Plays 5

by Tom Stoppard

Guthrie No, I don’t think so.

  Carson Look – first that Shimbu interview, and now you calling him names – he’s not going to think the Globe is on his side.

  Guthrie We’re not here to be on somebody’s side, Geoffrey. That was World War II. We try to show what happened, and what it was like. That’s all we do. It’s bloody difficult, and sometimes people bitch about which side we’re supposed to be on. (to Wagner) Remember what that Yank admiral said to Malcolm Browne that time in Saigon? (to Carson) This brass-hat showed up and he knew that all the bad news was just the fault of the reporters. He knew them by name. He said to the AP man, ‘Oh, so you’re Browne. When are you going to get on the team?’ (to Wagner) Remember that? The team. Give me the keys. I’ll go by the hotel and get your stuff out.

  Wagner hands over the car keys.

  Wagner Use my room. You should crash for a few hours.

  Guthrie No, I want to get back. It’ll all be happening this morning.

  Wagner I’ll see you then. Take care, George.

  Carson Good luck, George.

  Ruth I hope they blow your head off, George.

  Carson Come on, Ruth.

  Ruth No, I won’t, (to Guthrie) Tell me something, George. Which page is it on?

  Guthrie What?

  The newspapers are still in the room and Ruth picks up one of them.

  Ruth This thing that’s worth dying for.

  Guthrie I don’t intend to die for anything.

  Ruth Jake did.

  Guthrie Yes.

  Ruth (with the paper) Show me where it is. It can’t be on the back page – ‘Rain Halts Australian Collapse.’ That’s not it, is it? Or the woman’s page – ‘Sexy Or Sexist? – The Case For Intimate Deodorants.’ Is that it, George? What about readers’ letters? – ‘Dear Sir, If the Prime Minister had to travel on the seven fifty-three from Bexhill every morning we’d soon have the railwaymen back on the lines.’ Am I getting warm, George?

  Wagner You’re belittling his death.

  Ruth (angrily) You bet I am. I’m not going to let you think he died for free speech and the guttering candle of democracy – crap! You’re all doing it to impress each other and be top dog the next time you’re propping up a bar in Beirut or Bangkok, or Chancery Lane. Look at Dick and tell me I’m a liar. He’s going to be a hero. The wires from London are going to burn up with congratulations. They’ll be talking about Wagner’s scoop for years, or anyway Wagner will. It’s all bloody ego. And the winner isn’t democracy, it’s just business. As far as I’m concerned, Jake died for the product. He died for the women’s page, and the crossword, and the racing results, and the heartbreak beauty queens and somewhere at the end of a long list I suppose he died for the leading article too, but it’s never worth that – (She has started to swipe at Guthrie with a newspaper and she ends up flinging it at him.)

  Guthrie Yes, all that. But also the other thing. I’ve been around a lot of places. People do awful things to each other. But it’s worse in places where everybody is kept in the dark. It really is. Information is light. Information, in itself, about anything, is light. That’s all you can say, really, (to Wagner) What’s the name of the hotel?

  Wagner I forget. Green awnings.

  Carson The Sandringham.

  Wagner Oh yeah. I should have used that.

  Guthrie There’ll always be an England, though maybe not there. I’ll see you. (He goes.)

  Carson Go to bed, darling. I’m sorry about having to go. I’ll bring Allie back anyway.

  Ruth Will it be all right for him here?

  Carson Oh yes. If it’s not, I don’t want you here either. I’ll have some news before I leave KC. (to Wagner) Fit?

  The telex has started chattering.

  If that’s London make it quick, (to Ruth) Do we have an old blanket or something like that?

  Ruth Just take anything.

  Carson goes out. Wagner has gone to the chattering telex. It doesn’t chatter for long. Wagner stands reading the message as it comes off the machine. The machine stops. Wagner continues to stare at it for a few moments. Then he turns away and goes to his Cutty Sark bottle and pours himself a drink and then takes the drink back to his chair and sits down.

  London?

  Wagner Yes.

  Ruth Well?

  Wagner There’s no hurry.

  Carson comes back with a ground-sheet.

