Here?
Pause.
Where is it?
He touches her body. A gasp from her.
Here?
She wrenches herself away. He traps her in the corner.
SARAH (hissing). What do you think you’re doing?
MAX. I’m dying for a puff.
SARAH. I’m waiting for my husband!
MAX. Let me get a light from yours.
They struggle silently.
She breaks away to wall.
Silence.
He approaches.
Are you all right, miss? I’ve just got rid of that … gentleman. Did he hurt you in any way?
SARAH. Oh, how wonderful of you. No, no, I’m all right.
Thank you.
MAX. Very lucky I happened to be passing. You wouldn’t believe that could happen in such a beautiful park.
SARAH. No, you wouldn’t.
MAX. Still, you’ve come to no harm.
SARAH. I can never thank you enough. I’m terribly grateful, I really am.
MAX. Why don’t you sit down a second and calm yourself.
SARAH. Oh, I’m quite calm – but… yes, thank you. You’re so kind. Where shall we sit.
MAX. Well, we can’t sit out. It’s raining. What about that park-keeper’s hut?
SARAH. Do you think we should? I mean, what about the park-keeper?
MAX. I am the park-keeper.
They sit an the chaise longue.
SARAH. I never imagined I could meet anyone so kind.
MAX. To treat a lovely young woman like you like that, it’s unpardonable.
SARAH (gazing at him). You seem so mature, so … appreciative.
MAX. Of course.
SARAH. So gentle. So … Perhaps it was all for the best.
MAX. What do you mean?
SARAH. So that we could meet. So that we could meet. You and I.
Her fingers trace his thigh. He stares at them, lifts them off.
MAX. I don’t quite follow you.
SARAH. Don’t you?
Her fingers trace his thigh. He stares at them, lifts them off.
MAX. Now look, I’m sorry. I’m married.
She takes his hand and puts it on her knee.
SARAH. You’re so sweet, you mustn’t worry.
MAX (snatching his hand away). No, I really am. My wife’s waiting for me.
SARAH. Can’t you speak to strange girls?
MAX. No.
SARAH. Oh, how sickening you are. How tepid.
MAX. I’m sorry.
SARAH. You men are all alike. Give me a cigarette.
MAX. I bloody well won’t.
SARAH. I beg your pardon?
MAX. Come here, Dolores.
SARAH. Oh no, not me. Once bitten twice shy, thanks. (She stands.) Bye-bye.
MAX. You can’t get out, darling. The hut’s locked. We’re alone. You’re trapped.
SARAH. Trapped! I’m a married woman. You can’t treat me like this.
MAX (moving to her). It’s teatime, Mary.
She moves swiftly behind the table and stands there with her back to the wall. He moves to the opposite end of the table, hitches his trousers, bends and begins to crawl under the table towards her.
He disappears under the velvet cloth. Silence. She stares down at the table. Her legs are hidden from view. His hand is on her leg. She looks about, grimaces, grits her teeth, gasps, gradually sinks under the table, and disappears. Long silence.
HER VOICE. Max!
Lights fade.
Fade up.
MAX sitting on chair down left.
SARAH pouring tea.
SARAH. Max.
MAX. What?
SARAH (fondly). Darling.
Slight pause.
What is it? You’re very thoughtful.
MAX. No.
SARAH. You are. I know it.
Pause.
MAX. Where’s your husband?
Pause.
SARAH. My husband? You know where he is.
MAX. Where?
SARAH. He’s at work.
MAX. Poor fellow. Working away, all day.
Pause.
I wonder what he’s like.
SARAH (chuckling). Oh, Max.
MAX. I wonder if we’d get on. I wonder if we’d … you know … hit it off.
SARAH. I shouldn’t think so.
MAX. Why not?
SARAH. You’ve got very little in common.
MAX. Have we? He’s certainly very accommodating. I mean, he knows perfectly well about these afternoons of ours, doesn’t he?
SARAH. Of course.
MAX. He’s known for years.
Slight pause.
Why does he put up with it?
