1998
27 July 2000
2001
13 April
15 June
(1) Producer Richard Dominick (“If you want to save the whales, call Oprah. If you’re dating a whale, call us.”)
20 June
Today Dog Boy would be a rainbow influencer. He was just before his time.
3 July 2002
2022
27 September, Tuesday
Wet day. Still in the Forties in Noël Coward’s bizarre diaries. A lot of the lunches and dinners should have been cut. England may have been dreary then but that didn’t apply to his plate. Luxury abounds, and arse-licking the royals, and playing the piano for such bigwigs when the dinner conversation dies.
The mention of the 1946 death of David Niven’s wife, who fell into a Hollywood basement in a game of hide-and-seek, recalled Hurd Hatfield telling me these people were not sophisticated (Hurd hung around with “the musicals crowd” instead, at the time). His point is backed by a passage from the autobiography of Oleg Cassini (Jackie Kennedy’s frock fancier), who was at the fatal dinner party.
The problem was that everyone was in the same line of work, a very insular business. They worked very hard, all the successful ones, and there wasn’t time to know much beyond industry gossip. And so, when conversation waned, we often engaged in party games, especially at smaller dinners: charades, hide-and-seek, anything to pass the time.
29 September, Thursday
The story of the connection between Noël Coward and Peter Collinson is touching. A lost boy of twelve finds a father figure who sticks by him and with whom he reunites twenty years later to make a classic film, The Italian Job.
14 October, Friday
Noël Coward – usually sensible, often wise but only rarely deep (e.g. on Churchill and Beaverbrook as old men). He was on this earth to enjoy himself. Of his posse, it’s clear Marlene Dietrich was best appreciated in small doses.
16 October, Sunday
Very wintry. I was thinking of W. S. Maugham in the South Seas and the contrast with Coward. What sticks in my mind about A Writer’s Notebook is the appearance of so many marooned white men drinking themselves to death and/or retirement, whereas Noël was only out there to enjoy himself. A few pages later it becomes clear how Coward in the early Sixties grew to despise Maugham and his legal antics v. his only child, despite the old man having already appeared occasionally as a benign old codger. It inspires N. C. to reread Cakes and Ale (“Much malice and no heart”).
23 October, Sunday
In my first remarks on Coward’s diaries, I used the word “bizarre” and that has returned with a bang in two places after six hundred pages. In 1965, he was in for a minor spot of plastic surgery but his surgeon collapsed and died after it. Twenty pages later he discovers he died himself, on the table, for forty-five seconds, a most unpleasant period in what was left of the surgeon’s time on earth. Noël even imagines the embarrassing headlines that must have gone through the poor man’s mind as those seconds ticked by.
24 October, Monday
N. C. found success early, in his mid-twenties, and on New Year’s Day in 1961 he concedes he’s had “a wonderful life” but it’s strange that there is just a single mention (the same number devoted to his father) to any struggle or hardship involved up to the point of making it. (Having been a child actor, he had known enough of “bedbugs and cheap digs and squalor”.) As a man always keen to avoid literary and actual squalor, he must have wanted not to reflect on that too much, not to mind write about it.
13 November, Sunday
I forgot to note his 1964 note about Nureyev’s table manners. He actually bit me during dinner, but it was only on the finger and didn’t draw blood.
P.S.
What is also worth keeping here is a passage from a letter he wrote in late 1959, which acts as a preface for that year.
As one gets older one doesn’t feel quite so strongly any more, one discovers that everything is always going to be exactly the same with different hats on… Looking back… my personality only really changed once, and that was when I was twenty-four and I became a star and a privileged person.
Here’s the pitch. A mysterious philanthropist turns up in a godforsaken Irish village and offers megabucks, on one condition: they must dig up Larry.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disappearance_of_Larry_Griffin
Happy Nights
© John Flynn 2006
Characters
PATRICK, a burglar
MICHEL, a burglar
Scenario
Happy Nights was inspired by a real event. One night in July 1961, Samuel Beckett’s Marne cottage at Ussy was burgled. According to his biographer James Knowlson, the burglars, as well as enjoying all the food and drink they could find, stole his clothes – even his old underpants – but left a painting that was quite valuable untouched. Happy Nights was produced by Red Kettle theatre company and premiered in Ireland at the Waterford Festival of New Plays in April 2007. John Hurt was the special guest at the first performance.
Set
A representation of a window is seen in the centre at the back. A bookcase stands to the left of the window. A rectangular bureau desk, stacked with papers, stands to the right, with a chair. A round dining table should be placed…
View original post 2,075 more words
Photo (c) Marie Claire
The French expression “un ange passe” is used when the conversation in a gathering suddenly ceases, not by any interruption but for example when all ideas are exhausted.
In late 1952 the most famous play of the twentieth century was marooned at a little theatre that was going broke. The actors had recently got a grant to rehearse and keep paddling but there was no sight of land.
Delphine Seyrig was only twenty when she gave an inheritance from an uncle to Jean-Marie Serreau at the Théâtre de Babylone. With this unexpected contribution, Serreau then had enough money to stage the first run of Waiting for Godot, which opened on 3 January 1953.
After famous films such as Last Year at Marienbad (1961), The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972) and The Day of the Jackal (1973), Seyrig reunited with Beckett for a final collaboration in the spring of 1978.
