, dirty and scavenging, observes the second man and his bag. She circles him, hyena-like, then seizing the bag, hurries to a corner to examine it. The sound of the clasps arouses the second man from his sleep. He rises onto his elbows and watches her rummage. One by one she draws out the instruments of a conjuror’s trade and puzzled, lifts them into the air, silver rings, hollow books, a string of flags. With an attitude of deepening frustration she turns to meet the second man’s eyes. The look is venomous. The second man makes a gesture, inviting her to keep what he no longer has a use for, but she is not placated and advancing on him, murders him with powerful hands. Dismounting his body, she aches, and feeling her years, rotates her shoulders and stretches her hands. Now she explores his clothes for valuables but sensing she is observed, lifts her eyes to see the first man has reappeared. She puts a finger to her lips, a warning to him, and completes her search, frustrated to discover her victim’s pockets are perfectly empty. She climbs to her feet. She contemplates a second murder. She departs, unhurriedly. The first man is still. He seems to recollect the years. He throws his head back, smiling with fond memories. He sniffs. He wipes his face with his sleeve. He laughs. He shakes his head. He falls silent again.
*
27
A pregnant woman, an old woman, and a boy. The old woman leans on a stick. The boy holds his mother’s hand. They walk to the centre of the stage. They stop. They look around them, in different ways, as if they had arrived at a rendezvous but did not expect to be met. The boy, ceasing to look, sits on the ground, his legs outstretched, lifeless, uncurious. The women scan the horizon. Now the pregnant woman sits, kicking off her shoes. The old woman, unable to sit, sinks lower on her stick. Now no one looks. They are introverted, and uninspired. The sound of castors on paving, as a man passes pushing an unwieldy table. On the table, a many-tiered wedding cake. None of the three is distracted by this. Silence returns. As if by order, the boy gets off the floor, and arranging her shoes for convenience, offers a hand to his mother. She is drawn to her feet. Already the old woman is setting off in the direction they came from. The pregnant woman and the boy follow…
*
28
A queen and her wardrobe. She paces, filled with anxiety, lifting her heavy skirts in both hands. Her maid enters swiftly, and curtsies. The queen’s restless travelling stops, her gaze fixed on the mirror of the wardrobe door. The maid goes to the wardrobe and opening the door, reveals the contents without seeing for herself. Inside stands a man, naked. The maid watches the queen, the queen watches the man. The eyes, the mouth of the queen express her agony. She craves the man, and her body arches with her wanting. Swiftly the maid closes the door. The queen recovers, letting her hands hang by her sides, staring at the floor. The maid curtsies and leaves. The qu
een adopts the regal pose, her right hand resting on her breast, her left on her hip. A crippled courtier enters, and with agonized movements, goes down on one knee, lowering his head… the queen watches dispassionately.
QUEEN: I am far from content…
(The courtier is still.)
Far from content as you see…
(Pause.)
Do you see?
COURTIER: Madam, I see…
QUEEN: You see I am far from content…
(They remain fixed thus for some moments… then in a spasm of irritation, the queen surges to the wardrobe and plucks her hair in the mirror. She stops, then with a gasp, holds the wardrobe by its sides, and letting her forehead lean on the glass, weeps… the weeping lessens to silence…)
COURTIER: Far from content is the Queen…
(The maid returns and curtsies. The queen observes her return in the mirror, and turns to her. The maid understands her mistress. As the queen moves away, the maid goes to the wardrobe, and opens the door as before. The queen is between the naked man and the kneeling courtier, but with her back to the open door. In her tension, the queen’s hand lifts to touch her face, hangs, the fingers twirl… her breathing is deep and hard to control… Suddenly she spins to glimpse the spectacle behind her, but the maid equally swiftly closes the door. The women fix their glances on one another. Painfully, the courtier lifts his head. The scene is perfectly still until the queen, turning, offers her hand, a gesture commanding the courtier to rise. As he staggers up, the women laugh to one another, infectiously, as if unable to stop. The queen kisses formally the courtier’s hand, a rare favour, smothering it in her laughter. He edges backwards from the room, still stiff, and bewildered… the laughter of the women falters… a glance is sufficient for the maid to understand she is again to open the wardrobe. She goes to it and stands with her finger to the lock, anticipating the queen’s command or gesture to complete the action. The queen’s hands rise involuntarily, her fingers twirl, and cease. She turns and leaves the room..)
Barker, Plays Eight Page 22