  Carson Allie’s ground-sheet. I’ll get him another one. (to Wagner) OK –? What are you doing? (He’s crossing to the telex.) Did you get it? (He tears the message out of the machine and looks at it. He comes back into the room with it.) It’s yours. From someone called Battersby. ‘Milne copy blacked by subs, full chapel and machine room support. Total confrontation and dismissal notices tonight, weekend shut down definite. Wotwu –’ – is that a garble? – ‘Wotwu – Battersby.’ What’s that?

  Wagner There’s no paper this week.

  Pause.

  Carson That’s rotten luck, Dick. (He gives Wagner the telex message.)

  Wagner Yeah. Wotwu.

  Carson What is that?

  Wagner Workers of the world unite.

  Carson I see. What will you do now?

  Wagner I’m just thinking. Would you air-freight George’s film for me? There’s no rush.

  Carson receives the envelopes from Wagner, or just picks them up.

  Carson Yes, all right.

  Wagner Telex the way-bill number to the office and they’ll pick them up COD. I’ll call the hotel and get George to come back and fetch me. There may be a paper next week, and as he says, it’ll all be happening this morning. I ought to be there.

  Ruth Aren’t you supposed to be withdrawing your labour?

  Wagner (snaps at her) Don’t get clever with me, damn you. (Pause. To Carson) I’m sorry.

  Ruth That’s all right.

  Carson What about your story? Can’t they do anything with it?

  Wagner Yes, they could make paper aeroplanes with it. We’ll see. Thanks for everything, Geoff.

  Carson Drop by again.

  Wagner I will.

  Carson (to Ruth) I’ll phone from KC.

  Carson leaves. Wagner empties his glass and stands up.

  Wagner Could I have another drink?

  Ruth You brought it. (She takes his glass.) I think I’ll have one too. Nightcap.

  Wagner goes to the telex and is tapping at it while she is pouring the rest of the Cutty Sark equally into two glasses.

  What are you doing?

  Wagner Short piece about Jake. Onpass Grimsby Messenger.

  Ruth Good idea.

  The jeep is heard leaving.

  No point in staying sober now he’s gone, eh?

  Wagner Jake?

  Ruth The President.

  Wagner Oh.

  She takes his drink and puts it on top of the telex.

  Ruth Are you going to call George?

  Wagner In a while. He won’t be there yet. Did you have a thing for Jake?

  Ruth No.

  Wagner Just wondered.

  Wagner is working the keyboard, pausing for thought. He stops to loosen his tie and light a cigarette. Ruth takes her drink back into the room.

  Ruth Well, it was a very elevated, intellectual sort of thing. I wanted to undress him with my teeth. Oh God, I’m tired as hell and I’m not going to get to sleep.

  Wagner Don’t you have a pill for that?

  Ruth There are no pills for that. I want to be hammered out, disjointed, folded up and put away like linen in a drawer. (She goes back to the whisky bottle and holds it upside down over her glass, and examines the label.) You can use the phone upstairs if you like.

  Wagner I thought you didn’t want to be a tart …

  Ruth How do I know until I’ve tried it? I name this bottle ‘Cutty Sark’.

  She breaks the bottle against the marble shelf and drops the remainder into the bin. She looks at Wagner: he’s at the keyboard, tie loose, cigarette in mouth, whisky on the ‘piano lid’. It looks li
ke a familiar piano-player-plus-singer scene. We hear the piano. Something fast. Ruth sings. Just a few bars. Wagner disrupts this by tearing the paper out of the machine.

  Is that it?

  Wagner That’s it.

  Blackout.

  INDIAN INK

  Dedicated to the memory of Laura Kendal

  Characters

  Flora Crewe

  Coomaraswami

  Nazrul

  Eleanor Swan

  Eldon Pike

  Anish Das

  Nirad Das

  David Durance

  Dilip

  Resident

  Englishwoman

  Englishman

  Rajah/Politician

  Nell

  Eric

  In addition

  Indian Questioner(s)

  Club Servant(s)

  Rajah’s Servant(s)

  Indian Ink was first performed at the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford, and opened at the Aldwych Theatre, London, on 27 February 1995. The cast was as follows:

