Complete Works, Volume IV

by Harold Pinter

HIRST Oh, Bunty. No, I never see her.

  SPOONER You were rather taken with her.

  HIRST Was I, old chap? How did you know?

  SPOONER I was terribly fond of Bunty. He was most dreadfully annoyed with you. Wanted to punch you on the nose.

  HIRST What for?

  SPOONER For seducing his sister.

  HIRST What business was it of his?

  SPOONER He was her brother.

  HIRST That’s my point.

  Pause.

  What on earth are you driving at?

  SPOONER Bunty introduced Rupert to Stella. He was very fond of Rupert. He gave the bride away. He and Rupert were terribly old friends. He threatened to horsewhip you.

  HIRST Who did?

  SPOONER Bunty.

  HIRST He never had the guts to speak to me himself.

  SPOONER Stella begged him not to. She implored him to stay his hand. She implored him not to tell Rupert.

  HIRST I see. But who told Bunty?

  SPOONER I told Bunty. I was frightfully fond of Bunty. I was also frightfully fond of Stella.

  Pause.

  HIRST You appear to have been a close friend of the family.

  SPOONER Mainly of Arabella’s. We used to ride together.

  HIRST Arabella Hinscott?

  SPOONER Yes.

  HIRST I knew her at Oxford.

  SPOONER So did I.

  HIRST I was very fond of Arabella.

  SPOONER Arabella was very fond of me. Bunty was never sure of precisely how fond she was of me, nor of what form her fondness took.

  HIRST What in God’s name do you mean?

  SPOONER Bunty trusted me. I was best man at their wedding. He also trusted Arabella.

  HIRST I should warn you that I was always extremely fond of Arabella. Her father was my tutor. I used to stay at their house.

  SPOONER I knew her father well. He took a great interest in me.

  HIRST Arabella was a girl of the most refined and organised sensibilities.

  SPOONER I agree.

  Pause.

  HIRST Are you trying to tell me that you had an affair with Arabella?

  SPOONER A form of an affair. She had no wish for full consummation. She was content with her particular predilection. Consuming the male member.

  Hirst stands.

  HIRST I’m beginning to believe you’re a scoundrel. How dare you speak of Arabella Hinscott in such a fashion? I’ll have you blackballed from the club!

  SPOONER Oh my dear sir, may I remind you that you betrayed Stella Winstanley with Emily Spooner, my own wife, throughout a long and soiled summer, a fact known at the time throughout the Home Counties? May I further remind you that Muriel Blackwood and Doreen Busby have never recovered from your insane and corrosive sexual absolutism? May I further remind you that your friendship with and corruption of Geoffrey Ramsden at Oxford was the talk of Balliol and Christchurch Cathedral?

  HIRST This is scandalous! How dare you? I’ll have you horsewhipped!

  SPOONER It is you, sir, who have behaved scandalously. To the fairest of sexes, of which my wife was the fairest representative. It is you who have behaved unnaturally and scandalously, to the woman who was joined to me in God.

  HIRST I, sir? Unnaturally? Scandalously?

  SPOONER Scandalously. She told me all.

  HIRST You listen to the drivellings of a farmer’s wife?

  SPOONER Since I was the farmer, yes.

  HIRST You were no farmer, sir. A weekend wanker.

  SPOONER I wrote my Homage to Wessex in the summerhouse at West Upfield.

  HIRST I have never had the good fortune to read it.

  SPOONER It is written in terza rima, a form which, if you will forgive my saying so, you have never been able to master.

  HIRST This is outrageous! Who are you? What are you doing in my house?

  He goes to the door and calls.

  Denson! A whisky and soda!

  He walks about the room.

  You are clearly a lout. The Charles Wetherby I knew was a gentleman. I see a figure reduced. I am sorry for you. Where is the moral ardour that sustained you once? Gone down the hatch.

  Briggs enters, pours whisky and soda, gives it to Hirst. Hirst looks at it.

  Down the hatch. Right down the hatch. (He drinks.) I do not understand . . . I do not understand . . . and I see it all about me . . . continually . . . how the most sensitive and cultivated of men can so easily change, almost overnight, into the bully, the cutpurse, the brigand. In my day nobody changed. A man was. Only religion could alter him, and that at least was a glorious misery.

