The VICE-CONSUL’s sobs. Unrestrained. All dignity swept away.
Everyone suddenly turns aside.
Isolated woman's voice:
––––– I can't bear to see it . . .
The VICE-CONSUL appears, shaken with sobs. We see and hear them.
A man, a stranger, leads him by the arm toward the entrance of the Embassy. The VICE-CONSUL resists at first, then lets himself be led away.
They disappear.
Everyone stands looking after them.
Isolated woman's voice:
––––– He's gone. (Long pause.) They're shutting the gate.
In the distance, the same cries: the VICE-CONSUL has started to shout again.
Isolated woman's voice:
––––– He was laughing and crying at the same time. Did you see?
Silence.
“Heure exquise” continues imperturbably to the end, while everyone stands looking away from the reception and toward the VICE-CONSUL.
The cries still go on.
Isolated man's voice:
––––– He's trying to break down the gate.
Silence.
“Heure exquise” ends.
The cries get farther away.
Isolated voice:
––––– The beggars are frightened . . .
Isolated voice, the last:
––––– He's gone.
Silence. A few seconds of it, then:
Blackout.
Darkness gradually blots out the picture as, in the far distance, the silhouette of the BEGGAR WOMAN passes by, then disappears.
Silence.
Then suddenly, on the piano, Beethoven's 14th Variation on a Theme of Diabelli.
Blackout.
III
Notes on Voices 3 and 4
VOICES 3 and 4 are men's voices. The only thing that connects them is the fascination exerted on them by the story of the lovers of the Ganges, especially, once again, by that of ANNE-MARIE STRETTER.
VOICE 3 can remember almost nothing of the chronology of the story. It questions VOICE 4, and VOICE 4 answers.
Of all the voices, VOICE 4 is the one which has forgotten the story the least. It knows almost all of it.
But VOICE 3, although it has forgotten almost everything, recognizes things as VOICE 4 relates them, VOICE 4 doesn't tell it anything it didn't know before, at a time when it too knew the story very well.
The difference between VOICES 3 and 4, between forgetfulness on the one hand and remembrance on the other, arises from the same cause—the fascination the story exerts on the two voices, VOICE 3 has rejected the fascination, VOICE 4 has tolerated it.
The story of the lovers of the Ganges is in both voices—latent in the one, manifest in the other. About to survive or revive.
The difference—between the tolerable and the intolerable—should be reflected in the sensibilities of the two voices.
It is not without apprehension that VOICE 4 informs VOICE 3. VOICE 4 often hesitates. For VOICE 3 is exposed to the danger, not of madness, like VOICE 1, but of suffering.
We are in the same part of the Embassy as before. There are five people there in the darkness, which slowly disappears:
ANNE-MARIE STRETTER, MICHAEL RICHARDSON, the YOUNG ATTACHÉ, the GUEST (friend of the Stretiers), and an old friend, an Englishman, GEORGE CRAWN.
The drunk journalists have gone. The rest are by themselves, in an intimacy in which each of them feels alone. It is late, they are separated by fatigue.
They are waiting. Their chairs—except for those of ANNE-MARIE STRETTER and MICHAEL RICHARDSON— are too far apart for conversation.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ and the Stretters‘ GUEST look exhausted, also, by the events of the evening.
We don't know what they are waiting for: perhaps for it to be light, so that they can leave for the islands. Probably.
We still hear Beethoven's 14th Variation on a Theme by Diabelli. Through the music, the sounds of Calcutta grow stronger with the light.
ANNE-MARIE STRETTER sits with her head flung back and to one side over the arm of a chair. She might seem to be asleep if it weren't for the fact that her eyes are open.
MICHAEL RICHARDSON is near her, half lying on a low chair.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ is sitting up straight, smoking. He looks as if he is listening to the noises of Calcutta, through which one suddenly recognizes the cries, the last spasms of the calls to love of the VICE-CONSUL from Lahore. The YOUNG ATTACHÉ obviously finds them hard to bear. The others do not.
The Stretters’ GUEST, standing, looks around at the others: these people of India whom he thought he knew, but whom he scarcely recognizes after the night of the reception. He too listens to the cries of the VICE-CONSUL.
GEORGE CRAWN listens to the Beethoven: he is entirely absorbed by the music.
VOICE 4: As usual after a reception, some people stayed on.
VOICE 3 (low): Is he the one sitting near her—Michael Richardson?
VOICE 4: Yes.
VOICE 3 (hesitating): Did they ever find out . . . ?
VOICE 4 (hesitating): After she died he left India.
Silence.
VOICE 4 (continuing): The one standing up is the Young Attaché.
VOICE 3: And the elderly Englishman?
VOICE 4: George Crawn. He knew her in Peking.
Pause.
VOICE 3: And the one looking at them?
VOICE 4: Someone passing through. Stretter's guest.
Silence.
VOICE 3: Is that the French Vice-consul shouting?
VOICE 4: Yes. Still.
Silence.
VOICE 4: All trace of him disappears in 1938. (Pause.) He resigns from the consular service. The resignation is the last thing on the file.