SARAH. Why are you suddenly talking about him? I mean what’s the point of it? It isn’t a subject you normally elaborate on.
MAX. Why does he put up with it?
SARAH. Oh, shut up.
MAX. I asked you a question.
Pause.
SARAH. He doesn’t mind.
MAX. Doesn’t he?
Slight pause.
Well, I’m beginning to mind.
Pause.
SARAH. What did you say.
MAX. I’m beginning to mind.
Slight pause.
It’s got to stop. It can’t go on.
SARAH. Are you serious?
Silence.
MAX. It can’t go on.
SARAH. You’re joking.
MAX. No, I’m not.
SARAH. Why? Because of my husband? Not because of my husband, I hope. That’s going a little far, I think.
MAX. No, nothing to do with your husband. It’s because of my wife.
Pause.
SARAH. Your wife?
MAX. I can’t deceive her any longer.
SARAH. Max …
MAX. I’ve been deceiving her for years. I can’t go on with it. It’s killing me.
SARAH. But darling, look –
MAX. Don’t touch me.
Pause.
SARAH. What did you say?
MAX. You heard.
Pause.
SARAH. But your wife … knows. Doesn’t she? You’ve told her … all about us. She’s known all the time.
MAX. No, she doesn’t know. She thinks I know a whore, that’s all. Some spare-time whore, that’s all. That’s what she thinks.
SARAH. Yes, but be sensible … my love … she doesn’t mind, does she?
MAX. She’d mind if she knew the truth, wouldn’t she?
SARAH. What truth? What are you talking about?
MAX. She’d mind if she knew that, in fact … I’ve got a full-time mistress, two or three times a week, a woman of grace, elegance, wit, imagination –
SARAH. Yes, yes, you have –
MAX. In an affair that’s been going on for years.
SARAH. She doesn’t mind, she wouldn’t mind – she’s happy, she’s happy.
Pause.
I wish you’d stop this rubbish, anyway.
She picks up the tea-tray and moves towards the kitchen.
You’re doing your best to ruin the whole afternoon.
She takes the tray out. She then returns, looks at MAX and goes to him.
Darling. You don’t really think you could have what we have with your wife, do you? I mean, my husband, for instance, completely appreciates that I –
MAX. How does he bear it, your husband? How does he bear it? Doesn’t he smell me when he comes back in the evenings? What does he say? He must be mad. Now – what’s the time – half-past four – now when he’s sitting in his office, knowing what’s going on here, what does he feel, how does he bear it?
SARAH. Max –
MAX. How?
SARAH. He’s happy for me. He appreciates the way I am. He understands.
MAX. Perhaps I should meet him and have a word with him.
SARAH. Are you drunk?
MAX. Perhaps I should do that. After all, he’s a man, like
me. We’re both men. You’re just a bloody woman.
She slams the table.
SARAH. Stop it! What’s the matter with you? What’s happened to you? (Quietly.) Please, please, stop it. What are you doing, playing a game?
MAX. A game? I don’t play games.
SARAH. Don’t you? You do. Oh, you do. You do. Usually I like them.
MAX. I’ve played my last game.
SARAH. Why?
Slight pause.
MAX. The children.
Pause.
SARAH. What?
MAX. The children. I’ve got to think of the children.
SARAH. What children?
MAX. My children. My wife’s children. Any minute now they’ll be out of boarding school. I’ve got to think of them.
She sits close to him.
SARAH. I want to whisper something to you. Listen. Let me whisper to you. Mmmm? Can I? Please? It’s whispering time. Earlier it was teatime, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? Now it’s whispering time.
Pause.
You like me to whisper to you. You like me to love you, whispering. Listen. You mustn’t worry about … wives, husbands, things like that. It’s silly. It’s really silly. It’s you, you now, here, here with me, hére together, that’s what it is, isn’t it? You whisper to me, you take tea with me, you do that, don’t you, that’s what we are, that’s us, love me.
He stands up.
MAX. You’re too bony.
He walks away.