  He drinks, and sits in his chair.

  We are not banditti here. I am prepared to be patient. I shall be kind to you. I shall show you my library. I might even show you my study. I might even show you my pen, and my blottingpad. I might even show you my footstool.

  He holds out his glass.

  Another.

  Briggs takes glass, fills it, returns it.

  I might even show you my photograph album. You might even see a face in it which might remind you of your own, of what you once were. You might see faces of others, in shadow, or cheeks of others, turning, or jaws, or backs of necks, or eyes, dark under hats, which might remind you of others, whom once you knew, whom you thought long dead, but from whom you will still receive a sidelong glance, if you can face the good ghost. Allow the love of the good ghost. They possess all that emotion . . . trapped. Bow to it. It will assuredly never release them, but who knows . . . what relief . . . it may give to them . . . who knows how they may quicken . . . in their chains, in their glass jars. You think it cruel . . . to quicken them, when they are fixed, imprisoned? No . . . no. Deeply, deeply, they wish to respond to your touch, to your look, and when you smile, their joy . . . is unbounded. And so I say to you, tender the dead, as you would yourself be tendered, now, in what you would describe as your life.

  He drinks.

  BRIGGS They’re blank, mate, blank. The blank dead.

  Silence.

  HIRST Nonsense.

  Pause.

  Pass the bottle.

  BRIGGS No.

  HIRST What?

  BRIGGS I said no.

  HIRST No pranks. No mischief. Give me the bottle.

  Pause.

  BRIGGS I’ve refused.

  HIRST Refusal can lead to dismissal.

  BRIGGS You can’t dismiss me.

  HIRST Why not?

  BRIGGS Because I won’t go.

  HIRST If I tell you to go, you will go. Give me the bottle.

  Silence.

  Hirst turns to Spooner.

  HIRST Bring me the bottle.

  Spooner goes to cabinet. Briggs does not move. Spooner picks up whisky bottle, takes it to Hirst. Hirst pours and places bottle at his side.

  BRIGGS I’ll have one myself.

  Briggs takes a glass to the bottle, pours and drinks.

  HIRST What impertinence. Well, it doesn’t matter. He was always a scallywag. Is it raining? It so often rains, in August, in England. Do you ever examine the gullies of the English countryside? Under the twigs, under the dead leaves, you’ll find tennis balls, blackened. Girls threw them for their dogs, or children, for each other, they rolled into the gully. They are lost there, given up for dead, centuries old.

  Foster comes into the room.

  FOSTER It’s time for your morning walk.

  Pause.

  I said it’s time for your morning walk.

  HIRST My morning walk? No, no, I’m afraid I don’t have the time this morning.

  FOSTER It’s time for your walk across the Heath.

  HIRST I can’t possibly. I’m too busy. I have too many things to do.

  FOSTER What’s that you’re drinking?

  SPOONER The great malt which wounds.

  HIRST (to Spooner) My God, you haven’t got a drink. Where’s your glass?

  SPOONER Thank you. It would be unwise to mix my drinks.

  HIRST Mix?

  SP
OONER I was drinking champagne.

  HIRST Of course you were, of course. Albert, another bottle.

  BRIGGS Certainly, sir.

  Briggs goes out.

  HIRST I can’t possibly. I have too many things to do. I have an essay to write. A critical essay. We’ll have to check the files, find out what it is I’m supposed to be appraising. At the moment it’s slipped my mind.

  SPOONER I could help you there.

  HIRST Oh?

  SPOONER On two counts. Firstly, I have the nose of a ferret. I can find anything in a file. Secondly, I have written any number of critical essays myself. Do you actually have a secretary?

  FOSTER I’m his secretary.

  SPOONER A secretarial post does less than justice to your talents. A young poet should travel. Travel and suffer. Join the Navy, perhaps, and see the sea. Voyage and explore.

  FOSTER I’ve sailored. I’ve been there and back. I’m here where I’m needed.

  Briggs enters with champagne, stops at door, listens.

  SPOONER (to Hirst) You mentioned a photograph album. I could go through it with you. I could put names to the faces. A proper exhumation could take place. Yes, I am confident that I could be of enormous aid in that area.