VOICE 3 (hesitating): Very soon afterwards . . .
VOICE 4: A few days.
Silence. Cries.
VOICE 3: What's he shouting?
VOICE 4: Her name.
Pause.
VOICE 3 (slowly): Anna Maria Guardi.
VOICE 4: Yes. All night, all through Calcutta, he's been shouting that name.
Silence.
The women's voices (from Act I) now arrive. They too speak of the VICE-CONSUL.
VOICE 2 (as if exhausted): He walks along by the Ganges.
He comes on the lepers asleep.
Someone else is shouting on the other bank.
Pause.
VOICE 1: Yes.
Silence.
VOICE 2: Can you see him?
VOICE 1 (distant): Yes. I'm watching.
I see.
Silence.
VOICE 2 (slow) : Is he looking for something? . . . Or walking at random? . . . Aimlessly?
No answer.
VOICE 2: Is he looking for something he's lost?
No answer.
VOICE 2: Something in common that he's lost too?
No answer.
VOICE 2: The love of her?
VOICE 1: Love. Yes.
Silence.
VOICE 2 (yearning, desire): How far away you are . . . from me . . .
No answer.
Silence.
A servant goes through with trays piled with glasses, ashtrays, etc. He passes them as though he didn't see them.
Gleams in the sky. The burning-ghats.
VOICE 1 (slow): It will soon be day.
Silence.
VOICE 1 (very slow): Dawn is breaking here, all around.
And there.
The air smells of mud. And leprosy. And burning.
VOICE 2: Not a breath.
VOICE 1: No. Slow stirrings, slow movements, smells.
Silence.
VOICE 2: Can't I hear music?
VOICE 1: No.
VOICE 2: That sound of wings, of birds.
VOICE 1: The fan. Forgotten.
Silence.
The men's voices mingle with the women's.
VOICE 3: Those gleams.
VOICE
4: Day.
The first zone is the zone of leprosy and dogs. They are on the banks of the Ganges, under the trees. No strength left. No pain.
VOICE 3: And those who have died of hunger?
VOICE 4: Farther away, in the density of the North.
The last zone.
Pause.
VOICE 4: Day. The sun.
Pause.
VOICE 3: The light. Terrible.
Silence.
VOICE 1: The light. Of exile.
VOICE 2: Is she asleep?
VOICE 1: Which one?
VOICE 2: The white woman.
VOICE 1: No. Resting.
Silence.
VOICE 2 (mournfully): How far away you are. Quite absent.
No answer.
Silence.
MICHAEL RICHARDSON slowly turns his head toward ANNE-MARIE STRETTER. Looks at her.
VOICE 3 (startled): Voices near us suddenly? Did you hear?
VOICE 4 (pause): No . . .
VOICE 3: Young voices . . . women's?
VOICE 4 (pause): I don't hear anything. (Pause.) Silence.
Silence.
VOICE 4: He's looking at her.
VOICE 3: Yes.
She is far away. Quite absent.
Silence.
VOICE 4 (in one breath): People said one day they'd both be found dead in a brothel in Calcutta they used to go to sometimes during the monsoon.
Silence.
VOICE 3: Not a breath. The heat is the color of rust. Above, the smoke.
VOICE 4: The factories. The middle zone.
Silence.
Very slowly ANNE-MARIE STRETTER has inclined her head toward MICHAEL RICHARDSON. They look at each other.
VOICE 3: That overhanging mass . . . ?
VOICE 4: The monsoon.
Below, Bengal.
VOICE 3: And farther away . . . lower . . . under the clouds . . . ? Look . . .
No answer.
VOICE 3: That white patch ... in a bend in the Ganges . . . ? There . . . ?
VOICE 4 (hesitating): The English cemetery.
Silence.
The stranger and the YOUNG ATTACHÉ begin to look at ANNE-MARIE STRETTER.
VOICE 1: Is she a leper?
VOICE 2: Which one?
VOICE 1: The beggar.
VOICE 2: She sleeps in leprosy, and every morning . . . No. (Pause.) No.
Silence.
VOICE 1: And the white woman?
VOICE 2: A false alarm ten years ago. But no, she neither. (Pause.) Listen . . .
Sound of a machine and of water.
VOICE 1: The water sprinklers in the English quarter.
Silence.
The men turn their eyes away from ANNE-MARIE STRETTER and look at the ground.
The stage gradually gets lighter.
VOICE 1: A car is speeding along the straight roads. Beside the Ganges.
VOICE 2: Black?
VOICE 1: Yes.
VOICE 2: They've left for the islands.
Silence.
The fires of the ghats are out. It is daylight. Pale daylight.
They lie there, in the same deathly attitude, as the voices describe the journey.
VOICE 4: The French Embassy's black Lancia has started out for the Delta.
Long silence.
VOICE 3 (as if reciting a lesson): The granary of northern India . . . The frontier of the waters. The Delta.
VOICE 4: Yes, the mingling of the waters. The sweet and the salt.
VOICE 3: After the deluge, before the light . . .
Pause.