That’s what it is, you see. I could put up with everything if it wasn’t for that. You’re too bony.
SARAH. Me? Bony? Don’t be ridiculous.
MAX. I’m not.
SARAH. How can you say I’m bony?
MAX. Every move I make, your bones stick into me. I’m sick and tired of your bones.
SARAH. What are you talking about?
MAX. I’m telling you you’re too bony.
SARAH. But I’m fat! Look at me. I’m plump anyway. You always told me I was plump.
MAX. You were plump once. You’re not plump any more.
SARAH. Look at me.
He looks.
MAX. You’re not plump enough. You’re nowhere near plump enough. You know what I like. I like enormous women. Like bullocks with udders. Vast great uddered bullocks.
SARAH. You mean cows.
MAX. I don’t mean cows. I mean voluminous great uddered feminine bullocks. Once, years ago, you vaguely resembled one.
SARAH. Oh, thanks.
MAX. But now, quite honestly, compared to my ideal …
He stares at her.
… you’re skin and bone.
They stare at each other.
He puts on his jacket.
SARAH. You’re having a lovely joke.
MAX. It’s no joke.
He goes out. She looks after him. She turns, goes slowly towards the bongo drum, picks it up, puts it in the cupboard. She turns, looks at chaise a moment, walks slowly into the bedroom, sits on the end of the bed. The lights fade.
Fade up. Early evening. Six chimes of the clock. RICHARD comes in the front door. He is wearing his sober suit. He puts his briefcase in cupboard, hat on hook, looks about the room, pours a drink. SARAH comes into the bedroom from bathroom, wearing a sober dress. They both stand quite still in the two rooms for a few moments. SARAH moves to the balcony, looks out, RICHARD comes into the bedroom.
RICHARD. Hello.
Pause.
SARAH. Hello.
RICHARD. Watching the sunset?
He picks up a bottle.
Drink?
SARAH. Not at the moment, thank you.
RICHARD. Oh, what a dreary conference. Went on all day. Terribly fatiguing. Still, good work done, I think. Something achieved. Sorry I’m rather late. Had to have a drink with one or two of the overseas people. Good chaps.
He sits.
How are you?
SARAH. Fine.
RICHARD. Good.
Silence.
You seem a little depressed. Anything the matter?
SARAH. No.
RICHARD. What sort of day have you had?
SARAH. Not bad.
RICHARD. Not good?
Pause.
SARAH. Fair.
RICHARD. Oh, I’m sorry.
Pause.
Good to be home, I must say. You can’t imagine what a comfort it is.
Pause.
Lover come?
She does not reply.
Sarah?
SARAH. What? Sorry. I was thinking of something
RICHARD. Did your lover come?
SARAH. Oh yes. He came.
RICHARD. In good shape?
SARAH. I have a headache actually.
RICHARD. Wasn’t he in good shape?
Pause.
SARAH. We all have our off days.
RICHARD. He, too? I thought the whole point of being a lover is that one didn’t. I mean if I, for instance, were called upon to fulfil the function of a lover and felt disposed, shall we say, to accept the job, well, I’d as soon give it up as be found incapable of executing its proper and consistent obligation.
SARAH. You do use long words.
RICHARD. Would you prefer me to use short ones?
SARAH. No, thank you.
Pause.
RICHARD. But I am sorry you had a bad day.
SARAH. It’s quite all right.
RICHARD. Perhaps things will improve.
SARAH. Perhaps.
Pause.
I hope so.
She leaves the bedroom, goes into the living-room, lights a cigarette and sits. He follows.
RICHARD. Nevertheless, I find you very beautiful.
SARAH. Thank you.
RICHARD. Yes, I find you very beautiful. I have great pride in being seen with you. When we’re out to dinner, or at the theatre.
SARAH. I’m so glad.
RICHARD. Or at the Hunt Ball.
SARAH. Yes, the Hunt Ball.