  FOSTER Those faces are nameless, friend.

  Briggs comes into room, sets down champagne bucket.

  BRIGGS And they’ll always be nameless.

  HIRST There are places in my heart . . . where no living soul . . . has . . . or can ever . . . trespass.

  Briggs opens champagne, pours glass for Spooner.

  BRIGGS Here you are. Fresh as a daisy. (To Hirst.) A drop for you, sir?

  HIRST No, no. I’ll stay . . . where I am.

  BRIGGS I’ll join Mr Friend, if I may, sir?

  HIRST Naturally.

  BRIGGS (to Foster) Where’s your glass?

  FOSTER No thanks.

  HIRST Oh come on, be sociable. Be sociable. Consort with the society to which you’re attached. To which you’re attached as if by bonds of steel. Mingle.

  Briggs pours a glass for Foster.

  FOSTER It isn’t even lunchtime.

  BRIGGS The best time to drink champagne is before lunch, you cunt.

  FOSTER Don’t call me a cunt.

  HIRST We three, never forget, are the oldest of friends.

  BRIGGS That’s why I called him a cunt.

  FOSTER (to Briggs) Stop talking.

  Hirst lifts his glass.

  HIRST To our good fortune.

  Mutters of ‘Cheers’. They all drink. Hirst looks at the window.

  HIRST The light . . . out there . . . is gloomy . . . hardly daylight at all. It is falling, rapidly. Distasteful. Let us close the curtains. Put the lamps on.

  Briggs closes the curtains, lights lamps.

  HIRST Ah. What relief.

  Pause.

  How happy it is.

  Pause.

  Today I shall come to a conclusion. There are certain matters . . . which today I shall resolve.

  SPOONER I’ll help you.

  FOSTER I was in Bali when they sent for me. I didn’t have to leave, I didn’t have to come here. But I felt I was . . . called . . . I had no alternative. I didn’t have to leave that beautiful isle. But I was intrigued. I was only a boy. But I was nondescript and anonymous. A famous writer wanted me. He wanted me to be his secretary, his chauffeur, his housekeeper, his amanuensis. How did he know of me? Who told him?

  SPOONER He made an imaginative leap. Few can do it. Few do it. He did it. And that’s why God loves him.

  BRIGGS You came on my recommendation. I’ve always liked youth because you can use it. But it has to be open and honest. If it isn’t open and honest you can’t use it. I recommended you. You were open, the whole world before you.

  FOSTER I find the work fruitful. I’m in touch with a very special intelligence. This intelligence I find nourishing. I have been nourished by it. It’s enlarged me. Therefore it’s an intelligence worth serving. I find its demands natural. Not only that. They’re legal. I’m not doing anything crooked. It’s a relief. I could so easily have been bent. I have a sense of dignity in my work, a sense of honour. It never leaves me. Of service to a cause.

  He refers to Briggs.

  He is my associate. He was my proposer. I’ve learnt a great deal from him. He’s been my guide. The most unselfish person I’ve ever met. He’ll tell you. Let him speak.

  BRIGGS Who to?

  FOSTER What?

  BRIGGS Speak? Who to?

  Foster looks at Spooner.

  FOSTER To . . . him.

  BRIGGS To him? To a pisshole collector? To a shithouse operator? To a jamrag vendor? What the fuck are you talking about? Look at him. He’s a mingejuice bottler, a fucking shitcake baker. What are you talking to him for?

  HIRST Yes, yes, but he’s a good man at heart. I knew him at Oxford.

  Silence.

  SPOONER (to Hirst) Let me live with you and be your secretary.

  HIRST Is there a big fly in here? I hear buzzing.

  SPOONER No.

  HIRST You say no.

  SPOONER Yes.

  Pause.