It was a production of Footfalls in Paris. Beckett let it be known, to others at least, that he was very fond of Seyrig and admired her talent, but it seems she was intimidated even then by his reputation and by his persona, as a man of few words.
As if she was still twenty, she thought she might have done more with her part, had it not been so, but, in the context, just who should have been in awe of whom?
Photo sources (above): montazsmagazin.hu and kino.de
In 2008, an Austro-German co-production of a TV film version of Friedrich Dürrenmatt’s 1956 play Der Besuch der alten Dame (‘The Visit of the Old Lady’) shifted the setting from Switzerland to Austria. There the filming took place in Styria. Most importantly they picked a very good ‘Claire Zachanassian’ in Christiane Hörbiger, niece of the porter in The Third Man and aunt of Falco’s manager in the biopic Verdammt, wir leben noch.
At the climax in the original play, though, the richest woman in the world does not waver an instant from her quest, which is to return and exact deadly vengeance on the man and the town that ruined her life.
Otherwise, given that Alfred Ill is still in the end murdered by the townspeople for the fortune she has promised them when he dies, it remains a good version of the classic…
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Bertolt Brecht appeared in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) on 30 October 1947. Facing him that morning was the Chairman, J. Parnell Thomas, born John Parnell Feeney, who had not only changed his name but also his denomination, to Episcopalian. Feeney’s political career ended soon afterwards. In 1948 he was indicted and subsequently jailed for defrauding the Federal government.
Other members present were Reps. John McDowell (died by suicide in 1957) and Richard Vail (d. 1955). Most of the questions were asked by HUAC Chief Investigator Robert E. Stripling, a Texan who, a year later, assisted Richard Nixon in his pursuit of Alger Hiss. Nixon, though also a Committee member, was not present on the day.
Brecht was flanked by two lawyers, Bartley Crum (died by suicide in 1959) and Robert Kenny, and an interpreter, David Baumgardt, about whom a committee member can be overheard at one point interjecting, I can’t understand the interpreter any more than I can the witness.
The only foreigner called up on a Hollywood list of “unfriendly” witnesses, Brecht left the country the very next day, never to return. He was too clever for them and they ended up thanking him for it.
It was like Kafka’s Trial but in reverse.
The links below are to parts one and two of the full show, with later commentary by Eric Bentley.
The reader is now directed to the audio link part one above, from 18:22, as follows
STRIPLING: Now, I will repeat the original question. Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party of any country?
BRECHT: Mr. Chairman, I have heard my colleagues, eh, and they considered this question not as proper but I am a guest in this country and do not want to enter in any legal arguments, so I will answer your question fully as well I can. I was not a member or am not a member of any Communist Party.
CHAIRMAN: Your answer is, then, that you have never been a member of the Communist Party?
BRECHT: That is correct.
STRIPLING: You were not a member of the Communist Party for Germany?
BRECHT: No, I was not.
STRIPLING: Eh, Mr. Brecht, is it true that you have written a number of very revolutionary poems, plays and other writings?
BRECHT: I have written a number of poems and songs and plays in the fight against Hitler and, of course, they can be considered, therefore, as revolutionary because I, of course, was for the overthrow of that government.
CHAIRMAN: Mr. Stripling, we are not interested in any works that he might have written calling for the overthrow of Germany or the government there.
From the start of part two, above, Stripling asks about a play called Massnahme, which was one of two Brecht adaptations of a particular Noh play from Japan, but Bentley tells us that Brecht’s explanation relates to the second adaptation, not that Stripling or the Committee spotted the difference.
STRIPLING: Now, Mr. Brecht, will you tell the Committee whether or not one of the characters in this play was murdered by his comrades because it was in the best interests of the Party, is that true? Of the Communist Party.
BRECHT: No, it is not, eh, not quite so in the story.
STRIPLING: Because he would not bow to discipline he was murdered by his comrades, isn’t that true?
BRECHT: No, it is not really so in the play. You will find, when you read it, carefully, that like in the old Japanese play where other ideas were at stake, the young man who died, uh, was convinced that he had done damage to the mission he believed in and he agreed to that and he was ready to die, in order not to make greater such damage. So he asks his comrades to help him and all of them together help him to die. He jumps into a… abyss and they lead him, eh, tenderly to that abyss. And that is the story.
CHAIRMAN: Well I gather from your remarks, from your answer, that he was just killed. He wasn’t murdered. (laughter)
BRECHT: He wanted to die.
CHAIRMAN: So they killed him?
BRECHT: No, they did not kill him, not in this story. They, he killed himself. They supported him. But, of course, they had told him it were better when he disappeared (laughter) … for him and them and the cause he also believed in, up ’til the end.
From 09:32 in part two, above, Stripling leaves the issue of party membership aside to press Brecht on whether he ever attended any dubious assemblies. More laughter ensues.
STRIPLING: Eh, Mr. Brecht, since you have been in, eh, the United States, have you attended any Communist Party meetings?
BRECHT: No, I do not think so.
STRIPLING: You don’t think so.
BRECHT: No.
CHAIRMAN: Well, aren’t you certain?
BRECHT: (chuckles) I am, I am certain, I think, yes.
CHAIRMAN: You are certain that you have never attended?
BRECHT: Yeah, quite. I think so (laughter). You see I am here six years, I am here six years, I do not think so. I do not think I attended, that I attended, eh, political meetings.
