Harold Pinter Plays 3

by Harold Pinter

  I mean that was the last place … I visited. I know Europe well. My name is Spooner, by the way. Yes, one afternoon in Amsterdam … I was sitting outside a café by a canal. The weather was superb. At another table, in shadow, was a man whistling under his breath, sitting very still, almost rigid. At the side of the canal was a fisherman. He caught a fish. He lifted it high. The waiter cheered and applauded, the two men, the waiter and the fisherman, laughed. A little girl, passing, laughed. Two lovers, passing, kissed. The fish was lofted, on the rod. The fish and the rod glinted in the sun, as they swayed. The fisherman’s cheeks were flushed, with pleasure. I decided to paint a picture – of the canal, the waiter, the child, the fisherman, the lovers, the fish, and in background, in shadow, the man at the other table, and to call it The Whistler. The Whistler. If you had seen the picture, and the title, would the title have baffled you?

  Pause

  FOSTER

  (To BRIGGS.) Do you want to answer that question?

  BRIGGS

  No. Go on. You answer it.

  FOSTER

  Well, speaking for myself, I think I would have been baffled by that title. But I might have appreciated the picture. I might even have been grateful for it.

  Pause

  Did you hear what I said? I might have been grateful for the picture. A good work of art tends to move me. You follow me? I’m not a cunt, you know.

  Pause

  I’m very interested to hear you’re a painter. You do it in your spare time, I suppose?

  SPOONER

  Quite.

  FOSTER

  Did you ever paint that picture, The Whistler?

  SPOONER

  Not yet, I’m afraid.

  FOSTER

  Don’t leave it too long. You might lose the inspiration.

  BRIGGS

  Ever painted a beermug?

  SPOONER

  You must come and see my collection, any time you wish.

  BRIGGS

  What of, beermugs?

  SPOONER

  No, no. Paintings.

  FOSTER

  Where do you keep it?

  SPOONER

  At my house in the country. You would receive the warmest of welcomes.

  FOSTER

  Who from?

  SPOONER

  My wife. My two daughters.

  FOSTER

  Really? Would they like me? What do you think? Would they love me at first sight?

  SPOONER

  (Laughing.) Quite possibly.

  FOSTER

  What about him?

  SPOONER looks at BRIGGS.

  SPOONER

  They are remarkably gracious women.

  FOSTER

  You’re a lucky man. What are you drinking?

  SPOONER

  Scotch.

  FOSTER goes to cabinet, pours scotch, stands holding glass.

  FOSTER

  What do you make of this? When I was out East … once .. a kind of old stinking tramp, bollock naked, asked me for a few bob. I didn’t know him. He was a complete stranger. But I could see immediately he wasn’t a man to trust. He had a dog with him. They only had about one eye between them. So I threw him some sort of coin. He caught this bloody coin, looked at it with a bit of disaste, and then he threw the coin back. Well, automatically I went to catch it, I clutched at it, but the bloody coin disappeared into thin air. It didn’t drop anywhere. It just disappeared .. into thin air .. on its way towards me. He then let out a few curses and pissed off, with his dog. Oh, here’s your whisky, by the way. (Hands it to him) What do you make of that incident?

  SPOONER

  He was a con artist.

  FOSTER

  Do you think so?

  SPOONER

  You would be wise to grant the event no integrity whatsoever.

  FOSTER

  You don’t subscribe to the mystery of the Orient?

  SPOONER

  A typical Eastern contrick.

  FOSTER

  Double Dutch, you mean?

  SPOONER

  Certainly. Your good health. (Drinks.)

  HIRST enters, wearing a dressing-gown.

  BRIGGS goes to cabinet, pours whisky.

  HIRST

  I can’t sleep. I slept briefly. I think. Perhaps it was sufficient. Yes. I woke up, out of a dream. I feel cheerful. Who’ll give me a glass of whisky?

  HIRST sits. BRIGGS brings him whisky.

  My goodness, is this for me? How did you know? You knew. You’re very sensitive. Cheers. The first today. What day is it? What’s the time? Is it still night?

  BRIGGS

  Yes.

  HIRST

  The same night? I was dreaming of a waterfall. No, no, of a lake. I think it was .. just recently. Can you remember when I went to bed? Was it daylight? It’s good to go to sleep in the late afternoon. After tea and toast. You hear the faint beginnings of the evening sounds, and then nothing. Everywhere else people are changing for dinner. You’re tucked up, the shutters dosed, gaining a march on the world.

  He passes his glass to BRIGGS, who fills and returns it.

