by Tom Stoppard
ESME (small laugh) After the drama of getting you in and out of the car?
MAX Do you want to know something terrible?
ESME No. What?
MAX I thought about voting for Thatcher.
ESME Why?
MAX To keep the issues in plain sight. Sharp enough to cut. Draw blood. Widen the gap and rub the workers’ faces in it, reward the fat and the smug. Anything to wake the buggers up—anything—anything better than five years of amelioration and accommodation calling itself the Party of Labour. But I voted for them. Did you?
ESME I lost the form, the postal thing. Pa—(She takes the plunge.) Alice is worried that—
MAX Don’t worry about her. You’ll have to find something to occupy yourself.
ESME I’m not the problem, it’s Alice.
MAX No, it’s you.
ESME (gives up again) Let’s wait and see when she gets her results. Can we go in?
MAX The college doesn’t care about her results, it knows what it’s getting.
ESME Is that fair?
MAX No, but it’s just.
He has been easing himself to get up. He relapses.
MAX (cont.) Give me a minute. Where’s that … (whisky)?
ESME How is it?
MAX Hurts.
Esme starts to get up. Alice enters from indoors with the ‘small whisky’, and a mug of tea for Esme.
ESME You can have a couple of Nurofen ahead of time, it won’t do you any harm.
MAX No, I can’t …
Alice arrives and gives Max the whisky, then the tea to Esme.
ALICE (to Esme, disingenuously) All done?
MAX … I’m not allowed the Nurofen with alcohol.
ESME Pa—
MAX That’s what the doctor said.
ESME No, he didn’t! He said you aren’t allowed alcohol with the Nurofen.
MAX Same thing.
He drinks half the whisky.
MAX (cont.) Your mother and I have been talking about your gap year.
ALICE Oh yes?
MAX A gap year in Cambridge is a nonsense. You’d be bored silly.
ALICE So, you’ll …
MAX I spoke to the college. You can matriculate in September. You won’t be the youngest undergraduate at Cambridge. What do you think? You’ll get your degree sooner and have a gap year when you can enjoy it.
Pause.
ALICE Yeah, okay. Cool.
ESME (with relief) Darling, are you sure?
MAX (handing Alice his empty glass) Would you oblige me, Alice? It’s helping.
ESME (to Alice) Don’t you!
ALICE (playing along) My leg’s gone to sleep.
MAX I’ll get it myself, then.
Max feints, Alice takes his glass and a crutch.
ESME Is it all right about your friends?
ALICE They’re boring.
Alice hobbles indoors using the crutch.
ESME Honestly!
MAX There’s more of you in her than you think.
ESME Is there? A man at the shops today … a bit rough-looking, with his head almost shaved but balding anyway … he saw Alice and said, ‘Hello, it’s you.’
MAX Why?
ESME He thought she was me. He used to be in a band, he was quite famous, with wild black hair, you know, a great face, he looked, well, he looked like a rock star, but he blew his mind and the band sort of dropped him … and one night, just round that time, before I knew him, before I knew it was him, I saw him in the garden. Just up there. I had my ‘O’ level results in my underpants—the envelope—which I’d, you know, opened but I thought, ‘Well, all in good time’—and I’d gone out to the Dandelion to see who was playing, and when I came home late through the garden, he was on the wall tootling on a pipe, like Pan. (pause) I wasn’t always sure it happened, like a lot of things. But later he had a solo album, and … well, I went to see him play once, at the Corn Exchange, in my red-leather bomber jacket I gave Alice. He was in the support band. It turned out to be the last gig he ever played, and he was all over the place … The bass player and the drummer tried to stay with him, they’d find him and he’d lose them again, so they left him to it but he wouldn’t give up, he botched his way on and on, fudging chords and scowling with his hair falling over the strings. He’d cut his finger and he was bleeding on the guitar. It was terrible but somehow great. I got up on the stage and danced. He looked at me, sort of surprised. He said, ‘Oh, hello. It’s you.’ He was the Piper.
Blackout and ‘Wish You Were Here’ by Pink Floyd, three minutes in.
Smash cut.
Prague, 1987.
Exterior open space. Early morning.
