Complete Works, Volume II

by Harold Pinter

  BILL. Tall, was he?

  JAMES. Yes.

  BILL. Now why should I remind you of him?

  JAMES. He was quite a card. (Pause.)

  BILL. Tall, was he?

  JAMES. That's . . . what he was.

  BILL. Well, you're not short.

  JAMES. I'm not tall.

  BILL. Quite broad.

  JAMES. That doesn't make me tall.

  BILL. I never said it did.

  JAMES. Well, what are you saying?

  BILL. Nothing. (Pause.)

  JAMES. I wouldn't exactly say I was broad, either.

  BILL. Well, you only see yourself in the mirror, don't you?

  JAMES. That's good enough for me.

  BILL. They're deceptive.

  JAMES. Mirrors?

  BILL. Very.

  JAMES. Have you got one?

  BILL. What?

  JAMES. A mirror.

  BILL. There's one right in front of you.

  JAMES. So there is.

  JAMES looks into the mirror.

  Come here. You look in it, too.

  BILL stands by him and looks. They look together, and then JAMES goes to the left of the mirror, and looks again at BILL'S reflection.

  I don't think mirrors are deceptive.

  JAMES sits. BILL smiles, and turns up the radio. They sit listening.

  Fade to half light on house and radio out.

  Fade up full on flat.

  Doorbell.

  STELLA rises and goes off to the front door. The voices are heard off.

  STELLA. Yes?

  HARRY. How do you do. My name's Harry Kane. I wonder if I might have a word with you. There's no need to be alarmed. May I come in?

  STELLA. Yes.

  HARRY (entering). In here?

  STELLA. Yes.

  They come into the room.

  HARRY. What a beautiful lamp.

  STELLA. What can I do for you?

  HARRY. Do you know Bill Lloyd?

  STELLA. No.

  HARRY. Oh, you don't?

  STELLA. No.

  HARRY. You don't know him personally?

  STELLA. I don't, no.

  HARRY. I found him in a slum, you know, by accident. Just happened to be in a slum one day and there he was. I realized he had talent straight away. I gave him a roof, gave him a job, and he came up trumps. We've been close friends for years.

  STELLA. Oh yes?

  HARRY. You know of him, of course, don't you, by repute?

  He's a dress designer.

  STELLA. I know of him.

  HARRY. You're both dress designers.

  STELLA. Yes.

  HARRY. You don't belong to the Rags and Bags Club, do you?

  STELLA. The what?

  HARRY. The Rags and Bags Club. I thought I might have seen you down there.

  STELLA. No, I don't know it.

  HARRY. Shame. You'd like it.

  Pause.

  Yes.

  Pause.

  I've come about your husband.

  STELLA. Oh?

  HARRY. Yes. He's been bothering Bill recently, with some fantastic story.

  STELLA. I know about it. I'm very sorry.

  HARRY. Oh, you know? Well, it's really been rather disturbing. I mean, the boy has his work to get on with. This sort of thing spoils his concentration.

  STELLA. I'm sorry. It's . . . very unfortunate.

  HARRY. It is.

  Pause.

  STELLA. I can't understand it . . . We've been happily married for two years, you see. I've . . . been away before, you know . . . showing dresses, here and there, my husband runs the business. But it's never happened before.

  HARRY. What hasn't?

  STELLA. Well, that my husband has suddenly dreamed up such a fantastic story, for no reason at all.

  HARRY. That's what I said it was. I said it was a fantastic story.

  STELLA. It is.

  HARRY. That's what I said and that's what Bill says. We both think it's a fantastic story.

  STELLA. I mean, Mr. Lloyd was in Leeds, but I hardly saw him, even though we were staying in the same hotel. I never met him or spoke to him . . . and then my husband suddenly accused me of . . . it's really been very distressing.

  HARRY. Yes. What do you think the answer is? Do you think your husband . . . doesn't trust you, or something?

  STELLA. Of course he does – he's just not been very well lately, actually . . . overwork.

  HARRY. That's bad. Still, you know what it's like in our business. Why don't you take him on a long holiday? South of France.

  STELLA. Yes. I'm very sorry that Mr. Lloyd has had to put up with all this, anyway.

