PETE: I wouldn't open that.
LEN: Uuuhh . . . why not? I can't drink tea without milk. Uuh! That's it. [Picking up cup to pour.] Give us your cup.
PETE: Leave it alone.
[Pause. LEN shakes bottle over cup.]
LEN: It won't come out. [Pause.] The milk won't come out of the bottle.
PETE: It's been in there two weeks, why should it come out?
LEN: Two weeks? He's been away longer than two weeks. [Slight pause.] It's stuck in the bottle. [Slight pause.] You'd think a man like him would have a maid, wouldn't you, to look after the place while he's away, to look after his milk? Or a gentleman. A gentleman's gentleman. Are you quite sure he hasn't got a gentleman's gentleman tucked away somewhere, to look after the place for him?
PETE [rising to replace book on shelf]: Only you. You're the only gentleman's gentleman he's got.
[Pause.]
LEN: Well, if I'm his gentleman's gentleman, I should have been looking after the place for him.
[Pause. PETE takes brass toasting fork off wall.]
PETE: What's this?
LEN: That? You've seen that before. It's a toasting fork.
PETE: It's got a monkey's head.
LEN: It's Portuguese. Everything in this house is Portuguese.
PETE: Why's that?
LEN: That's where he comes from.
PETE: Does he?
LEN: Or at least, his grandmother on his father's side. That's where the family comes from.
PETE: Well, well.
[He hangs up the toasting fork.]
LEN: What time's he coming?
PETE: Soon.
[He pours himself a cup of tea.]
LEN: You're drinking black tea.
PETE: What about it?
LEN: You're not in Poland.
[He plays recorder. PETE sits in armchair.]
PETE: What's the matter with that thing?
LEN: Nothing. There's nothing wrong with it. But it must be broken. It's a year since I played it. [He sneezes.] Aah! I've got the most shocking blasted cold I've ever had in all my life. [He blows his nose.] Still, it's not much of a nuisance really.
PETE: Don't wear me out. [Slight pause.] Why don't you pull yourself together? You'll be ready for the loony bin next week if you go on like this.
[LEN uses recorder as a telescope to the back of PETE'S head.]
[Pause.]
LEN: Ten to one he'll be hungry.
PETE: Who?
LEN: Mark. When he comes. He can eat like a bullock, that bloke. Still, he won't find much to come home to, will he? There's nothing in the kitchen, there's not even a bit of lettuce. It's like the workhouse here. [Pause.] He can eat like a bullock, that bloke. [Pause.] I've seen him finish off a loaf of bread before I'd got my jacket off. [Pause.] He'd never leave a breadcrumb on a plate in the old days. [Pause.] Of course, he may have changed. Things do change. But I'm the same. Do you know, I had five solid square meals one day last week? At eleven o'clock, two o'clock, six o'clock, ten o'clock and one o'clock. Not bad going. Work makes me hungry. I was working that day. [Pause.] I'm always starving when I get up. Daylight has a funny effect on me. As for the night, that goes without saying. As far as I'm concerned the only thing you can do in the night is eat. It keeps me fit, especially if I'm at home. I have to run downstairs to put the kettle on, run upstairs to finish what I'm doing, run downstairs to cut a sandwich or arrange a salad, run upstairs to finish what I'm doing, run back downstairs to see to the sausages, if I'm having sausages, run back upstairs to finish what I'm doing, run back downstairs to lay the table, run back upstairs to finish what I'm doing, run back—
PETE: Yes!
LEN: Where did you get those shoes?
PETE: What?
LEN: Those shoes. How long have you had them?
PETE: What's the matter with them?
LEN: Have you been wearing them all night?
[Pause.]
PETE: When did you last sleep?
[His hand is lying open, palm upward.]
LEN: Sleep? Don't make me laugh. All I do is sleep.
PETE: What about work? How's work?
LEN: Paddington? It's a big railway station. An oven. It's an oven. Still, bad air is better than no air. It's best on night shift. The trains come in, I give a bloke half a dollar, he does my job, I curl up in the corner and read the timetables. But they tell me I might make a first class porter. I've been told I've got the makings of a number one porter. What are you doing with your hand?