  Something is depressing me. What is it? It was the dream, yes. Waterfalls. No, no, a lake. Water. Drowning. Not me. Someone else. How nice to have company. Can you imagine waking up, finding no–one here, just furniture, staring at you? Most unpleasant. I’ve known that condition, I’ve been through that period – cheers – I came round to human beings in the end. Like yourselves. A wise move. I tried laughing alone. Pathetic. Have you all got drinks?

  He looks at SPOONER.

  Who’s that? A friend of yours? Won’t someone introduce me?

  FOSTER

  He’s a friend of yours.

  HIRST

  In the past I knew remarkable people. I’ve a photograph album somewhere. I’ll find it. You’ll be impressed by the faces. Very handsome. Sitting on grass with hampers. I had a moustache. Quite a few of my friends had moustaches. Remarkable faces. Remarkable moustaches. What was it informed the scene? A tenderness towards our fellows, perhaps. The sun shone. The girls had lovely hair, dark, sometimes red. Under their dresses their bodies were white. It’s all in my album. I’ll find it. You’ll be struck by the charm of the girls, their grace, the ease with which they sit, pour tea, loll. It’s all in my album.

  He empties glass, holds it up.

  Who is the kindest among you?

  BRIGGS takes glass to cabinet.

  Thank you. What would I do without the two of you? I’d sit here forever, waiting for a stranger to fill up my glass. What would I do while I waited? Look through my album? Make plans for the future?

  BRIGGS

  (Bringing glass.) You’d crawl to the bottle and stuff it between your teeth.

  HIRST

  No. I drink with dignity.

  He drinks, looks at SPOONER.

  Who is this man? Do I know him?

  FOSTER

  He says he’s a friend of yours.

  HIRST

  My true friends look out at me from my album. I had my world. I have it. Don’t think now that it’s gone I’ll choose to sneer at it, to cast doubt on it, to wonder if it properly existed. No. We’re talking of my youth, which can never leave me. No. It existed. It was solid, the people in it were solid, while … transformed by light, while being sensitive … to all the changing light.

  When I stood my shadow fell upon her. She looked up. Give me the bottle. Give me the bottle.

  BRIGGS gives him the bottle. He drinks from it.

  It’s gone. Did it exist? It’s gone. It never existed. It remains. I am sitting here forever.

  How kind of you. I wish you’d tell me what the weather’s like. I wish you’d damnwell tell me what night it is, this night or the next night or the other one, the night before last. Be frank. Is it the night before last?

  Help yourselves. I hate drinking alone. There’s too much solitary shittery.

  What was it? Shadows. Brightness, through leaves. Gambolling. I
n the bushes. Young lovers. A fall of water. It was my dream. The lake. Who was drowning in my dream?

  It was blinding. I remember it. I’ve forgotten. By all that’s sacred and holy. The sounds stopped. It was freezing. There’s a gap in me. I can’t fill it. There’s a flood running through me. I can’t plug it. They’re blotting me out. Who is doing it? I’m suffocating. It’s a muff. A muff, perfumed. Someone is doing me to death.

  She looked up. I was staggered. I had never seen anything so beautiful. That’s all poison. We can’t be expected to live like that.

  I remember nothing. I’m sitting in this room. I see you all, every one of you. A sociable gathering. The dispositions are kindly.

  Am I asleep? There’s no water. No-one is drowning.

  Yes, yes, come on, come on, come on, pipe up, speak up, speak up, speak up, you’re fucking me about, you bastards, ghosts, long ghosts, you’re making noises, I can hear you humming, I wear a crisp blue shirt at the Ritz, I wear a crisp blue shirt at the Ritz, I know him well, the wine waiter, Boris, Boris, he’s been there for years, blinding shadows, then a fall of water –

  SPOONER

  It was I drowning in your dream.

  HIRST falls to the floor. They all go to him.

  FOSTER turns to SPOONER.

  FOSTER

  Bugger off.

  BRIGGS pulls HIRST up. HIRST wards him off.

  HIRST

  Unhand me.

  He stands erect. SPOONER moves to him.

  SPOONER

  He has grandchildren. As have I. As I have. We both have fathered. We are of an age. I know his wants. Let me take his arm. Respect our age. Come, I’ll seat you.

  He takes HIRST’S arm and leads him to a chair.

  There’s no pity in these people.

  FOSTER

  Christ.

  SPOONER

  I am your true friend. That is why your dream … was so distressing. You saw me drowning in your dream. But have no fear. I am not drowned.

  FOSTER

  Christ.

  SPOONER

  (To HIRST.) Would you like me to make you some coffee?