  HARRY. Oh, what a beautiful kitten, what a really beautiful kitten. Kitty, kitty, kitty, what do you call her, come here, kitty, kitty.

  HARRY sits next to STELLA and proceeds to pet and nuzzle the kitten.

  Fade flat to half light.

  Fade up full on house.

  BILL and JAMES, with drinks in the same position.

  Music comes up. BILL turns off the radio.

  Music out.

  BILL. Hungry?

  JAMES. No.

  BILL. Biscuit?

  JAMES. I'm not hungry.

  BILL. I've got some olives.

  JAMES. Really?

  BILL. Like one?

  JAMES. No, thanks.

  BILL. Why not?

  JAMES. I don't like them.

  Pause.

  BILL. Don't like olives?

  Pause.

  What on earth have you got against olives?

  Pause.

  JAMES. I detest them.

  BILL. Really?

  JAMES. It's the smell I hate.

  Pause.

  BILL. Cheese? I've got a splendid cheese knife.

  He picks up a cheese knife.

  Look. Don't you think it's splendid?

  JAMES. Is it sharp?

  BILL. Try it. Hold the blade. It won't cut you. Not if you handle it properly. Not if you grasp it firmly up to the hilt.

  JAMES does not touch the knife.

  BILL stands holding it.

  Lights in house remain.

  Fade up flat to full.

  HARRY (standing). Well, good-bye, I'm glad we've had our little chat.

  STELLA. Yes.

  HARRY. It's all quite clear now.

  STELLA. I'm glad.

  They move to the door.

  HARRY. Oh, Mr. Lloyd asked me if I would give you his best wishes . . . and sympathies.

  He goes out. She stands still.

  Good-bye.

  The front door closes. STELLA lies on the sofa with the kitten. She rests her head, is still.

  Fade flat to half light.

  BILL. What are you frightened of?

  JAMES (moving away). What's that?

  BILL. What?

  JAMES. I thought it was thunder.

  BILL (to him). Why are you frightened of holding this blade?

  JAMES. I'm not frightened. I was just thinking of the thunder last week, when you and my wife were in Leeds.

  BILL. Oh, not again, surely? I thought we'd left all that behind. Surely we have? You're not still worried about that, are you?

  JAMES. Oh no. Just nostalgia, that's all.

  BILL. Surely the wound heals when you know the truth, doesn't it? I mean, when the truth is verified? I would have thought it did.

  JAMES. Of course.

  BILL. What's there left to think about? It's a thing regretted, never to be repeated. No past, no future. Do you see what I mean? You're a chap who's been married for two years, aren't you, happily? There's a bond of iron between you and your wife. It can't be corroded by a trivial thing like this. I've apologized, she's apologized. Honestly, what more can you want?

  Pause. JAMES looks at him. BILL smiles. HARRY appears at the front door, opens and closes it quietly, and remains in the hall, unnoticed by the others.

  JAMES. Nothing.

  BILL. Every woman is bo
und to have an outburst of . . . wild sensuality at one time or another. That's the way I look at it, anyway. It's part of their nature. Even though it may be the kind of sensuality of which you yourself have never been the fortunate recipient. What? (He laughs.) That is a husband's fate, I suppose. Mind you, I think it's the system that's at fault, not you. Perhaps she'll never need to do it again, who knows.

  JAMES stands, goes to the fruit bowl, and picks up the fruit knife. He runs his finger along the blade.

  JAMES. This is fairly sharp.

  BILL. What do you mean?

  JAMES. Come on.

  BILL. I beg your pardon?

  JAMES. Come on. You've got that one. I've got this one.

  BILL. What about it?

  JAMES. I get a bit tired of words sometimes, don't you? Let's have a game. For fun.

  BILL. What sort of game?

  JAMES. Let's have a mock duel.

  BILL. I don't want a mock duel, thank you.

  JAMES. Of course you do. Come on. First one who's touched is a sissy.

  BILL. This is all rather unsubtle, don't you think?

  JAMES. Not in the least. Come on, into first position.

  BILL. I thought we were friends.

  JAMES. Of course we're friends. What on earth's the matter with you? I'm not going to kill you. It's just a game, that's all. We're playing a game. You're not windy, are you?

  BILL. I think it's silly.