PETE: What are you talking about?
LEN: What are you doing with your hand?
PETE [coolly]: What do you think I'm doing with it? Eh?
What do you think?
LEN: I don't know.
PETE: I'll tell you, shall I? Nothing. I'm not doing anything with it. It's not moving. I'm doing nothing with it.
LEN: You're holding it palm upwards.
PETE: What about it?
LEN: It's not normal. Let's have a look at that hand. Let's have a look at it. [Pause. He gasps through his teeth.] You're a homicidal maniac.
PETE: Is that a fact?
LEN: Look. Look at that hand. Look, look at it. A straight line right across the middle. Right across the middle, see? Horizontal. That's all you've got. What else have you got? You're a nut.
PETE: Oh yes?
LEN: You couldn't find two men in a million with a hand like that. It sticks out a mile. A mile. That's what you are, that's exactly what you are, you're a homicidal maniac!
[A knock on the outer door.]
PETE [rising to exit]: That's him. [He goes off. The lights begin to fade to blackout.]
MARK [off]: Anyone here?
PETE [off]: Yes, how are you?
MARK [off]: Any tea?
PETE [off]: Polish tea.
[Blackout. The lights come up in LEN'S room—overhead lamp. LEN is sitting at the side of the table.]
LEN: There is my table. That is a table. There is my chair. There is my table. That is a bowl of fruit. There is my chair. There are my curtains. There is no wind. It is past night and before morning. This is my room. This is a room. There is the wall-paper, on the walls. There are six walls. Eight walls. An octagon. This room is an octagon.
There are my shoes, on my feet.
This is a journey and an ambush. This is the centre of the cold, a halt to the journey and no ambush. This is the deep grass I keep to. This is the thicket in the centre of the night and the morning. There is my hundred watt bulb like a dagger. This room moves. This room is moving. It has moved. It has reached . . . a dead halt. This is my fixture. There is no web. All's clear, and abundant. Perhaps a morning will arrive. If a morning arrives, it will not destroy my fixture, nor my luxury. If it is dark in the night or light, nothing obtrudes. I have my compartment. I am wedged. Here is my arrangement, and my kingdom. There are no voices. They make no hole in my side.
The doorbell rings. LEN searches for his glasses on the table, rummaging among the books. Lifts tablecloth. Is still. Searches in armchair. Then on mantlepiece. Bell rings again. He searches under table. Bell rings again. He rises, looks down, sees glasses in top pocket of jacket. Smiles, puts them on. Exits to open front door. MARK enters to below table. LEN follows.
LEN: What's this, a suit? Where's your carnation?
MARK: What do you think of it?
LEN: It's not a schmutta.
MARK: It's got a zip at the hips.
LEN: A zip at the hips? What for?
MARK: Instead of a buckle. It's neat.
LEN: Neat? I should say it's neat.
MARK: No turn-ups.
LEN: I can see that. Why didn't you have turn-ups?
MARK: It's smarter without turn-ups.
LEN: Of course it's smarter without turn-ups.
MARK: I didn't want it double-breasted.
LEN: Double-breasted? Of course you couldn't have it double-breasted.
MARK: What do you think of the cloth?
LEN:
The cloth? [He examines it, gasps and whistles through his teeth. At a great pace.] What a piece of cloth. What a piece of cloth. What a piece of cloth. What a piece of cloth. What a piece of cloth.
MARK: You like the cloth?
LEN: WHAT A PIECE OF CLOTH!
MARK: What do you think of the cut?
LEN: What do I think of the cut? The cut? The cut? What a cut!
What a cut! I've never seen such a cut! [Pause.] [He sits and groans.]
MARK [combing his hair and sitting]: Do you know where I've just been?
LEN: Where?
MARK: Earls Court.
LEN: Uuuuhh! What were you doing there? That's beside the point.
MARK: What's the matter with Earls Court?
LEN: It's a mortuary without a corpse. [Pause.] There's a time and place for everything . . .
MARK: You're right there.
LEN: What do you mean by that?
MARK: There's a time and place for everything.
