LEN Richard Pasco
PETE Jon Rollason
MARK Alex Scott
Produced by Barbara Bray
The play was first presented in a new version for the stage by Michael Codron and David Hall at the New Arts Theatre, London, on 18 September, 1963 with the following cast:-
LEN John Hurt
PETER Philip Bond
MARK Michael Forrest
Directed by Harold Pinter
assisted by Guy Vaesen
THE DWARFS
The two main areas are:
1. a room in LEN'S house. Solid middle-European furniture. Piles of books. A small carved table with a chenille cloth, a bowl of fruity books. Two marquetry chairs. A hanging lamp with dark shade.
2. the living room in MARK'S flat. Quite modern. Comfortable. Two armchairs and a coffee table.
There is also a central downstage area of isolation and, for a short scene later in the play, a bed in a hospital, upstage on a higher level.
LEN, PETE and MARK are all in their late twenties.
MARK'S room, midnight. Lamps are alight. Two cups and saucers, a sugar-bowl and a teapot are on a tray on the coffee table.
PETE is sitting, reading.
LEN is playing a recorder. The sound is fragmentary.
LEN: Pete.
PETE: What?
LEN: Come here.
PETE: What?
LEN: What's the matter with this recorder? [He pulls recorder in half, looks downy blows, taps.] There's something wrong with this recorder.
PETE: Let's have some tea.
LEN: I can't do a thing with it.
[Re-assembles recorder. Another attempt to play.]
Where's the milk?
[He puts recorder on tray.]
PETE: You were going to bring it.
LEN: That's right.
PETE: Well, where is it?
LEN: I forgot it. Why didn't you remind me?
PETE: Give me the cup.
LEN: What do we do now?
PETE: Give me the tea.
LEN: Without milk?
PETE: There isn't any milk.
LEN: What about sugar? [Moving towards door.] He must have a pint of milk somewhere. [He exits to kitchen. Noise of opening cupboards etc. He reappears with a couple of gherkins in a jar.] Here's a couple of gherkins. What about a gherkin? [Takes jar to PETE.] Fancy a gherkin. [PETE sniffs, looks up in disgust. LEN sniffs and exits.] Wait a minute. [ Kitchen noises. LEN reappears with a bottle of milk.] Ah! Here we are. I knew he'd have a pint laid on. [Pressing the top.] Uuh! Uuuhh .… It's stiff.
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 Earl's 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? Docs 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. [Shouting 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 biegels.
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 roam. 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.
LEN: Who says he takes liberties with me? Nobody takes liberties with me. I'm not the sort of man you can take liberties with.
MARK: You should drop it.
LEN sees toasting fork, takes it to MARK.
LEN: This is a funny toasting fork. Do you ever make any toast?
He drops the fork on the floor.
Don't touch it! You don't know what will happen if you touch it! You mustn't touch it! You mustn't bend! Wait. [Pause.] I'll bend. I'll… pick it up. I'm going to touch it. [Pause … softly.] There. You see? Nothing happens when I touch it. Nothing. Nothing can happen. No one would bother. [A broken sigh.] You see, I can't see the broken glass. I can't see the mirror I have to look through. I see the other side. The other side. But I can't see the mirror side. [Pause.] I want to break it, all of it. But how can I break it? How can I break it when I can't see it?
Lights fade and come up again in MARK'S room. LEN is sitting in an arm chair. MARK enters with whisky bottle and two glasses. He pours drinks for PETE and himself. PETE, who has followed him in, takes his glass. MARK sits in other armchair. Neither take any notice of LEN.
Silence.
PETE: Thinking got me into this and thinking's got to get me out. You know what I want? An efficient idea. You know what I mean? An efficient idea. One that'll work. Something I can pin my money on. An each way bet. Nothing's guaranteed, I know that. But I'm willing to gamble. I gambled when I went to work in the city. I want to fight them on their own ground, not moan about them from a distance. I did it and I'm still living. But I've had my fill of these city guttersnipes—all that scavenging scum! They're the sort of people, who, if the gates of heaven opened to them, all they'd feel would be a draught. I'm wasting away down there. The time has come to act. I'm after something truly workable, something deserving of the proper and active and voluntary application of my own powers. And I'll find it.