  JAMES. I say, you're a bit of a spoilsport, aren't you?

  BILL. I'm putting my knife down anyway.

  JAMES. Well, I'll pick it up.

  JAMES does so and faces him with two knives.

  BILL. Now you've got two.

  JAMES. I've got another one in my hip pocket.

  Pause.

  BILL. What do you do, swallow them?

  JAMES. Do you?

  Pause. They stare at each other.

  (Suddenly.) Go on! Swallow it!

  JAMES throws a knife at BILL'S face. BILL throws up a hand to protect his face and catches the knife by the blade. It cuts his hand.

  BILL. Ow!

  JAMES. Well caught! What's the matter?

  He examines BILL'S hand.

  Let's have a look. Ah yes. Now you've got a scar on your hand. You didn't have one before, did you?

  HARRY comes into the room.

  HARRY (entering). What have you done, nipped your hand? Let's have a look. (To JAMES.) Only a little nip, isn't it? It's his own fault for not ducking. I must have told him dozens of times, you know, that if someone throws a knife at you the silliest thing you can do is to catch it. You're bound to hurt yourself, unless it's made of rubber. The safest thing to do is duck. You're Mr. Horne?

  JAMES. That's right.

  HARRY. I'm so glad to meet you. My name's Harry Kane. Bill been looking after you all right? I asked him to see that you stayed until I got back. So glad you could spare the time. What are we drinking? Whisky? Let's fill you up. You and your wife run that little boutique down the road, don't you? Funny we've never met, living so close, all in the same trade, eh? Here you are. Got one, Bill? Where's your glass? This one? Here . . . you are. Oh, stop rubbing your hand, for goodness’ sake. It's only a cheese knife. Well, Mr. Horne, all the very best. Here's wishing us all health, happiness and prosperity in the time to come, not forgetting your wife, of course. Healthy minds in healthy bodies. Cheers.

  They drink.

  By the way, I've just seen your wife. What a beautiful kitten she has. You should see it, Bill; it's all white. We had a very pleasant chat, your wife and I. Listen . . . old chap . . . can I be quite blunt with you?

  JAMES. Of course.

  HARRY. Your wife . . . you see . . . made a little tiny confession to me. I think I can use that word.

  Pause.

  BILL is sucking his hand.

  What she confessed was . . . that she'd made the whole thing up. She'd made the whole damn thing up. For some odd reason of her own. They never met, you see, Bill and your wife; they never even spoke. This is what Bill says, and this is now what your wife admits. They had nothing whatever to do with each other; they don't know each other. Women are very strange. But I suppose you know more about that than I do; she's your wife. If I were you I'd go home and knock her over the head with a saucepan and tell her not to make up such stories again.

  Pause.

  JAMES. She made the whole thing up, eh?

  HARRY. I'm afraid she did.

  JAMES. I see. Well, thanks very much for telling me.

  HARRY. I thought it would be clearer for you, coming from someone completely outside the whole matter.

  JAMES. Yes. Thank you.

  HARRY. Isn't that so, Bill?

  BILL. Oh, quite so. I don't even know the woman. Wouldn't know her if I saw her. Pure fantasy.

  JAMES. How's your hand?

  BILL. Not bad.

  JAMES. Isn't it strange that you confirmed the whole of her story?

  BILL. It amused me to do so.

  JAMES. Oh?

  BILL. Yes. You amused me. You wanted me to confirm it. It amused me to do so.

  Pause.

  HARRY. Bill's a slum boy, you see, he's got a slum sense of humour. That's why I never take him along with me to parties. Because he's got a slum mind. I have nothing against slum minds per se, you understand, nothing at all. There's a certain kind of slum mind which is perfectly all right in a slum, but when this kind of slum mind gets out of the slum it sometimes persists, you see, it rots everything. That's what Bill is. There's something faintly putrid about him, don't you find? Like a slug. There's nothing wrong with slugs in their place, but he's a slum slug; there's nothing wrong with slum slugs in their place, but this one won't keep his place – he crawls all over the walls of nice houses, leaving slime, don't you, boy? He confirms stupid sordid little stories just to amuse himself, while everyone else has to run round in circles to get to the root of the matter and smooth the whole thing out. All he can do is sit and suck his bloody hand and decompose like the filthy putrid slum slug he is. What about another whisky, Horne?