  BRIGGS

  He thinks he’s a waiter in Amsterdam.

  FOSTER

  Service non compris.

  BRIGGS

  Whereas he’s a pintpot attendant in The Bull’s Head. And a pisspot attendant as well.

  FOSTER

  Our host must have been in The Bull’s Head tonight, where he had an unfortunate encounter. (To SPOONER.) Hey scout, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. You’re not in some shithouse down by the docks. You’re in the home of a man of means, of a man of achievement. Do you understand me?

  He turns to BRIGGS.

  Why am I bothering? Tell me. Eh?

  He turns back to SPOONER.

  Listen chummybum. We protect this gentleman against corruption, against men of craft, against men of evil, we could destroy you without a glance, we take care of this gentleman, we do it out of love.

  He turns to BRIGGS.

  Why am I talking to him? I’m wasting my time with a non-starter. I must be going mad. I don’t usually talk. I don’t have to. Normally I keep quiet.

  He turns back to SPOONER.

  I know what it is. There’s something about you fascinates me.

  SPOONER

  It’s my bearing.

  FOSTER

  That’s what it must be.

  BRIGGS

  I’ve seen Irishmen chop his balls off.

  FOSTER

  I suppose once you’ve had Irishmen you’ve had everything. (To SPOONER.) Listen. Keep it tidy. You follow? You’ve just laid your hands on a rich and powerful man. It’s not what you’re used to, scout. How can I make it clear? This is another class. It’s another realm of operation. It’s a world of silk. It’s a world of organdie. It’s a world of flower arrangements. It’s a world of eighteenth century cookery books. It’s nothing to do with toffeeapples and a packet of crisps. It’s milk in the bath. It’s the cloth bellpull. It’s organisation.

  BRIGGS

  It’s not rubbish.

  FOSTER

  It’s not rubbish. We deal in originals. Nothing duff, nothing ersatz, we don’t open any old bottle of brandy. Mind you don’t fell into a quicksand. (To BRIGGS.) Why don’t I kick his head off and have done with it?

  SPOONER

  I’m the same age as your master. I used to picnic in the country too, at the same time as he.

  FOSTER

  Listen, my friend. This man in this chair, he’s a creative man. He’s an artist. We make life possible for him. We’re in a position of trust. Don’t try to drive a wedge into a happy household. You understand me? Don’t try to make a nonsense out of family life.

  BRIGGS

  (To FOSTER.) If you can’t, I can.

  He moves to SPOONER and beckons to him, with his forefinger.

  BRIGGS

  Come here.

  HIRST

  Where are the sandwiches? Cut the bread.

  BRIGGS

  It’s cut.

  HIRST

  It is not cut. Cut it!

  BRIGGS stands still.

  BRIGGS

  I’ll go and cut it.

  He leaves the room.

  HIRST

  (To SPOONER.) I know you from somewhere.

  FOSTER

  I must clean the house. No-one else’ll do it. Your financial adviser is coming to breakfast. I’ve got to think about that. His taste changes from day to day. One day he wants boiled eggs and toast, the next day orange juice and poached eggs, the next scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, the next a mushroom omelette and champagne. Any minute now it’ll be dawn. A new day. Your financial adviser’s dreaming of his breakfast. He’s dreaming of eggs. Eggs, eggs. What kind of eggs? I’m exhausted. I’ve been up all night. But it never stops. Nothing stops. It’s all fizz. This is my life. I have my brief arousals. They leave me panting. I can’t take the pace in London. Nobody knows what I miss.

  BRIGGS enters and stands, listening.

  I miss the Siamese girls. I miss the girls in Bali. You don’t come across them over here. You see them occasionally, on the steps of language schools, they’re learning English, they’re not prepared to have a giggle and a cuddle in their own language. Not in Regent street. A giggle and a cuddle. Sometimes my ambitions extend no further than that. I could do something else. I could make another life. I don’t have to waste my time looking after a pisshound. I could find the right niche and be happy. The right niche, the right happiness.

  BRIGGS

  We’re out of bread. I’m looking at the housekeeper. Neurotic poof. He prefers idleness. Unspeakable ponce. He prefers the Malay Straits, where they give you hot toddy in a fourposter. He’s nothing but a vagabond cock. (To SPOONER.) Move over.

  SPOONER moves out of his way.

  BRIGGS

  (To HIRST.) Get up.

  HIRST slowly stands. BRIGGS leads him to the door.

  BRIGGS

  (To HIRST.) Keep on the move. Don’t look back.

  HIRST

  I know that man.