  Flora Crewe Felicity Kendal

  Coomaraswami Rashid Karapiet

  Nazrul Ravi Aujla

  Eleanor Swan Margaret Tyzack

  Eldon Pike Colin Stinton

  Questioner Akbar Kurtha

  Nirad Das Art Malik

  Anish Das Paul Bhattacharjee

  David Durance Dominic Jephcott

  Dilip Akbar Kurtha

  Englishman Kenneth Jay

  Englishwoman Diana Oxford

  Resident Peter Wickham,

  Club Servant Ravi Aujla

  Rajah/Politician Derrick Branche

  Rajah’s Servant Naim Khan-Turk

  Nell Nickie Rainsford

  Eric Daniel Wellon

  Produced by Michael Codron

  Directed by Peter Wood

  Designed by Carl Toms

  Lighting by Mark Henderson

  The play is set in two periods, 1930 (in India) and mid-1980s (in England and India).

  It is not intended that the stage be demarcated between India and England, or past and present. Floor space, and even furniture, may be common. In this respect and in others, the play profited greatly from Peter Wood’s direction. The stage directions generally follow the original production but are not offered as a blueprint for the staging.

  Act One

  Dusk. Flora sits alone on a moving train. Her suitcase is on the rack above her head. The train is approaching a station. Flora, already speaking, stands to lift down her suitcase. By the end of her first speech, she is on the station platform at Jummapur.

  Flora ‘Jummapur, Wednesday, April the second. Darling Nell, I arrived here on Saturday from Bombay after a day and a night and a day in a Ladies Only, stopping now and again to be revictualled through the window with pots of tea and proper meals on matinee trays, which, remarkably, you hand back through the window at the next station down the line where they do the washing up; and from the last stop I had the compartment to myself, with the lights coming on for me to make my entrance on the platform at Jummapur. The President of the Theosophical Society was waiting with several members of the committee drawn up at a respectful distance, not quite a red carpet and brass band but garlands of marigolds at the ready, and I thought there must be somebody important on the train –’

  Coomaraswami (interrupting) Miss Crewe!

  Flora ‘– and it turned out to be me.’

  Coomaraswami Welcome to Jummapur!

  Flora ‘– which was very agreeable.’ Thank you! (And as she is garlanded by Coomaraswami) How nice! Are you Mr Coomar …

  Coomaraswami Coomaraswami! That is me! Is this your only luggage?! Leave it there! (He claps his hands imperiously for assistance, and then shakes hands enthusiastically with Flora.) How do you do, Miss Crewe!

  The handshake which begins on the station platform ends on the verandah of the ‘Dak Bungalow’, or guesthouse. The guesthouse requires a verandah and an interior which includes, or comprises, a bedroom. On the verandah is a small table with at least two chairs. There is an electric light, unlit, and an oil lamp, lit. The bedroom contains a bed under a mosquito net, a washstand, a bedside table, an electric fan and a ‘punkah’. There is a door to a bathroom offstage.

  A servant, Nazrul, carries Flora’s suitcase into the bedroom, and then retreats to his quarters, out of sight.

  Flora (completing the handshake) Thank you!

  Coomaraswami Welcome, my dear Miss Crewe! And farewell! A day of rest!

  Flora Thank you – you were so kind to …

  Coomaraswami I will leave you! Tomorrow, a picnic! Do you like temples?

  Flora Well, I don’t know … I’m sure I …

  Coomaraswami Leave everything to me!

  Coomaraswami leaves her, shouting in Hindi for his buggy-driver.

  The Shepperton garden is now visible. Here, Mrs Swan and Pike are having tea while occupied with a shoebox of Flora’s letters.

  Flora ‘And in no time at all I was installed in a little house, two good-sized rooms under a tin roof with electric light … (She tries the electric light switch without result.) … and an oil lamp just in case …’ (She looks out from the verandah.) ‘… a verandah looking out at a rather hopeless garden … but with a good table and chair which does very well for working …’ (She tries out the chair and the table.) ‘… and a wicker sofa of sorts for not working … and round the back …’

  She has a brief look around the corner of the verandah where it goes out of sight, while Mrs Swan turns a page of the letter.