Nigel is waiting, alone, nervous. He has grown up into a been-around reporter. He has a shoulder-bag.
Jan arrives. He has a plastic bag containing a record album, and a paper bag containing bread rolls. He has weathered the eleven years pretty well.
JAN Ahoj.
NIGEL Oh … hi.
JAN I am Jan.
NIGEL (pause) Oh, yes?
JAN You are Nigel. Of course.
NIGEL Oh. ‘It’s my first visit to your beautiful—’
JAN Aaagh! ‘Cigarette! Will you give me a cigarette!’
NIGEL (with relief) Oh, Jesus, what a nightmare! I forgot the cigarettes, then the shops weren’t open, then I stopped the taxi miles away in case I was being—
JAN (cheerful, shaking hands) It’s okay! I don’t smoke. Everything is okay. Tell Tomas it is not necessary to behave like criminals!
NIGEL I was worried about getting you into trouble.
JAN Trouble is something else. How is Tomas?
NIGEL I don’t know him. He’s just the guy in London you call for Czech dissident stuff.
JAN But you are here for Gorbachev, of course?
NIGEL Yeah, but our Moscow correspondent is covering the diplomatic story, he came in ahead of Gorby. I’m doing dissidents, which basically means queuing up to interview Havel. So I could use a story if you’ve got one.
JAN A story?
NIGEL (looking front) What is all that? I’ve been wondering.
JAN The John Lennon wall.
NIGEL The John Lennon wall?
JAN When Lennon died people started coming here … You know, to light candles and play his music …
NIGEL (interested) Really? Are the flowers for Lennon?
JAN (nods) The police come and clear everything away and arrest a few people, then it starts again.
Nigel comes forward for a closer look. From nearby there comes the sound of John Lennon singing ‘Give Peace a Chance’ on a tinny cassette-player.
NIGEL Czech hippies! Pictures of him. Has anybody used this?
JAN Is it a story?
Nigel considers, then grimaces.
NIGEL It’s a piece. But it’s not a story.
He goes back, taking a handful of cassettes from his bag.
NIGEL (cont.) These are from Esme. She said you probably wouldn’t have CDs …
JAN (accepting them) Thank you! Please tell her thank you. (slightly surprised) Uh, Madonna … and Queen … from Esme? How is she?
NIGEL She’s okay, fine.
JAN What is she doing now?
NIGEL Not a lot. Coping with Alice. Our daughter is starting Cambridge.
Nigel opens his wallet and shows it.
NIGEL (cont.) The family brains skipped a generation. That’s her.
JAN (thrown) With Eleanor?
NIGEL With Esme. Alice with Esme.
JAN (works it out) Oh. Yes. Can I? (He looks for a moment.) She’s … Thank you. (abruptly) This is for her. The Plastic People of the Universe. Live album, very rare, in fact illegal—made from tapes taken out by a tourist.
NIGEL (nervous) Okay. What happens if I get caught with it?
Jan draws his finger across his throat.
NIGEL (cont.) Shit. Really? Okay.
He’s ready to go.
NIGEL (cont.) Well … sorry to get you up so early.
/>
JAN No, I came from work.
He shows a bread roll from his bag.
JAN (cont.) Still warm.
NIGEL (?)
JAN I work in a bakery.
NIGEL Right. Okay. It’ll have to be Havel.
JAN You don’t need Havel. I can tell you Havel. Havel is in despair with the Czech people. When Gorbachev and the beautiful Raisa smile and wave, the Czech people go crazy. They think Gorbachev has come to save them from Husák. When will they ever learn that only they can save themselves?! That’s Havel. When we were reformers, the Soviets invaded. Now the Soviets are reformers, they have discovered a deep respect for Czechoslovakia’s right to govern itself. Havel can see the joke, it’s his business. Why can’t President Husák see the joke? Because he knows it’s over. He’s a realist. Gorbachev got it long ago, he’s an economist.
NIGEL It’s over?
JAN Sure. Gorbachev is a masterpiece. He plays golf, he drinks whisky, his tailor is a reform tailor, he even has a reform wife, and he is a Communist leader! He has discovered the concept of internal political asylum for all. Perestroika!
NIGEL Rrright … As I say, I’m not doing the think piece. What I need is a story.