LEN: You're right there. [Puts glasses on, rises to MARK.] Who have you been with? Actors and actresses? What's it like when you act? Does it please you? Does it please anyone else?
MARK: What's wrong with acting?
LEN: It's a time-honoured profession—it's time-honoured. [Pause.] But what does it do? Does it please you when you walk onto a stage and everybody looks up and watches you? Maybe they don't want to watch you at all. Maybe they'd prefer to watch someone else. Have you ever asked them? [MARK chuckles.] You should follow my example and take up mathematics. [Showing him open book.] Look! All last night I was working at mechanics and determinants. There's nothing like a bit of calculus to cheer you up.
Pause.
MARK: I'll think about it.
LEN: Have you got a telephone here?
MARK: It's your house.
LEN: Yes. What are you doing here? What do you want here?
MARK: I thought you might give me some bread and honey.
LEN: I don't want you to become too curious in this room. There's no place for curiosities here. Keep a sense of proportion. That's all I ask.
MARK: That's all.
LEN: I've got enough on my plate with this room as it is.
MARK: What's the matter with it?
LEN: The rooms we live in . . . open and shut. [Pause.] Can't you see? They change shape at their own will. I wouldn't grumble if only they would keep to some consistency. But they don't. And I can't tell the limits, the boundaries, which I've been led to believe are natural. I'm all for the natural behaviour of rooms, doors, staircases, the lot. But I can't rely on them. When, for example, I look through a train window, at night, and see the yellow lights, very clearly, I can see what they are, and I see that they're still. But they're only still because I'm moving. I know that they do move along with me, and when we go round a bend, they bump off. But I know that they are still, just the same. They are, after all, stuck on poles which are rooted to the earth. So they must be still, in their own right, insofar as the earth itself is still, which of course it isn't. The point is, in a nutshell, that I can only appreciate such facts when I';m moving. When I'm still, nothing around me follows a natural course of conduct. I'm not saying I'm any criterion, I wouldn't say that. After all, when I'm on the train I'm not really moving at all. That's obvious. I'm in the corner seat. I'm still. I am perhaps being moved, but I do not move. Neither do the yellow lights. The train moves, granted, but what's a train got to do with it?
MARK: Nothing.
LEN: You're frightened.
MARK: Am I?
LEN: You're frightened that any moment I'm liable to put a red hot burning coal in your mouth.
MARK: Am I?
LEN: But when the time comes, you see, what I shall do is place the red hot burning coal in my own mouth.
Swift blackout. PETE sits where MARK has been. Lights snap up.
I've got some beigels.
PETE: This is a very solid table, isn't it?
LEN: I said I've got some beigels.
PETE: No thanks. How long have you had this table?
LEN: It's a family heirloom.
PETE: Yes, I'd like a good table, and a good chair. Solid stuff. Made for the bearer. I'd put them in a boat. Sail it down the river. A houseboat. You could sit in the cabin and look out at the water.
LEN: Who'd be steering?
PETE: You could park it. Park it. There's not a soul in sight.
LEN brings half-full bottle of wine and glass to table. Reads label. Sniffs at bottle. Pours some into glass, savours then gargles, walking about. Spits wine back into glass, returns bottle and glass at sideboard, after a defensive glance at PETE. Returns to above table.
LEN [muttering]: Impossible, impossible, impossible.
PETE [briskly]: I've been thinking about you.
LEN: Oh?
PETE: Do you know what your trouble is? You're not elastic. There's no elasticity in you. You want to be more elastic.
LEN: Elastic? Elastic. Yes, you're quite right. Elastic. What are you talking about?
PETE: Giving up the ghost isn't so much a failure as a tactical error. By elastic I mean being prepared for your own deviations. You don't know where you're going to come out next at the moment. You're like a rotten old shirt. Buck your ideas up. They'll lock you up before you're much older.
LEN: No. There is a different sky each time I look. The clouds run about in my eye. I can't do it.