  (Reappearing) ‘… a kitchen bit with a refrigerator! But Nazrul, my cook and bottle-washer, disdains the electric stove and makes his own arrangements on a little verandah of his own.’ (She goes into the interior, into the bedroom, where she tries the switch for the ceiling fan, again without result.) ‘My bedroom, apart from the ceiling fan, also has a punkah which is like a pelmet worked by a punkah-wallah who sits outside and flaps the thing by a system of ropes and pulleys, or would if he were here, which he isn’t. And then off the bedroom …’

  She disappears briefly through a door. Mrs Swan passes the page to Pike and they continue to read in silence.

  (Reappearing) ‘… is a dressing room and bathroom combined, with a tin tub, and a shower with a head as big as a sunflower – a rainflower, of course . .

  Pike grunts approvingly.

  ‘… and all this is under a big green tree with monkeys and parrots in the branches, and it’s called a duck bungalow …’

  Mrs Swan Dak bungalow.

  Flora ‘… although there is not a duck to be seen.’ (She disappears into the bathroom with her suitcase.)

  Mrs Swan Dak was the post; they were post-houses, when letters went by runner.

  Pike Ah …

  Mrs Swan I wish I’d kept the envelopes, they’d be worth something now, surely, the Indian ones at least.

  Pike Oh, but it’s the wine, not the bottles! These letters are a treasure. They may be the only family letters anywhere.

  Mrs Swan I dare say, since I’m the only family. I like to have two kinds of cake on the go. The Madeira is my own.

  Pike I’m really not hungry.

  Mrs Swan I wouldn’t let that stop you, Mr Pike, if you hope to get on my good side.

  Pike I would love some. The Madeira.

  She cuts him a slice.

  And won’t you please call me Eldon? (He takes the slice of cake.) Thank you. (He takes the bite and gives a considered verdict.) Wonderful.

  Mrs Swan I should think so.

  Pike It’s the excitement. There’s nothing like these in the British Library, you know!

  Mrs Swan (amused) The British Library!

  Pike The University of Texas has Flora Crewe indexed across twenty-two separate collections! And I still have the Bibliothèque Nationale next week. The Collected Letters are going to be a year of my life!

  Mrs Swan A whole year just to collect them?

  Pike (gaily) The notes, the notes! The notes is
where the fun is! You can’t just collect Flora Crewe’s letters into a book and call it ‘The Collected Letters of Flora Crewe’, I’m not even sure if it’s legal where I come from.

  Mrs Swan America?

  Pike The Department of English Studies, University of Maryland. Luckily, the correspondence of well-known writers is mostly written without a thought for the general reader. I mean, they don’t do their own footnotes. So there’s an opportunity here. Which you might call a moral enterprise. No, OK, an opportunity. Edited by E. Cooper Pike. There isn’t a page which doesn’t need – look – you see here? – ‘I had a funny dream last night about the Queen’s Elm.’ Which Queen? What elm? Why was she dreaming about a tree? So this is where I come in, wearing my editor’s hat. To lighten the darkness.

  Mrs Swan It’s a pub in the Fulham Road.

  Pike Thank you. This is why God made writers, so the rest of us can publish. Would that be a chocolate cake?

  Mrs Swan Why, would you …?

  Pike No, I just thought: did your sister like chocolate cake particularly?

  Mrs Swan What an odd thing to think. Flora didn’t like chocolate in any form.

  Pike Ah. That’s interesting. May I?

  Pike takes the next page of the letter from the tea-table. Flora approaches, accompanied by Coomaraswami, who has a yellow parasol, furled.

  Flora ‘The sightseeing with picnic was something of a Progress with the president of the Theosophical Society holding a yellow parasol over me while the committee bicycled alongside, sometimes two to a bike, and children ran before and behind – I felt like a carnival float representing Empire – or, depending how you look at it, the Subjugation of the Indian People, and of course you’re right, darling, but I never saw anyone less subjugated than Mr Coomaraswami.’

  Coomaraswami We have better temples in the south. I am from the south. You are right to be discriminating!

  Flora (apologetically) Did I seem discriminating? I’m sure it wasn’t their fault. The insides of churches …

  Coomaraswami I understand you completely, Miss Crewe!

  Flora But I don’t know what I’m trying to say!