CHAIRMAN: No, no, never mind the political meetings, but have you attended any Communist meetings in the United States?
BRECHT: I do not think so. No.
CHAIRMAN: You’re certain?
BRECHT: I think I am certain.
CHAIRMAN: You think you’re certain. (laughter)
STRIPLING: You don’t know what a, what it, what a –
BRECHT: No, I have not attended such meetings, eh, in my opinion.
From 27:23 in part two, the final joust plays out, leading to the longest laugh of all.
CHAIRMAN: Some people did ask you to join the Communist Party, didn’t they?
BRECHT: Uh…
KENNY (lawyer): In Germany or…?
BRECHT: In Germany, you mean in Germany?
CHAIRMAN: No, I mean in the United States.
BRECHT: No, no, no.
CHAIRMAN (to Kenny): Now you let, you let him, he’s doing all right, he’s doing much better than the other witnesses that you’ve brought here (laughter) … (to Brecht) You don’t ever recall anyone in the United States ever asked you to join the Communist Party?
BRECHT: No, I do not recall anybody having asked me.
The Chairman then asks each of his colleagues in turn if they have any more questions.
STRIPLING: I would like to ask Mr. Brecht whether or not he wrote a poem – a song, rather – entitled, Forward, We’ve Not Forgotten.
McDOWELL: Forward we’ve what?
STRIPLING: (louder, irritated) Forward, We’ve Not Forgotten.
Stripling then recites an entire lyric lost in translation.
STRIPLING: Did you write that, Mr. Brecht?
BRECHT: No, I wrote a German poem but that is very different… (extended laughter) … from this thing.
STRIPLING: Eh, that is all the questions I have, Mr. Chairman.
CHAIRMAN: Thank you very much, Mr. Brecht. And you are a good example to the witnesses of Mr. Kenny and Mr. Crum.
A gavel then bangs for a recess until that afternoon.
On the tape Bentley then recalls meeting Brecht a year later near Zürich, when Brecht laughed at a recording of the show. He added that he had chosen to risk disregarding Bartley Crum’s advice to tell them he was a communist party member (though it was not true) in case a membership card was later forged to ensure a perjury conviction.
They weren’t as bad as the Nazis. The Nazis would never have let me smoke. In Washington they let me have a cigar and I used it to manufacture pauses… between their questions and my answers.
In one sense immortal after the dramatic monologue Der Herr Karl (1961), Helmut Qualtinger died in 1986 soon after giving a memorable film performance as the heretical monk Remigio da Varagine in The Name of the Rose. Apart from his career as writer, actor and cabaret singer, though, he was also a genius mimic and hoaxer, sometimes at a serious personal cost, at least before he developed his art of mischief.
One thing he craved professionally as an adult was to be taken seriously as a writer. His case echoes in part the jailing of Kenneth Halliwell and Joe Orton in 1962 for their campaign of altering London library books with funny collages and false blurbs. Reports on their trial included a banner headline in the Daily Mirror (“Gorilla in the Roses” referred to a monkey’s head pasted to the cover of the Collins Guide to Roses) and news of it even made it as far as the pages of the Reader’s Digest. As Orton’s biographer John Lahr wrote
Rejected by the literary world, they made a spectacle of published books and the public that evaded them. They turned the library into a little theatre where they watched people reacting to their productions. It was one way of getting into print and making their statement.
Qualtinger’s desire to turn the world into his playground began much sooner. Quasi, as he was later known, was a lonely child but he got a puppet theatre as a present and entertained other kids with it while on holiday in Styria. There he’d perform fairy tales but, like the anarchist he already was, he omitted the moral lessons at his own whim. Back in Vienna, some envious classmates ambushed him on the street, smashed the lot and broke his hand in the struggle, having earlier warned him not to bring it to school anymore.
Not yet seventeen, he made his first real public appearance in Vienna in May 1945. He wore a large red star pinned to his chest and a red armband with Cyrillic letters sewn onto it. This was part of an attempt to pass himself off as a ‘culture kommissar’ while improvising Russian-sounding gibberish and carrying a poorly forged letter of recommendation. He was still only sixteen, after all, and was soon imprisoned for three months for commandeering a villa in the suburb of Währing as a base for his proposed communist theatre. By the time his mother returned to Vienna and got him out, his weight had dropped to seven and a half stone.
Nonetheless he wasn’t finished pretending to be a Russian. When a friend couldn’t get paid by a newspaper editor, Quasi ‘borrowed’ a Russian officer’s uniform and marched boldly through the American sector of Vienna towards his quarry. Improvising more Russian mutterings, he confronted the editor in his office. The guy quickly grasped the mentions of Siberia before paying up on the spot.
In 1951 Qualtinger pilfered some stationery from the Austrian branch of the international writers’ association PEN. On it, he notified the press and radio about the imminent arrival in Vienna of the famous Eskimo author Kobuk, whose Greenland trilogy Nordlicht über Iviktut was being filmed by MGM as Of Ice and Men.
On the rest of Kobuk’s impressive CV, it is something of a pity that the masterpiece sometimes rendered as The Burning Igloo was actually two separate classics. These were Brennende Arktis (‘Burning Arctic’) and Einsames Iglu (‘Lonesome Igloo’) but how nobody in Vienna copped on to the incongruity of the title of Kobuk’s drama, The Republic of the Penguins, remains a mystery.