JAN There are no stories in Czechoslovakia. We have an arrangement with ourselves not to disturb the appearances. We aim for inertia. We mass-produce banality. We’ve had no history since ’68, only pseudo-history—the newspapers report speeches, ceremonies, anniversaries, announcements of socialism’s latest triumph … (nostalgically) I loved your newspapers.
NIGEL Thank you. You’re breaking new ground here.
JAN Well, they’re human … sometimes stupid and barbaric, but with so many papers, all different, there’s a correction of the extremes. Here there is only one agent of truth. This is not human—humans disagree with each other.
NIGEL Yeah. Right on. Well, I’ll get back to the Inter-Continental for breakfast. Good to meet you.
JAN Don’t forget … (the record).
NIGEL (Oh, yeah.)
JAN I was present at this concert, tell her, at Havel’s house in the country.
NIGEL (interested) At Havel’s? Recently?
JAN No—before he was in prison.
NIGEL (Shit.)
JAN The band had nowhere safe to play, even rehearse, except for a few friends willing to take the risk. After their last concert the police burned down the building.
NIGEL (interested) When was that?
JAN Oh … six years.
NIGEL Bollocks.
JAN After that it was more difficult. Emigration, prison …
NIGEL (losing interest) Yeah, shame.
JAN With the police, it was personal against the band. For other bands now we have Rockfest.
NIGEL Rock Fest …?
JAN Sure. Even a Communist government wants to be popular. Rock ‘n’ Roll costs nothing so we have rock festival at the Palace of Culture.
NIGEL This is better. (He takes out a notebook.)
JAN The organisers invited the Plastics to play if they changed their name to PPU. There was argument in the band. Well, it’s a question. If you play your music and hide your name, are you making fools of the government or is the government making fools of you? Finally they agreed PPU was not exactly changing their name. They got a girl singer, like Nico, and rehearsed. But the police found out and cut off the electricity.
Nigel has tautened.
NIGEL When was this?
JAN Then they were offered to play in a club in Brno if they agreed to be on the poster as ‘A Band from Prague’. It was a crisis. Some said yes, some said no. Bad things were said between the band. Terrible things. It finished the Plastics. There is no Plastics now, after twenty years, it’s over.
NIGEL (pause) When was this?
JAN Yesterday.
NIGEL (points his finger at Jan) I knew you had a dissident story if you tried.
JAN Actually, the Plastic People is not about dissidents.
NIGEL It’s about dissidents. Trust me.
JAN (bemused) Okay.
NIGEL Where would I find a Plastic Person?
JAN At Klamovka—it’s a pub, in Kosire in the park.
NIGEL Can you take me?
JAN (nods) I’ll call someone. I’ll leave you a message.
NIGEL Thanks. Which way are you going now?
JAN (points) But you can get a taxi on the bridge.
NIGEL Fine.
JAN How is Max?
NIGEL The old bastard’s going to be seventy this year.
JAN Oh … yes, October.
NIGEL I don’t see him. Esme and I aren’t together, you know.
JAN Oh. No.
NIGEL Yeah. I’ll see you later, then.
Nigel walks.
JAN Listen. Maybe you can write about the album. Foreign journalists never mention the music … only about being symbols of resistance.
NIGEL Yeah … that’s the story, I’m afraid.
Nigel goes.
Blackout and ‘Bring It on Home’ by John Lennon from the Anthology box set.
Smash cut to silence and sunshine. Summer 1990.
At the garden table, Esme is working on something with a notebook and textbook. Her summer jacket is on the back of her chair.
The phone starts ringing in the house. The phone is answered.
ALICE (off) Grandpa! Phone!
Alice enters the dining room. Her long blonde hair has been cropped. She is nineteen now, and grown up by more than the three years.
The necessary items for six place-settings are collected randomly on the table. There is a drawer in the table. Alice takes out six place-mats and starts laying the table.
Esme completely loses her rag—she jumps up, she throws her pen down, she tries to tear the book in two, she throws the book at the table.
ESME Fuck shit sodding buggering bastard bitch!
She picks up her chair and is about to hurl it to the ground when Alice reaches her, smothering her.