  I ask you . . . to consider me for the post. If I were wearing a suit such as your own you would see me in a different light. I’m extremely good with tradespeople, hawkers, canvassers, nuns. I can be silent when desired or, when desired, convivial. I can discuss any subject of your choice—the future of the country, wild flowers, the Olympic Games. It is true I have fallen on hard times, but my imagination and intelligence are unimpaired. My will to work has not been eroded. I remain capable of undertaking the gravest and most daunting responsibilities. Temperamentally I can be what you wish. My character is, at core, a humble one. I am an honest man and, moreover, I am not too old to learn. My cooking is not to be sneezed at. I lean towards French cuisine but food without frills is not beyond my competency. I have a keen eye for dust. My kitchen would be immaculate. I am tender towards objects. I would take good care of your silver. I play chess, billiards, and the piano. I could play Chopin for you. I could read the Bible to you. I am a good companion.

  Pause.

  My career, I admit it freely, has been chequered. I was one of the golden of my generation. Something happened. I don’t know what it was. Nevertheless I am I and have survived insult and deprivation. I am I. I offer myself not abjectly but with ancient pride. I come to you as a warrior. I shall be happy to serve you as my master. I bend my knee to your excellence. I am furnished with the qualities of piety, prudence, liberality and goodness. Decline them at your peril. It is my task as a gentleman to remain amiable in my behaviour, courageous in my undertakings, discreet and gallant in my executions, by which I mean your private life would remain your own. However, I shall be sensible to the least wrong offered you. My sword shall be ready to dissever all manifest embodiments of malign forces that conspire to your ruin. I shall regard it as incumbent upon me to preserve a clear countenance and a clean conscience. I will accept death’s challenge on your behalf. I shall meet it, for your sake, boldly, whether it be in the field or in the bedchamber. I am your chevalier. I had rather bury myself in a tomb of honour than permit your dignity to be sullied by domestic enemy or foreign foe. I am yours to command.

  Silence.

  Hirst is still, sitting. Foster and Briggs are still, standing.

  SPOONER Before you reply, I would like to say one thing more. I occasionally organise poetry readings, in the upstairs room of a particular public house. They are reasonably well attended, mainly by the young. I would be happy to offer you an evening of your own. You could read your own work, to an interested and informed audience, to an audience brimming over with potential for the greatest possible enthusiasm. I can guarantee a full house, and I will be happy to arrange a straightforward fee for you or, if you prefer, a substantial share of the profits. The young, I can assure you, would flock to hear you. My committee would deem it a singular honour to act as your host. You would be introduced by an auth
ority on your work, perhaps myself. After the reading, which I am confident will be a remarkable success, we could repair to the bar below, where the landlord—who happens to be a friend of mine—would I know be overjoyed to entertain you, with the compliments of the house. Nearby is an Indian restaurant of excellent standing, at which you would be the guest of my committee. Your face is so seldom seen, your words, known to so many, have been so seldom heard, in the absolute authority of your own rendering, that this event would qualify for that rarest of categories: the unique. I beg you to consider seriously the social implications of such an adventure. You would be there in body. It would bring you to the young, the young to you. The elderly, also, those who have almost lost hope, would on this occasion leave their homes and present themselves. You would have no trouble with the press. I would take upon myself the charge of keeping them from nuisance. Perhaps you might agree to half a dozen photographs or so, but no more. Unless of course you positively wished, on such an occasion, to speak. Unless you preferred to hold, let us say, a small press conference, after the reading, before supper, whereby you could speak through the press to the world. But that is by the by, and would in no sense be a condition. Let us content ourselves with the idea of an intimate reading, in a pleasing and conducive environment, let us consider an evening to be remembered, by all who take part in her.

  Silence.

  HIRST Let us change the subject.

  Pause.

  For the last time.

  Pause.

  What have I said?

  FOSTER You said you’re changing the subject for the last time.

  HIRST But what does that mean?

  FOSTER It means you’ll never change the subject again.

  HIRST Never?

  FOSTER Never.

  HIRST Never?

  FOSTER You said for the last time.

  HIRST But what does that mean? What does it mean?

  FOSTER It means forever. It means that the subject is changed once and for all and for the last time forever. If the subject is winter, for instance, it’ll be winter forever.

  HIRST Is the subject winter?

  FOSTER The subject is now winter. So it’ll therefore be winter forever.

  BRIGGS And for the last time.

  FOSTER Which will last forever. If the subject is winter, for example, spring will never come.

  HIRST But let me ask you—I must ask you—

  FOSTER Summer will never come.