  JAMES. No, I think I must be off now. Well, I'm glad to hear that nothing did happen. Great relief to me.

  HARRY. It must be.

  JAMES. My wife's not been very well lately, actually. Overwork.

  HARRY. That's bad. Still, you know what it's like in our business.

  JAMES. Best thing to do is take her on a long holiday, I think.

  HARRY. South of France.

  JAMES. The Isles of Greece.

  HARRY. Sun's essential, of course.

  JAMES. I know. Bermuda.

  HARRY. Perfect.

  JAMES. Well, thanks very much, Mr. Kane, for clearing my mind. I don't think I'll mention it when I get home. Take her out for a drink or something. Forget all about it.

  HARRY. Better hurry up. It's nearly closing time.

  JAMES moves to BILL, who is sitting.

  JAMES. I'm very sorry I cut your hand. You're lucky you caught it, of course. Otherwise it might have cut your mouth. Still, it's not too bad, is it?

  Pause.

  Look . . . I really think I ought to apologize for this silly story my wife made up. The fault is really all hers, and mine, for believing her. You're not to blame for taking it as you did. The whole thing must have been an impossible burden for you. What do you say we shake hands, as a testimony of my goodwill?

  JAMES extends his hand. BILL rubs his hand but does not extend it.

  HARRY. Come on, Billy, I think we've had enough of this stupidity, don't you?

  Pause.

  BILL. I'll . . . tell you . . . the truth.

  HARRY. Oh, for God's sake, don't be ridiculous. Come on, Mr. Horne, off you go now, back to your wife, old boy, leave this . . . tyke to me.

  JAMES does not move. He looks down at BILL.

  Come on, Jimmy, I think we've had enough of this stupidity don't you?

  JAMES looks at him sharply.

  HARRY stops still.

&nbs
p; BILL. I never touched her . . . we sat . . . in the lounge, on a sofa . . . for two hours . . . talked . . . we talked about it . . . we didn't . . . move from the lounge . . . never went to her room . . . just talked . . . about what we would do . . . if we did get to her room . . . two hours . . . we never touched . . . we just talked about it . . .

  Long silence.

  JAMES leaves the house.

  HARRY sits. BILL remains sitting sucking his hand.

  Silence.

  Fade house to half light.

  Fade up full on flat.

  STELLA is lying with the kitten.

  The flat door closes. JAMES comes in. He stands looking at her.

  JAMES. You didn't do anything, did you?

  Pause.

  He wasn't in your room. You just talked about it, in the lounge.

  Pause.

  That's the truth, isn't it?

  Pause.

  You just sat and talked about what you would do if you went to your room. That's what you did.

  Pause.

  Didn't you?

  Pause.

  That's the truth . . . isn't it?

  STELLA looks at him, neither confirming nor denying. Her face is friendly, sympathetic.

  Fade flat to half light.

  The four figures are still, in the half light.

  Fade to blackout.

  Curtain

  The Lover

  THE LOVER was first presented by Associated-Rediffusion Television, London, March 28th, 1963, with the following cast:

  RICHARD Alan Badel

  SARAH Vivien Merchant

  JOHN Michael Forrest

  Directed by Joan Kemp-Welch

  The play was first presented on the stage by Michael Codron and David Hall at the Arts Theatre, September 18th, 1963, with the following cast:

  RICHARD Scott Forbes

  SARAH Vivien Merchant

  JOHN Michael Forrest

  Directed by Harold Pinter

  Assisted by Guy Vaesen

  Summer. A detached house near Windsor

  The stage consists of two areas. Living-room right, with small hall and front door up centre. Bedroom and balcony, on a level, left. There is a short flight of stairs to bedroom door. Kitchen off right. A table with a long velvet cover stands against the left wall of the living-room, centre stage. In the small hall there is a cupboard. The furnishings are tasteful, comfortable.

  SARAH is emptying and dusting ashtrays in the living-room. It is morning. She wears a crisp, demure dress. RICHARD comes into the bedroom from bathroom, off left, collects his briefcase from hall cupboard, goes to SARAH, kisses her on the cheek. He looks at her for a moment smiling. She smiles.