PETE: The apprehension of experience must obviously be dependent upon discrimination if it's to be considered valuable. That's what you lack. You've got no idea how to preserve a distance between what you smell and what you think about it. You haven't got the faculty for making a simple distinction between one thing and another. Every time you walk out of this door you go straight over a cliff. What you've got to do is nourish the power of assessment. How can you hope to assess and verify anything if you walk about with your nose stuck between your feet all day long? You knock around with Mark too much. He can't do you any good. I know how to handle him. But I don't think he's your sort. Between you and me, I sometimes think he's a man of weeds. Sometimes I think he's just playing a game. But what game? I like him all right when you come down to it. We're old pals. But you look at him and what do you see? An attitude. Has it substance or is it barren? Sometimes I think it's as barren as a bombed site. He'll be a spent force in no time if he doesn't watch his step. [Pause.] I'll tell you a dream I had last night. I was with a girl in a tube station, on the platform. People were rushing about. There was some sort of panic. When I looked round I saw everyone's faces were peeling, blotched, blistered. People were screaming, booming down the tunnels. There was a fire bell clanging. When I looked at the girl I saw that her face was coming off in slabs too, like plaster. Black scabs and stains. The skin was dropping off like lumps of cat's meat. I could hear it sizzling on the electric rails. I pulled her by the arm to get her out of there. She wouldn't budge. Stood there, with half a face, staring at me. I screamed at her to come away. Then I thought, Christ, what's my face like? Is that why she's staring? Is that rotting too?
Lights change. LEN'S room. PETE and MARK looking at chess board. LEN watching them. Silence.
LEN: Eh . . .
[They don't look up.]
The dwarfs are back on the job. [Pause.] I said the dwarfs are back on the job.
MARK: The what?
LEN: The dwarfs.
MARK: Oh yes?
LEN: Oh yes. They've been waiting for a smoke signal you see. I've just sent up the smoke signal.
[Pause.]
MARK: You've just sent it up, have you?
LEN: Yes. I've called them in on the job. They've taken up their positions. Haven't you noticed?
PETE: I haven't noticed. [To MARK.] Have you noticed?
MARK chuckles.
LEN: But I'll tell you one thing. They don't stop work until the job in hand is finished, one way or another. They never run out on a job. Oh no. They're true professionals. Real professionals.
PETE: Listen. Can't you see we're trying to play chess?
Pause.
LEN: I've called them in to keep an eye on you two, you see. They're going to keep a very close eye on you. So am I. We're waiting for you to show your hand. We're all going to keep a very close eye on you two. Me and the dwarfs.
Pause.
MARK: [referring to chess]: I think I've got you knackered, Pete.
PETE looks at him.
PETE: Do you?
Lights change and come up full in MARK'S room. LEN enters with old gilt mirror. MARK follows.
MARK: Put that mirror back.
LEN: This is the best piece of furniture you've got in the house. It's Spanish. No Portuguese. You're Portuguese, aren't you?
MARK: Put it back.
LEN: Look at your face in this mirror. Look. It's a farce. Where are your features? You haven't got any features. You couldn't call those features. What are you going to do about it, eh? What's the answer?
MARK: Mind that mirror. It's not insured.
LEN: I saw Pete the other day. In the evening. You didn't know that. I wonder about you. I often wonder about you. But I must keep pedalling. I must. There's a time limit. Who have you got hiding here? You're not alone here. What about your Esperanto? Don't forget, anything over two ounces goes up a penny.
MARK: Thanks for the tip.
LEN: Here's your mirror.
MARK exits with mirror. LEN picks out apple from a fruit bowl, sits in armchair staring at it. MARK returns.
This is a funny-looking apple.
[He tosses it back to MARK, who replaces it.]
Pete asked me to lend him a shilling.
MARK: Uh?
LEN: I refused.
MARK: What?
LEN: I refused downright to lend him a shilling.
MARK: What did he say to that?
LEN: Plenty. Since I left him I've been thinking thoughts I've never thought before. I've been thinking thoughts I've never thought before.
MARK: You spend too much time with Pete.
LEN: What?
MARK: Give it a rest. He doesn't do you any good. I'm the only one who knows how to get on with him. I can handle him. You can't. You take him too seriously. He doesn't worry me. I know how to handle him. He doesn't take any liberties with me.
Complete Works, Volume II Page 8