LEN: I squashed a tiny insect on a plate the other day. And I brushed the remains off my finger with my thumb. Then I saw that the fragments were growing, like fluff. As they were falling, they were becoming larger, like fluff. I had put my hand into the body of a dead bird.
PETE: The trouble is, you've got to be quite sure of what you mean by efficient. Look at a nutcracker. You press the cracker and the cracker cracks the nut. You might think that's an exact process. It's not. The nut cracks, but the hinge of the cracker gives out a friction which is completely incidental to the particular idea. It's unnecessary, an escape and wastage of energy to no purpose. So there's nothing efficient about a nutcracker. [Pete sits, drinks].
LEN: They've gone on a picnic.
MARK: Who?
LEN: The dwarfs.
PETE: Oh Christ. [Picks up paper.]
LEN: They've left me to sweep the yard, to keep the place in order. It's a bloody liberty. They're supposed to be keeping you under observation. What do they think I am, a bloody charlady? I can't look after the place by myself, it's not possible. Piles and piles and piles of muck and leavings all over the place, spewed up spewed up, I'm not a skivvy, they don't pay me, I pay them.
MARK: Why don't you settle down?
LEN: Oh don't worry, it's basically a happy relationship. I trust them. They're very efficient. They know what they're waiting for. But they've got a new game, did I tell you? It's to do with beetles and twigs. There's a rockery of red-hot cinder. I like watching them. Their hairs are curled and oily on their necks. Always squatting and bending, dipping their wicks in the custard. Now and again a lick of flame screws up their noses. Do you know what they do? They run wild. They yowl, they pinch, they dribble, they whimper, they gouge, and then they soothe each others' orifices with a local ointment, and then, all gone, all forgotten, they lark about, each with his buddy, get out the nose spray and the scented syringe, settle down for the night with a bun and a doughnut.
PETE: See you Mark. [Exit.]
MARK: Why don't you put it on the table? [Pause.] Open it up, Len. [Pause.] I'm supposed to be a friend of yours.
LEN: You're a snake in my house.
MARK: Really?
LEN: You're trying to buy and sell me. You think I'm a ventriloquist's dummy. You've got me pinned to the wall before I open my mouth. You've got a tab on me, you're buying me out of house and home, you're a calculating bastard. [Pause.] Answer me. Say something. [Pause.] Do you understand? [Pause.] You don't agree? [Pause.] You disagree? [Pause.] You think I'm mistaken? [Pause.] But am I? [Pause.] Both of you bastards, you've made a hole in my side, I can't plug it! [Pause.] I've lost a kingdom. I suppose you're taking good care of things. Did you know that you and Pete are a music hall act? What happens? What do you do when you're alone? Do you do a jig? I suppose you're taking good care of things. I've got my treasure too. It's in my corner. Everything's in my corner. Everything is from the corner's point of view. I don't hold the whip. I'm a labouring man. I do the corner's will. I slave my guts out. I thought, at one time, that I'd escaped it, but it never dies, it's never dead. I feed it, it's well fed. Things that at one time seem to me of value I have no resource but to give it to eat and what was of value turns into pus. I can hide nothing. I can't lay anything aside. Nothing can be put aside, nothing can be hidden, nothing can be saved, it waits, it eats, it's voracious, you're in it, Pete's in it, you're all in my corner. There must be somewhere else!
Swift cross fade of lights to down centre area.
PETE is seen vaguely, standing downstage below LEN'S room. MARK is seated in his room. Unlit. LEN crouches, watching PETE.