VOICE 3: And those junks?
VOICE 4: Rice.
Sailing down to Coromandel.
Pause.
VOICE 3: Those dark patches on the banks?
VOICE 4: People.
The highest density in the world.
Silence.
VOICE 3: Those thousands of dark mirrors?
VOICE 4: The paddy fields of India.
Silence.
VOICE 4: They're asleep.
She's lying close to him.
Silence.
VOICE 3: She used to wake up late during the monsoon?
VOICE 4: Yes. Didn't go out till after dark.
Silence.
VOICE 3: The black Lancia has stopped.
VOICE 4: The rain. The roads are blocked.
They took shelter in a rest house. (As if reading.) It was there the Young Attaché said: “I saw the Vice-consul again before I left. He was still shouting in the streets. He asked me if I was going to the islands. I said no, I was going to Nepal with the Ambassador.”
Pause.
VOICE 3: Did she approve of the Young Attaché's lie?
VOICE 4: She practically never mentioned the man from Lahore.
Silence.
VOICE 3: That patch of green? it's getting bigger . . .
VOICE 4: The sea.
Silence.
Blackout.
The voices speak in the dark.
VOICE 4: The islands.
VOICE 3: Which one?
VOICE 4: The biggest, the middle one. They're there.
Silence.
VOICE 3: That big white building . . . ?
VOICE 4: A big international hotel. The “Prince of Wales.”
The sea is rough. There's been a storm.
Blackout ends.
IV
The same as before, but it has become a lounge in the “Prince of Wales.”
They are not there.
A bright, greenish light instead of that of the monsoon.
The servants in white gloves are putting up green canvas blinds over the screened windows.
We do not recognize the garden. It has exploded into a violent green light—the garden of the “Prince of Wales.” All that remains of the garden in Calcutta are some clumps of foliage.
The sound of the sea gradually spreads, increasing every second, until it invades everything. Then it remains stable.
The wind makes the blinds flap.
Sound of launches’ sirens in the distance.
Close, the cheeping of birds.
The fan is still there, going around at the same nightmare speed.
In the distance, a dance: an orchestra is playing “India Song.”
The sounds occur one after the other. For example:
1. The wind.
2. The sea.
3. Sirens.
4. Birds.
5. Dance.
As the two servants put up the blinds, thus creating the set for the “Prince of Wales” VOICES 3 and 4 speak to each other.
VOICE 4 remains the same throughout.
VOICE 3 changes as the end of the story approaches. It becomes either more pressing or, conversely, less eager to question. When it speaks of ANNE-MARIE STRETTER it gets lower, with silences between words and phrases.
VOICE 4: In front, the landing stages. The boats go to and from the South Pacific.
Behind, there's a yachting harbor.
Silence.
VOICE 3: Beyond the palms, the same flat horizon.
VOICE 4: They're alluvial islands, formed by the Ganges mud.
Silence.
VOICE 3: Where's the French residency?
VOICE 4: The other side of the hotel, looking out to sea.
The servants go out. They have “finished” the set for the “Prince of Wales.” When they have gone the sound of the dance is heard in the distance.
They are playing “India Song.”
VOICE 4: At this time of the day, people used to start to drink at all the tables in the “Prince of Wales.” On the sideboards there are French grapes. In the showcases, perfumes.
Roses are sent every day from Nepal.
VOICE 3: Who lives in this hotel?
VOICE 4: White India.
Silence.
VOICE 3 (almost shouting): What's that sudden smell of death?
VOICE 4: Incense.
The smell of incense should pervade the auditorium.
Silence.
VOICE 3: She wanted to go for a swim when they got here?
VOICE 4: Yes. It was late, the sea was rough, it was impossible to swim. Just let the warm waves break over you. She and he both went in.
Silence.
VOICE 3 (afraid): All those screens in the sea?
VOICE 4: Protection against the sharks.
VOICE 3: Oh.
Silence.
VOICE 3: Where is she?
VOICE 4: She'll come.
Silence.
VOICE 4: Here she is.
VOICE 3 (hesitating; lower, more slowly): Was she like that that night . . . ?
VOICE 4 (pause): Smiling.
Dressed in white.
Silence.
These last two phrases should be felt as terrifying: ANNE-MARIE STRETTER’s smile, the whiteness of her dress.
In the green light, ANNE-MARIE STRETTER enters.
Smiling, dressed in white.
She goes and looks at the sea, beyond the garden. The four men enter, also dressed in white, from different parts of the hotel.
They all go toward the garden and look out at the sea.
MICHAEL RICHARDSON turns and gazes at ANNE-MARIE STRETTER.
She doesn't look at him any more.
In the distance, a voice over a loudspeaker.
LOUDSPEAKER: The last boat tonight leaves at seven o'clock.
VOICE 4: That's for the tourists who want to get back. There's a storm threatening.
Ships’ sirens. Then silence.
VOICE 4: The last launch has just arrived. The one that brings supplies.
Silence.
A head waiter comes and bows to the five people. Their table is ready. They go off toward the left. Still the distant airport music.
India Song Page 6