  BRIGGS leads HIRST out of the room.

  Silence

  FOSTER

  Do you know what I saw once in the desert, in the Australian desert? A man walking along carrying two umbrellas. Two umbrellas. In the outback.

  Pause

  SPOONER

  Was it raining?

  FOSTER

  No. It was a beautiful day. I nearly asked him what he was up to but I changed my mind.

  SPOONER

  Why?

  FOSTER

  Well, I decided he must be some kind of lunatic. I thought he would only confuse me.

  FOSTER walks about the room, stops at the door.

  Listen. You know what it’s like when you’re in a room with the light on and then suddenly the light goes out? I’ll show you. It’s like this.

  He turns the light out.

  BLACKOUTr />
  ACT TWO

  Morning

  SPOONER is alone in the room. The curtains are still closed, but shafts of light enter the room.

  He is sitting.

  He stands, goes slowly to door, tries handle, with fatigue, withdraws.

  SPOONER

  I have known this before. Morning. A locked door. A house of silence and strangers.

  He sits, shivers.

  The door is unlocked. BRIGGS comes in, key in hand. He is wearing a suit. He opens the curtains. Daylight.

  BRIGGS

  I’ve been asked to inquire if you’re hungry.

  SPOONER

  Food? I never touch it.

  BRIGGS

  The financial adviser didn’t turn up. You can have his breakfast. He phoned his order through, then phoned again to cancel the appointment.

  SPOONER

  For what reason?

  BRIGGS

  Jack spoke to him, not me.

  SPOONER

  What reason did he give your friend?

  BRIGGS

  Jack said he said he found himself without warning in the centre of a vast aboriginal financial calamity.

  Pause

  SPOONER

  He clearly needs an adviser.

  Pause

  BRIGGS

  I won’t bring you breakfast if you’re going to waste it.

  SPOONER

  I abhor waste.

  BRIGGS goes out.

  I have known this before. The door unlocked. The entrance of a stranger. The offer of alms. The shark in the harbour.

  Silence

  BRIGGS enters carrying a tray. On the tray are breakfast dishes covered by silver lids and a bottle of champagne in a bucket.

  He places the tray on a small table and brings a chair to the table.

  BRIGGS

  Scrambled eggs. Shall I open the champagne?

  SPOONER

  Is it cold?

  BRIGGS

  Freezing.

  SPOONER

  Please open it.

  BRIGGS begins to open bottle. SPOONER lifts lids, peers, sets lids aside, butters toast.

  SPOONER

  Who is the cook?

  BRIGGS

  We share all burdens, Jack and myself.

  BRIGGS pours champagne. Offers glass. SPOONER sips.

  Pause

  SPOONER

  Thank you.

  SPOONER begins to eat. BRIGGS draws up a chair to the table and sits, watching.

  BRIGGS

  We’re old friends, Jack and myself. We met at a street corner. I should tell you he’ll deny this account. His story will be different. I was standing at a street corner. A car drew up. It was him. He asked me the way to Bolsover street. I told him Bolsover street was in the middle of an intricate one-way system. It was a one-way system easy enough to get into. The only trouble was that, once in, you couldn’t get out. I told him his best bet, if he really wanted to get to Bolsover street, was to take the first left, first right, second right, third on the left, keep his eye open for a hardware shop, go right round the square, keeping to the inside lane, take the second Mews on the right and then stop. He will find himself facing a very tall office block, with a crescent courtyard. He can take advantage of this office block. He can go round the crescent, come out the other way, follow the arrows, go past two sets of traffic lights and take the next left indicated by the first green filter he comes across. He’s got the Post Office Tower in his vision the whole time. All he’s got to do is to reverse into the underground car park, change gear, go straight on, and he’ll find himself in Bolsover street with no trouble at all I did warn him, though, that he’ll still be faced with the problem, having found Bolsover street, of losing it. I told him I knew one or two people who’d been wandering up and down Bolsover street for years. They’d wasted their bloody youth there. The people who live there, their faces are grey, they’re in a state of despair, but nobody pays any attention, you see. All people are worried about is their illgotten gains. I wrote to The Times about it. Life At A Dead End, I called it. Went for nothing. Anyway, I told him that probably the best thing he could do was to forget the whole idea of getting to Bolsover street. I remember saying to him: This trip you’ve got in mind, drop it, it could prove fatal. But he said he had to deliver a parcel. Anyway, I took all this trouble with him because he had a nice open face. He looked like a man who would always do good to others himself. Normally I wouldn’t give a fuck. I should tell you he’ll deny this account. His story will be different.