At any rate, a crowd of reporters gathered on 3 July 1951 at Vienna’s Westbahnhof. Instead of the great Kobuk, it was Quasi himself, concealed by a fur jacket, a fur cap and sunglasses, who got off the train. Asked for his first impression of Vienna, he broke the spell by answering the throng in Viennese dialect. “Haaß is’!” (‘It’s hot!’).
Perhaps his most god-like prank played out over thirty years later in America. Quasi, still in Vienna, phoned the celebrated Austrian psychiatrist Friedrich Hacker, who spent most of his time in California. Pretending to be Ronald Reagan’s private secretary, Helene von Damm, who was also Austrian, he told Hacker that the President had suddenly gone mad and needed his help. Hacker got on the next plane to Washington and reported to a mystified Frau von Damm at the White House.
Our last anarchic moment does not really involve Quasi at all, except that he got on the phone to God about it afterwards, in total admiration. It concerns the aftermath of an evening at the Gutruf bar, when his friend Otto Kobalek turned up at a performance of Waiting for Godot. In the theatre Kobalek suddenly appeared on stage, with a plastic bag in his hand. It held a copy of an old futuristic novel, set in that same year. The future had finally become the present.
Waving the contents of the bag, he addressed the astonished actors and audience. Godot ist da. Sie müssen nicht mehr warten (‘Godot is here. You mustn’t wait any longer.’) Then he vanished back into the wings. A tickled Qualtinger called Samuel Beckett himself in Paris with the news. Beckett turned out to be very happy to hear it and sent his warm regards, as he too had always been waiting for this to happen.
PS
Of a number of false dawns, the acceptance of a play script by a Tony-Award-winning Irish theatre company really stands out. Despite the December 2000 email (see above), we didn’t meet until 11 April 2001, in central Dublin, when their man described it as a one-act, middle-class version of the English sitcom The Royle Family.
The first warning signal, though, came on 18 May, from an unlikely source.
He did not but more importantly he was not wrong. Heard no more and by early March 2002, I’d simply had enough.
You may rest assured of the lasting impression made by the lack of courtesy shown me by you and your company. I’d ask for my script back only I couldn’t see the point, given that an e-mail costs less than the price of a stamp and I haven’t received even that minimum after almost a year. Such casual, arrogant rudeness may seem to cost little or nothing when dealing with someone who is unknown and without the influence that can command prudent good manners. That would be a short-sighted view. At present my only satisfaction is the Schadenfreude resulting from reading about Druid’s troubles in the press. Whatever fortunes rise and fall in the future, the fact that I was misled and shabbily treated will remain uppermost in my mind.
In response their man apologised and acknowledged the absence of any update had been out of order. Unfortunately for him, the company’s financial problems saw him lose his job soon afterwards, which was worse than me being messed around.
Anyway, the script got renamed The Coolidge Effect, after the old joke about President Coolidge and the First Lady visiting a poultry farm and spotting a cock jumping on a hen.
The Coolidge Effect
© John Flynn 2001
Characters
TIM, a middle-aged middle manager
SHEILA, his wife
TOM, a retailer
SANDRA, his wife
Scenario
This is an episode in an undeclared war within and between two suburban couples who have nothing better to do.
TIM has the remote control, a newspaper and the sofa. Enter SHEILA with pen and paper. She sits on an armchair and reads from her list in progress.
SHEILA
We need to do some shopping. Let me see. Eggs… bread… teabags… cereal… yoghurt… paté… chutney… ethical coffee…
TIM
Assorted smelly cheeses…
SHEILA
Kiwi fruit… avocados…
TIM
What happened to the frequency band of low fat and high fibre?
SHEILA ignores him.
I’m thinking of buying a new drill, by the way. I want to put up a few shelves in the attic.
SHEILA
Why there? But what am I saying? You can never have enough shelves.
TIM
Can I have some fat bacon?
SHEILA
No. We’ve discussed that before. We can’t have you eating what you like, not at your age.
TIM
I’m also thinking of changing my car, by the way.
SHEILA
Already?
TIM
I have it two years. Almost.
SHEILA
Is there something wrong with it?
TIM
No. I should be able to get good value on the trade-in. I just feel like a change.
SHEILA
How long have you felt this way?
TIM
I meant to tell you, I just forgot.
SHEILA
You just forgot, just like that.
TIM
I’m sorry, darling.
SHEILA
Something important like that. You didn’t think to tell me.
TIM
Forgive me. Find it in your heart. I haven’t done anything yet.
SHEILA
I was only thinking I’d like to spend some money on the house.
TIM
But we added the extension only last year. What do you have in mind? The kids are gone, practically. Though I still feel their, eh, impact.
TIM rubs his thumb and forefinger. SHEILA stands up and points, like a visionary.
SHEILA
I want to knock out the wall between this room and the downstairs bedroom. Think of how good it would look, when we have people over for dinner. That reminds me, Tom and Sandra said they’re going to call over tonight.
TIM
Oh no. What do they want?
SHEILA
I don’t know. Perhaps they’re going to suggest going on holiday with us.
SHEILA removes some holiday brochures from the armchair and puts them aside but within reach.
She sits again.
TIM
Oh great. How would we promote Tom? Let me see. Genuine Irish character. Guaranteed to bore the arse off you.
SHEILA
He’ll be talking shop, as usual.