Pete walks by the river. Under the woodyard wall stops. Stops. Hiss of the yellow grass. The wood battlements jaw over the wall. Dust in the fairground ticks. The night ticks. He hears the tick of the roundabout, up river with the sweat. Pete walks by the river. Under the woodyard wall stops. Stops. The wood hangs. Deathmask on the water. Pete walks by the—gull. Slicing gull. Gull. Down. He stops. Rat corpse in the yellow grass. Gull pads. Gull probes. Gull stamps his feet. Gull whinnies up. Gull screams, tears, Pete, tears, digs, Pete cuts, breaks, Pete stretches the corpse, flaps his wings, Pete's beak grows, probes, digs, pulls, the river jolts, no moon, what can I see, the dwarfs collect, they slide down the bridge, they scutter by the shoreside, the dwarfs collect, capable, industrious, they wear raincoats, it is going to rain, Pete digs, he screws in to the head, the dwarfs watch, Pete tugs, he tugs, he's tugging, he kills, he's killing, the rat's head, with a snap the cloth of the rat's head tears. Pete walks by the … [Deep groan.]
He sinks into chair left of his table. Lights in LEN'S room swiftly fade up. PETE turns to him.
PETE: You look the worse for wear. What's the matter with you?
LEN: I've been ill.
PETE: Ill? What's the matter?
LEN: Cheese. Stale cheese. It got me in the end. I've been eating a lot of cheese.
PETE: Yes, well, it's easy to eat too much cheese.
LEN: It all came out, in about twenty-eight goes. I couldn't stop shivering and I couldn't stop squatting. It got me all right. I'm all right now. I only go three times a day now. I can more or less regulate it. Once in the morning. A quick dash before lunch. Another quick dash after tea, and then I'm free to do what I want. I don't think you understand. That cheese didn't die. It only began to live when you swallowed it, you see, after it had gone down. I bumped into a German one night, he came home with me and helped me finish it off. He took it to bed with him, he sat up in bed with it, in the guest's suite. I went in and had a gander. He had it taped. He was brutal with it. He would bite into it and then concentrate. I had to hand it to him. The sweat came out on his nose but he stayed on his feet. After he'd got out of bed, that was. Stood bolt upright, swallowed it, clicked his fingers, ordered another piece of blackcurrant pie. It's my pie-making season. His piss stank worse than the cheese. You look in the pink.
PETE: You want to watch your step. You know that? You're going from bad to worse. Why don't you pull yourself together? Eh? Get a steady job. Cultivate a bit of go and guts for a change. Make yourself useful, mate, for Christ's sake. As you are, you're just a dead weight round everybody's neck. You want to listen to your friends, mate. Who else have you got?
PETE taps him on the shoulder and exits. A light comes up on MARK. The lights in LEN'S room fade out. LEN rises to down centre.
LEN: Mark sits by the fireside. Crosses his legs. His fingers wear a ring. The finger poised. Mark regards his finger. He regards his legs. He regards the fireside. Outside the door is the black blossom. He combs his hair with an ebony comb, he sits, he lies, he lowers his eyelashes, raises them, sees no change in the posture of the room, lights a cigarette, watches his hand clasp the lighter, watches the flame, sees his mouth go forward, sees the consummation, is satisfied. Pleased, sees the smoke in the lamp, pleased with the lamp and the smoke and his bulk, pleased with his legs and his ring and his hand and his body in the lamp. Sees himself speaking, the words arranged on his lips, sees himself with pleasure silent.
Under the twigs they slide, by the lilac bush, break the stems, sit, scutter to the edge of the lawn and there wait, capable, industrious, put up their sunshades, watch. Mark lies, heavy, content, watches his smoke in the window, times his puff out, his hand fall, [with growing disgust] smiles at absent guests, sucks in all comers, arranges his web, lies there a spider.
LEN moves to above armchair in MARK'S room as lights fade up. Down centre area fades out.
What did you say?
MARK: I never said anything.
LEN: What do you do when you're tired, go to bed?
MARK: That's right.
LEN: You sleep like a log.
MARK: Yes.
LEN: What do you do when you wake up?
MARK: Wake up.
LEN: I want to ask you a question.
MARK: No doubt.
LEN: Are you prepared to answer questions?
MARK: No.
LEN: What do you do in the day when you're not walking about?
MARK: I rest.
LEN: Where do you find a resting place?
MARK: Here and there.
LEN: By consent?
MARK: Invariably.
LEN: But you're not particular?
MARK: Yes, I'm particular.
LEN: You choose your resting place?
MARK: Normally.
LEN: That might be anywhere?
MARK: Yes.
LEN: Does that content you?
MARK: Sure! I've got a home. I know where I live.