ESME (cont.) Sodding stupid sodding—
ALICE It’s all right, it’s all right! Mum …!
ESME Sod the whole thing—and don’t laugh!
ALICE (lying) I’m not, I’m not.
Esme sits down, steaming and sulking. Alice looks through the stuff on the table.
ALICE (cont.) So what have we got here? Hm. Part One. ‘Read the poem carefully—’ Oh, not carelessly, then? Right … ‘Read the poem carefully. One. What metre is Catullus using? Clue, exclamation mark! The poem is Catullus’s version of a lyric by the Greek poet Sappho.’ Christ, are they giving clues in ‘A’ level now?
ESME (snarls) Just watch it.
ALICE Anyway, there’s the clue. I wonder if the metre could possibly be …?
Esme makes a small sound. Alice cups an ear.
ALICE (cont.) Sorry?
ESME (mutters) Sapphic.
ALICE Sapphic! So we’ve done that. ‘Two. Scan the poem, clearly marking the feet and the length of each syllable.’ As opposed to scanning the poem and not letting on. Okay. Well …
She flips through Esme’s textbook.
ALICE (cont.) Ah, the Sapphic stanza! Four lines. Tum-ti, tum-ti, tum-ti-ti, tum-ti, tum-ti, with tum-tum as an option in the second and fifth foot—times three.
ESME I know.
ALICE Fourth line: tum-ti-ti, tum-ti or tum-tum.
ESME I know!
ALICE So the good news is, you never have to decide between a tum-ti-ti and a tum-ti or a tum-tum. It’s just a matter of counting the syllables.
ESME Ha! Go on, then. Do the last stanza—and, yes, I did see the elision.
ALICE (glances at the text) The three elisions, Mum.
ESME Three?
ALICE Words ending in ‘m’ are elided like vowels before a vowel.
ESME Why?
ALICE I don’t know.
ESME (furious) Well, how is anyone supposed to know that!
Alice shows her the place in the book where it says so.
A young man
, STEPHEN, a few years older than Alice, enters the interior encumbered by four bottles of wine and a tabloid newspaper. He disencumbers himself and sees Alice, who waves him back discreetly. Stephen turns his attention to his newspaper. During this—
ESME (cont.) (with dignity) Right. Thank you.
ALICE (resuming)‘Three. Translate the poem into English.’ Marks will be deducted for translating into Norwegian. (translating from the Latin on sight)’He seems to me equal to a god, to exceed the gods, that man who, sitting opposite you …’
ESME Yes, thank you, darling
ALICE ‘Sees and hears you sweetly laughing—’
ESME I’m doing it. How’s it coming for the royal visit?
ALICE Stephen’s here to help.
Alice goes inside, ‘out of earshot’. Stephen closes the paper and folds it open to a different page. Alice kisses him casually on the mouth.
ALICE You are good. What’s Max doing?
STEPHEN On the phone.
ALICE Still?
STEPHEN What should I …?
ALICE Do the table. Six places. I’ll find napkins.
STEPHEN Okay. Oh—no, no, I’m not staying, I’m not family.
ALICE Official shag is family, and anyway I want you here for Max—if he gets bored he’ll start saying things.
STEPHEN No—no—she’s your stepmother.
ALICE Are you scared?
STEPHEN I’ll say—have you read her column?
ALICE Oh, did you get it?
STEPHEN Here.
ALICE I can’t now.
STEPHEN She’s got a photograph.
Alice glances at the photo.
ALICE (laconic) She looks all right.
STEPHEN Um, there’s a piece about your friend Syd, um, Roger …
ALICE About the album?
STEPHEN Not really. I’ll keep it for you. He’s all right, is he?
ALICE Of course he’s all right. He’s all right when people leave him alone to do his painting and his garden so he doesn’t have to talk to them …
Max enters. He uses a single stick now.
ALICE (to Max) Where do you keep the napkins?
MAX What’s all this?
ALICE All what? You haven’t forgotten …?
MAX Oh God.
ALICE What have you done?
MAX Don’t panic. What are you cooking for your dad?
ALICE Fish pie.
MAX That’s a blessing—will it stretch to two extra?
STEPHEN I’ll drop out.
ALICE No. What do you mean?