TIM
His shop.
SHEILA
It’s hers too, Tim. But tell people what they want to hear, that’s my motto. In fairness they’re not the worst.
TIM
No, they’ve never let us down. But I prefer to stand up and be counted. Except now. Don’t tell him I watched the match on TV the other night.
SHEILA
Why don’t you want to tell him you watched the match?
TIM
No need.
SHEILA
You were sprawled there all evening.
TIM
I just don’t want to talk about it. It’ll just mean listening to more of Tom’s philosophy. He has some funny ideas about the game. Despite all the games he travels to see.
SHEILA
Sandra was on about curtains as well. I wonder what she’s thinking of getting.
TIM
Since we are but man and wife clinging to a speck of dust that’s careering through the universe… who gives a squint?
SHEILA
Anyway, that wall, knocking it down, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Promise me you’ll think about it.
TIM
I’ll think of the expense.
SHEILA
We’re doing well enough, aren’t we?
TIM
We’re doing all right, I suppose, but Richard and Jane are costing us a fortune in college. We’re haemorrhaging cash here, darling.
SHEILA
Now we have the extension we hardly need the old downstairs bedroom, do we?
TIM
Maybe not, but I’d like to put any more of your proposed alterations on hold for a while. I’d like to change my car. Whatever extra loan I’d get I’d want for that.
SHEILA
Next year, then? Is that what you’re saying?
TIM
Whatever. Maybe. We’ll see.
SHEILA
Knocking out a wall is not a huge job.
TIM
But it’s messy. We’ll need a builder, and a decorator.
SHEILA
That’s only for the tricky bits. We could do some of the work ourselves.
TIM
If we paid them, then maybe the kids would help out.
Pause as SANDRA gives him a look. She picks up the brochures.
TIM
I’m joking. Christ, I’m joking. Are they the holiday brochures?
SHEILA
Any preference this year?
TIM
You pick a place. I’m easy. Where are they for?
SHEILA
Spain, Portugal, the Canaries. The usual.
TIM
We know pretty much what we’re going to get, so. Just pick a place where we won’t get ripped off, or kept awake all night by chavs screeching, smashing flowerpots, shagging in the pool and tramping around in high heels at six in the morning.
Brief pause
So, what do we get? Two weeks in summer, one in winter, and some weekend away during the year. That’s our total. And everything has to be paid for.
SHEILA
We could go back to the same place as last year. That’s one option.
TIM
I don’t know. It was nice. But there wasn’t that much to see there.
SHEILA
The beach was lovely.
TIM
The beach was nice. But I didn’t like the hassle to buy a timeshare.
SHEILA
You could get that anywhere. They left us alone after a couple of days. Remember the restaurant across the road from the complex? That was good.
TIM
It was good value all right. Big helpings. All the chips you could eat. Look, you decide, dear. I’m easy. Just tell me how much.
SHEILA
I’ll see if I can come up with a shortlist from what’s available. Oh no, that’s my shopping list.
SHEILA has got momentarily confused.
TOM
By the way, I must get a saw blade. Add that to the list.
SHEILA
Shouldn’t I make a separate list for the things you want to buy?
TIM
Make mine on the other side of the grocery list.
SHEILA crosses out hardware items and writes them instead on the back.
SHEILA
Do you think we need more toilet paper?
TIM
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from life, it’s that you can never have too much toilet paper.
TIM lies back with a sigh.
SHEILA
What are you thinking about?
TIM
The past.
SHEILA
What about it?
TIM
It will never come again.
SHEILA
What will never come again?
TIM
What were you like, in college, say?
SHEILA
College? Let me see. I suppose I was a bit of non-entity. No missing lectures, no heavy drinking, no sex. Not in the Biblical sense anyway. I don’t think it affected me at all, really, looking back. It was only after I started working and before I met you that I loosened up a bit, experienced real hangovers, did it for the first time. Got it out of the way, so to speak.
She studies a list again.
Why do you ask? I must have told you before.
TIM
Several times.
SHEILA
Why ask, so?
TIM
I only got drunk when it was student night in the local barn. I wasn’t the type to lodge in a pub simply because it was drizzling on a Monday afternoon. I had a girlfriend most of that time and it was all lovely and stable. I was never depressed.
TIM sits up again.
Never elated, either, mind you.
SANDRA
Depressed? Why would anybody be depressed in college? Unless they were actually hungry. Or they expected too much out of life.
TIM
I flew through. A part of me sneered at the wasters. Sometimes, now, I envy them.
SANDRA
You envy our kids, I’ll bet.
TIM
Perhaps I wasted my time.
SHEILA
The news is on. Do you want to turn the sound up?
TIM
No. I’m not in the mood for other people’s disasters.
SHEILA
Neither am I.
TIM
Do you want to go late night shopping during the week, or tomorrow, in the daytime?
SHEILA
Tomorrow, if that’s OK with you? I’ve a stack of tokens and vouchers collected and some of them will be out of date if we don’t go then.
TIM
Add chocolate biscuits to the shopping list. Please.
SHEILA picks up the wrong list.
TIM
You’ve got the wrong one there. That’s your holiday list.
Doorbell rings.
SHEILA
That must be them.
TIM
Here we go.
TIM rises somewhat stiffly and exits to answer it welcomingly, offstage (“Come in, come in”) while SHEILA tidies cushions, newspaper and brochures.