LEN: You mean you've got roots. Why haven't I got roots? My house is older than yours. My family lived here. Why haven't I got a home?
MARK: Move out.
LEN: Do you believe in God?
MARK: What?
LEN: Do you believe in God?
MARK: Who?
LEN: God.
MARK: God?
LEN: Do you believe in God?
MARK: Do I believe in God?
LEN: Yes.
MARK: Would you say that again?
LEN goes swiftly to shelf. Picks up biscuit jar. Offers to MARK.
LEN: Have a biscuit.
MARK: Thanks.
LEN: They're your biscuits.
MARK: There's two left. Have one yourself.
LEN puts biscuits away.
LEN: You don't understand. You'll never understand.
MARK: Really?
LEN: Do you know what the point is? Do you know what it is?
MARK: No.
LEN: The point is, who are you? Not why or how, not even what. I can see what, perhaps, clearly enough. But who are you? It's no use saying you know who you are just because you tell me you can fit your particular key into a particular slot, which will only receive your particular key because that's not foolproof and certainly not conclusive. Just because you're inclined to make these statements of faith has nothing to do with me. It's not my business. Occasionally I believe I perceive a little of what you are but that's pure accident. Pure accident on both our parts, the perceived and the perceiver. It's nothing like an accident, it's deliberate, it's a joint pretence. We depend on these accidents, on these contrived accidents, to continue. It's not important then that it's conspiracy or hallucination. What you are, or appear to be to me, or appear to be to you, changes so quickly, so horrifyingly, I certainly can't keep up with it and I'm damn sure you can't either. But who you are I can't even begin to recognize, and sometimes I recognize it so wholly, so forcibly, I can't look, and how can I be certain of what I see? You have no number. Where am I to look, where am I to look, what is there to locate, so as to have some surety, to have some rest from this whole bloody racket? You're the sum of so many reflections. How many reflections? Whose reflections? Is that what you consist of? What scum does the tide leave? What happens to the scum? When does it happen? I've seen what happens. But I can't speak when I see it. I can only point a finger. I can't even do that. The scum is broken and sucked back. I don't see where it goes. I don't see when, what do I see, what have I seen? What have I seen, the scum or the essence? What about it? Does all this give you the right to stand there and tell me you know who you are? It's a bloody impertinence. There's a great desert and there's a wind stopping. Pete's been eating too much cheese, he's ill from it, it's eating his flesh away, but that doesn't matter, you're still both in the same boat, you're eating all my biscuits, but that doesn't matter, you're still both in the same boat, you're still standing behind the curtains together. He thinks you're a fool, Pete thinks you're a fool, but that doesn't matter, you're still both of you standing behind my curtains, moving my curtains in my room. He may be your Black Knight, you may be his Black Knight, but I'm cursed with the two of you, with two Black Knight's, that's friendship, that's this that I know. That's what I know.
MARK: Pete thinks I'm a fool? [Pause.] Pete … Pete thinks that I'm a fool?
LEN exits. Lights in MARK'S room fade out and then fade in again. Doorbell rings. MARK rises, goes off to front door.
Silence.
PETE [entering]: Hullo, Mark.
MARK [re-enters and sits again): Hullo.
PETE: What are you doing?
MARK: Nothing.
PETE: Can I sit down?
MARK: Sure.
Pete sits right armchair. Pause.
PETE: Well, what are you doing with yourself?
MARK: When's that?
PETE: Now.
MARK: Nothing.
MARK files his nails.
[Pause.]
PETE: Len's in hospital.
MARK: Len? What's the matter with him?
PETE: Kidney trouble. Not serious. [Pause.] Well, what have you been doing with yourself?
MARK: When?
PETE: Since I saw you.
MARK: This and that.
PETE: This and what?
MARK: That.
[Pause.]
PETE: Do you want to go and see Len?
MARK: When? Now?
PETE: Yes. It's visiting time. [Pause.] Are you busy?
MARK: No.
[Pause.]
PETE: What's up?
MARK: What?
PETE: What's up?
MARK: What do you mean?
PETE: You're wearing a gasmask.
MARK: Not me.
[Pause.]