RICHARD. Great pride, to walk with you as my wife on my arm. To see you smile, laugh, walk, talk, bend, be still. To hear your command of contemporary phraseology, your delicate use of the very latest idiomatic expression, so subtly employed. Yes. To feel the envy of others, their attempts to gain favour with you, by fair means or foul, your austere grace confounding them. And to know you are my wife. It’s a source of a profound satisfaction to me.
Pause.
What’s for dinner.
SARAH. I haven’t thought.
RICHARD. Oh, why not?
SARAH. I find the thought of dinner fatiguing. I prefer not to think about it.
RICHARD. That’s rather unfortunate. I’m hungry.
Slight pause.
You hardly expect me to embark on dinner after a day spent sifting matters of high finance in the City.
She laughs.
One could even suggest you were falling down on your wifely duties.
SARAH. Oh dear.
RICHARD. I must say I rather suspected this would happen, sooner or later.
Pause.
SARAH. How’s your whore?
RICHARD. Splendid.
SARAH. Fatter or thinner?
RICHARD. I beg your pardon?
SARAH. Is she fatter or thinner?
RICHARD. She gets thinner every day.
SARAH. That must displease you.
RICHARD. Not at all. I’m fond of thin ladies.
SARAH. I thought the contrary.
RICHARD. Really? Why would you have thought that?
Pause.
Of course, your failure to have dinner on the table is quite consistent with the life you’ve been leading for some time, isn’t it?
SARAH. Is it?
RICHARD. Entirely.
Slight pause.
Perhaps I’m being unkind. Am I being unkind?
SARAH (looks at him). I don’t know.
RICHARD. Yes, I am. In the traffic jam on the bridge just now, you see, I came to a decision.
&nb
sp; Pause.
SARAH. Oh? What?
RICHARD. That it has to stop.
SARAH. What?
RICHARD. Your debauchery.
Pause.
Your life of depravity. Your path of illegitimate lust.
SARAH. Really?
RICHARD. Yes, I’ve come to an irrevocable decision on that point.
She stands.
SARAH. Would you like some cold ham?
RICHARD. Do you understand me?
SARAH. Not at all. I have something cold in the fridge.
RICHARD. Too cold, I’m sure. The fact is this is my house. From today, I forbid you to entertain your lover on these premises. This applies to any time of the day. Is that understood.
SARAH. I’ve made a salad for you.
RICHARD. Are you drinking?
SARAH. Yes, I’ll have one.
RICHARD. What are you drinking?
SARSH. You know what I drink. We’ve been married ten years.
RICHARD. So we have.
He pours.
It’s strange, of course, that it’s taken me so long to appreciate the humiliating ignominy of my position.
SARAH. I didn’t take my lover ten years ago. Not quite. Not on the honeymoon.
RICHARD. That’s irrelevant. The fact is I am a husband who has extended to his wife’s lover open house on any afternoon of her desire. I’ve been too kind. Haven’t I been too kind?
SARAH. But of course. You’re terribly kind.
RICHARD. Perhaps you would give him my compliments, by letter if you like, and ask him to cease his visits from (He consults calendar.) – the twelfth inst.
Long silence.
SARAH. How can you talk like this?
Pause.
Why today … so suddenly?
Pause.
Mmmm?
She is close to him.
You’ve had a hard day … at the office. All those overseas people. It’s so tiring. But it’s silly, it’s so silly, to talk like this. I’m here. For you. And you’ve always appreciated … how much these afternoons … mean. You’ve always understood.
She presses her cheek to his.
Understanding is so rare, so dear.
RICHARD. Do you think it’s pleasant to know that your wife is unfaithful to you two or three times a week, with great regularity?
SARAH. Richard –
RICHARD. It’s insupportable. It has become insupportable.
I’m no longer disposed to put up with it.
SARAH (to him). Sweet … Richard … please.
RICHARD. Please what?
She stops.
Can I tell you what I suggest you do?
SARAM. What?
RICHARD. Take him out into the fields. Find a ditch. Or a slag heap. Find a rubbish dump. Mmmm? What about that?
Harold Pinter Plays 2 Page 14