TIM returns with TOM and SANDRA.
General meaningless utterances ensue before everybody is seated.
TIM
What’ll it be? The usual?
TOM and SANDRA hesitate politely, mumbling uncertainties.
TIM tells them what they are going to have, from experience: a whiskey and water and a gin and tonic. Then he looks at SHEILA who says she’ll have a vodka and Coke.
Phone rings. SHEILA drops her brochures and exits to answer it.
TIM dispenses drinks and pours a whiskey for himself. TOM wears tinted specs. Then TIM cocks an ear.
TIM
By the tone of her voice, it has to be one of the kids. They don’t ring to say hello. How much is it this time, I wonder? I’d better not say too much, though. She’d rear up on me at the thought that her babies might miss a meal.
SANDRA
They’re your babies too, Tim.
TOM
If they do that, then it’s their choice. It’s not like you don’t give them enough, I suppose.
TOM takes out a cigar and gestures for permission to light up.
Re-enter SHEILA.
SANDRA
Tom!
To TIM and SHEILA
He’s not allowed to smoke those things in our house.
TIM
It’s OK, Tom. Think of it as a treat, to celebrate the fact you’re over here.
SANDRA
I’m sure Sheila would appreciate it if you didn’t light that up.
SHEILA makes no comment.
TOM puts away the cigar.
SHEILA
To TIM
It’s Richard. Your son. Do you want to say hello to him?
TIM rises in order to exit.
SHEILA
He’s looking for money.
TIM looks beseechingly to heaven and exits.
SHEILA sits again.
SHEILA
It’s Richard.
SANDRA
How is he?
SHEILA
He’s fine, I think. He’s preparing for his finals.
TOM
I hope he’s keeping the head down, so.
SHEILA
We can but hope.
TIM returns.
TIM
I had barely begun speaking to him and he was gone. Said he explained to you about the money. What was the cock-and-bull excuse this time? Don’t tell me he said it was for books.
SHEILA
He said it was for Jane. Apparently her grant came in before his did and she lent him money and now she needs some to go on some field trip and was afraid to ask, so he said he would.
TIM
A field trip? At this time of year? I suppose it means that in some way he’s looking out for her.
SHEILA
I wouldn’t be so sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was her idea and she put him up to it.
SANDRA
Nothing on this earth matches the talent for conspiracy possessed by teenage girls. We see it all the time in the shop, don’t we Tom?
TIM
How much did he ask for, anyway?
SHEILA
Two hundred.
TIM
Ninety for his bar bill, ninety for hers, twenty for food? Who knows? Jesus, what next? They have part-time jobs and grants and standing orders and still-
SHEILA
College is expensive, even for hermits.
SANDRA
Burning all that midnight oil, like we did ourselves. Though I never went on, myself.
TIM
Burning my wallet at both ends, more likely. Did he say anything about them coming home? When are the exams over?
SHEILA
It was all a bit vague. It’ll be after his finals, whenever they finish. That’s all I know.
TIM
They must sense the fridge is empty. I must get a saw blade. Add that to the list, will you?
SHEILA
You told me that already.
TIM
There may or may not be a field trip but I just have visions of my daughter spending my money buying pints for some long-haired bozo who only gets out of bed to go to the pub or the toilet but who – she thinks – is deep.
SHEILA
If you want to put it that way, I can see your son wasting it on some gorgeous little bitch whose only justification is, I’m beautiful, blow it all on me.
TIM
More likely they’ll be holding each other up at the counter. They’re young.
SANDRA
They’re there to work and they have to work to get there.
TOM
Look at how well our Robert has done by applying himself.
TIM
When was he last home?
TOM
As long as they’re doing the work, we have to keep forking out, investing in their futures.
TIM
No sign of him lately, eh? But we must drive on.
TOM
How’s your car going, Tim?
TIM
Oh, it’s OK. I’m thinking of changing it, actually.
TOM
I change mine every year now. It’s the only way. Has to be done.
TIM
It’s every two years with me now. Almost.
TOM
Don’t you get bored with driving the same car that long? I know I used to.
TIM
I get bored with a lot of things, Tom.
SANDRA
Any holiday booked yet?
SHEILA
No. This year we’re seriously thinking of Italy, or maybe Greece.
TOM
Ever been to America, Sheila?
SANDRA
There’s nothing in Italy.
TOM
Not that we saw anyway.
TIM
Really? When were you there?
SANDRA
That year we went to the south of France, to the Riviera. Bloody French. Can’t even speak English like normal people. Anyhow, while we were there we went over the border on the train, to Ventimiglia. There was nothing there.
TOM
And when Robert was in Zürich, with the bank, while we were over there to visit him, we went down to-
SANDRA
Lugano, was it?
TOM
I think that’s actually in Switzerland, pet. You remember the other place we were. Como.
SANDRA
Oh yeah. I think it had a lake. Robert’s girlfriend was Italian. She was a nice girl. Her English was fluent. She was well educated.
TOM
I imagine we’ll go back to the States. To see Robert and then go down to Florida. Next year, probably. We’ve a lot on our plate at the moment.
SHEILA
Where exactly is Robert now? Any sign of him coming home for a visit?
SANDRA
Phoenix. It’s in Arizona. It’s hot. He’s busy.