PETE [rising]: Ready?
MARK: Yes. [He rises and exits.]
PETE [as he follows mark off]: Fine day. [Pause.] Bit chilly.
The door slams as they leave the house. Lights up on LEN in hospital bed. Listening to wireless (earphones).
PETE and MARK enter.
LEN: You got here.
PETE [sitting left of bed]: Yes.
LEN: They can't do enough for me here.
PETE: Why's that?
LEN: Because I'm no trouble, [MARK sits right of bed.] They treat me like a king. These nurses, they treat me exactly like a king. [Pause.] Mark looks as though he's caught a crab.
MARK: Do I?
PETE: Airy, this ward.
LEN: Best quality blankets, home cooking, everything you could wish for. Look at the ceiling. It's not too high and it's not too low.
[Pause.]
PETE: By the way, Mark, what happened to your pipe?
MARK: Nothing happened to it.
[Pause.]
LEN: You smoking a pipe? [Pause.] What's it like out today?
PETE: Bit chilly.
LEN: Bound to be.
PETE: The sun's come out.
LEN: The sun's come out? [Pause.] Well, Mark, bring off the treble chance this week?
MARK: Not me.
[Pause.]
LEN: Who's driving the tank?
PETE: What?
LEN: Who's driving the tank?
PETE: Don't ask me. We've been walking up the road back to back.
LEN: You've what? [Pause.] You've been walking up the road back to back? [Pause.] What are you doing sitting on my bed? You're not supposed to sit on the bed, you're supposed to sit on the chairs!
PETE [rising and moving off]: Well, give me a call when you get out. [He exits.]
MARK [rising and following him]: Yes give me a call. [He exits.]
LEN: [calling after them]: How do I know you'll be in?
Blackout. Lights come up on MARK'S flat. MARK enters and sits. PETE enters, glances at MARK, sits.
PETE: Horizontal personalities, those places. You're the only vertical. Makes you fed dizzy. [Pause.] You ever been inside one of those places?
MARK: I can't remember.
PETE: Right. [Stubs out cigarette, rises, goes to exit.]
MARK: All right. Why do you knock on my door?
PETE: What?
MARK: Come on. Why do you knock on my door?
PETE: What are you talking about?
MARK: Why?
PETE: I call to see you.
MARK: What do you want with me? Why come and see me?
PETE: Why?
MARK: You're playing a double game. You've been playing a double game. You've been using me. You've been leading me up the garden.
PETE: Mind how you go.
MARK: You've been wasting my time. For years.
PETE: Don't push me boy.
MARK: You think I'm a fool.
PETE: Is that what I think?
MARK: That's what you think. You think I'm a fool.
PETE: You are a fool.
MARK: You've always thought that.
PETE: From the beginning.
MARK: You've been leading me up the garden.
PETE: And you.
MARK: You know what you are? You're an infection.
PETE: Don't believe it. All I've got to do to destroy you is to leave you as you wish to be.
He walks out of the room. MARK stares, slowly goes off as lights fade. Lights come up on down centre area. Enter LEN.
LEN: They've stopped eating. It'll be a quick get out when the whistle blows. All their belongings are stacked in piles. They've doused the fire. But I've heard nothing. What is the cause for alarm? Why is everything packed? Why are they ready for the off? But they say nothing. They've cut me off without a penny. And now they've settled down to a wide-eyed kip, crosslegged by the fire. It's insupportable. I'm left in the lurch. Not even a stale frankfurter, a slice of bacon rind, a leaf of cabbage, not even a mouldy piece of salami, like they used to sling me in the days when we told old tales by suntime. They sit, chock-full. But I smell a rat. They seem to be anticipating a rarer dish, a choicer spread. And this change. All about me the change. The yard as I know it is littered with scraps of cat's meat, pig bollocks, tin cans, bird brains, spare parts of all the little animals, a squelching, squealing carpet, all the dwarfs' leavings spittled in the muck, worms stuck in the poisoned shit heaps, the alleys a whirlpool of piss, slime, blood, and fruit juice. Now all is bare. All is clean. All is scrubbed. There is a lawn. There is a shrub. There is a flower.
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