TOM
He’s making a fortune out there. The bank just paid for a trip to Disneyland for his whole development team.
TIM
Wow.
SANDRA
Florida is great. All the shopping malls.
TOM
The freeways. It’s a big country, America.
SHEILA
But how is he? Apart from the fact that he’s making lots of money. Has he a girlfriend? Maybe he’ll arrive home with an American wife one of these days.
TIM
Or a husband?
TIM shrugs.
SANDRA
Oh I don’t know if I’d like him to get serious with an American girl.
SHEILA
Why ever not? What happened to the Italian one? You showed me photos of her once, I remember.
SANDRA
It just didn’t work out, I suppose. Robert’s job and everything. It’s a pity, in a way. At least the Italians are Catholics.
TIM
Tell me, Tom, has he been to Vegas yet? Plenty of paint and powder there for young lads like him. But he wouldn’t ever waste his greenbacks like that, would he?
SANDRA
He’s always been good with money.
SHEILA
How’s the shop doing? It must be flying, I suppose.
SANDRA
We’re getting by.
TOM
We have two main problems, always.
SANDRA
Shoplifting is one.
TIM
What’s the other?
TOM
Trying to keep staff.
SANDRA
Between the girls getting pregnant-
TOM
And the boys giving lip. There was a reason for unions maybe, once upon a time. Nineteenth century.
TIM
Don’t tell that to Sheila.
SANDRA
I didn’t know you were a union person. But then again, you are a public servant.
SHEILA
I’m not, I wasn’t, not really, but when it’s there and you have to join, well…
TOM
Boys or girls, it doesn’t matter, they’d rob you blind, even more than the customers.
TIM
Fingers in the till?
TOM
More like their elbows. How are things at work with you, Tim?
TIM
At the factory, Tom, we find that if you pay peanuts you get monkeys.
SANDRA
I’d say he’s only winding you up, dear.
SHEILA
Of course he is.
TIM
That’s all it is, Tom. That’s all it is. A wind-up from start to finish.
TOM
But I respect your opinion.
TIM
Everybody should have a chance to earn a living wage. Everybody should mind their own business. They’d be my policies. But I’m not a politician.
SHEILA
He wouldn’t have the patience.
TOM
Sandra didn’t know you were such an extremist, Tim.
TIM
How come it’s only the madmen who ever speak up? That’s what I ask myself. That’s what I want to know.
TOM
Now what you’re saying sounds reasonable in theory but-
SANDRA
If you ask me, it’s all in the breeding.
TIM squirms in his seat with growing frustration.
SHEILA
So, any scandal? What’s the talk of the town? If there’s one thing sure in this life, in this town, someone else will always make a blunder.
SANDRA
Eh, nothing much.
SHEILA
Well?
Pause
SANDRA
We do have some… big news, actually. That’s why we came over.
SHEILA
Well? Tell us.
SANDRA
Tom, you say it.
TOM
We’re moving house.
Pause
SANDRA
We thought it only fair to tell you before the “For Sale” sign goes up next door. You have the right to know.
TOM
It’s only fair.
SANDRA
We’re a bit tired of the lane.
TIM
The lane.
SHEILA
The lane? How many years have you been here?
TIM
How long have you two been running the residents’ association with an iron fist?
SANDRA
There’s a good community spirit established here now.
TIM
I know. There isn’t a lawn uncut on the estate.
SHEILA
Where are you going?
SANDRA
To the new development, over the bridge.
TOM
Ampleforth Close.
TIM
Ampleforth Close?
SHEILA
So, you’re moving house. Well, all I can say is congratulations. When can we see the place?
TOM
They won’t be ready for a few months yet, at least.
SANDRA
There’s just so much to do. All that new furniture to get, of course. I’m going shopping for new curtains on Saturday. They’re to help spruce up our interior spaces. Would you like to come with me?
SHEILA
Oh… I’d love to. What time?
SANDRA
I’ll call for you around twelve. We can have lunch in town. My treat.
SHEILA
Lovely. I need to buy a new bag anyway so we can have a look for that too.
SANDRA
That’s settled, so. Great.
TIM
More money, eh Tom?
TOM
She hasn’t even mentioned the garden yet.
SANDRA
I’m thinking of putting in an extra effort there. I’m talking to a designer.
SHEILA
Have you? That’s interesting.
TOM
She even wants concrete lions on the gate pillars. But we’ll get a few dossers on the dole to do all the donkey-work, for cash in hand.
SANDRA
I told you I’m not too sure about that. What if they get caught by a welfare inspector?
TOM
Don’t worry about that. We can say the landscaper-
SANDRA
The designer-
TOM
-hired them, if push comes to shove. I’m sure he’s hired enough of them in the past. Who do you think does all the digging on these projects anyway?
TIM rises and tops up the glasses. He is most generous to himself.
SANDRA
Oh I don’t know, really.
TOM
I find these people do fine, if it’s just for a few days, if you keep a close eye on them. As long as it’s daylight. But if you give them cash in hand, and a few cans of lager, and all the chips they can eat, they can be useful.
SANDRA
The poor you shall always have with you. It’s a sad fact.
TIM
Murphy’s Law.
SANDRA
It’s people like us who keep the finger in the dyke, who keep the show on the road.
TOM
Otherwise there’d be anarchy.
SHEILA
At least it’s tranquil around here. We should count our blessings, I think.
TIM
Well, good luck to you both, with your purchase. It’s nice, I suppose, though the name of the estate is kind of… stupid, to be frank. Will you stay for a few sandwiches? Sheila will make them, won’t you dear? If you’d had more notice you could do a few chips for our guests.
SHEILA
Do ye want chips?
TIM
Right, now, I must take in the bins before I forget.
TOM
That reminds me. So must I. No grub for me, thanks.
SHEILA rises and sits again.
Exit TIM and TOM to take in the bins.
SANDRA
So tell me more about what you are going to do with this house.
SHEILA
It’s nothing compared with your news. Concrete lions, eh? Wow. But I have to persuade Tim first, to do the little bit I have in mind over here.
SANDRA
I’m sure he’ll do what he’s told. Eventually.
SHEILA
He’s not bad with his hands, to give him his due. A bit more suggestion and gentle persuasion and he’ll take it up like it was his own idea. The thrill of the drill. Maybe it’s a sex substitute. Do you know something I can’t remember the last time that wasn’t after the pub on a Saturday night.
SANDRA
The last time? I don’t know. We rarely go to pubs.
SHEILA
Don’t you have any more… interest?
SANDRA
In Tom? In that way? When he turns over and farts in my face at the drop of a hat? Don’t tell me you still have faith in that kind of thing?
SHEILA
But don’t you ever see some fella and think I wouldn’t mind a bit of that?
SANDRA
It’s never going to happen, I tell myself that, so why think too much about it? My child has grown up, Sheila. Although there are moments, still, when… ah, nothing.
SHEILA
But what about Tom’s feelings?
SANDRA
I don’t know and I don’t really care. I don’t want to know.
SHEILA
A young man at work made a pass at me at the Christmas party. I told him I was old enough to be his mother. I know, he said. I asked him what he wanted. He asked me what did I think he wanted. He was quite brazen about it. I didn’t do anything – I kissed him – but afterwards I thought to myself… I don’t think I’ve gone to seed. I’m not ashamed to lie on the beach. Some people have no shame, I suppose.
SANDRA
You’re shaping up to be a bit of a Shirley Valentine, Sheila.
SHEILA
Well, it’s always left to me to organise holidays. I love the sun, and Tim likes to unwind, so I’ll just pick somewhere he can relax and I can stretch out. We’ll drink wine on our balcony in the evenings and maybe even make love in the dark. Our sex life is about as thoughtful and reflective as… a trip to the bathroom.
SANDRA
It’s comfortable, I suppose. You’re comfortable together.
SHEILA
To lie in the sun again. Away from all this damp. It’s like a dream. Some day I’ll have the house the way I want it.
Pause
SANDRA
We didn’t mean to put this place down, by the way.
SHEILA
Of course you didn’t.
SANDRA
It’s just that we always had our eye on moving over there.
SHEILA
We won’t be able to miss your new house, with the lions.
SANDRA
Let me show you a model of one. I just got it from the designer. Come on.
SHEILA
Can you bring it over to show Tim? He’ll be amazed.
Exit SANDRA and SHEILA.
Enter TOM and TIM.
TIM
If I were really honest with her I’d tell her I’ve never been hugely into sun holidays. Or skiing for that matter. Well, that’s a bit different – I usually end up pulling something at that.
TOM
What? A bird? You dirty dog!
TIM
No. My wire.
TOM
What?
TIM
A muscle, a ligament, something painful, whatever. It’s not that I’ve never liked the sun – I do – it’s nice – but maybe I’d prefer to see more of the world.
TOM
You should see America.
TIM
I did, I saw New York, when I was a student. I like to look at buildings – not that I know much about architecture or anything. To be fair, she’ll take a look too, and take photos, but it’s a habit we never really developed. I guess in the early days I had a suspicion that if I pushed her too far she’d snap.
TOM
Let me guess.
TIM
What do you want to look at them for? They’re only old. She’s happiest lying in the sun. I think I’m most relaxed when I’m sawing and hammering.
TOM
I know what you mean.
TIM
She’s still in good shape.
TOM
The house?
TIM
The wife. I should compliment her more on that. For the effort. Does she ever wonder if I’ve been unfaithful to her? The most I’ve ever done is think about it. These days it’s all I ever think about.
TOM
Really?
TIM
I’m bored, I suppose. I doubt if she thinks about all that too often anymore anyway. Sometimes, after the pub. There’s a girl at work – I’ve had a few drinks with her.
TOM
And?
TIM
She seems not to think I’m past it, somehow.
TOM
My advice is to avoid messing with the girls at work. You have more to lose.
TIM
I know, I know.
TOM
But don’t throw in the towel, just yet. Money talks, Tim, remember that.
TIM
Do you mean hookers?
TOM
Tim, please.
TIM
You dirty dog. How often do you ring?
TOM
Tim, please.
TIM
Has Sandra any idea?
TOM
Sandra asked me – nicely – not to touch her anymore, so that suits me fine.
TIM
But does she know?
TOM
No. She’d only be a dog in the manger, if she saw me enjoying myself, that is. Tim, what I’m saying is that you need a hobby. A package. What I mean is some excuse to be away from home, on your own, so to speak, occasionally. A change of scene does wonders for my patience.
Enter SANDRA and SHEILA.
SANDRA carries a large model lion.
TIM
What on earth…
TOM
Well, what do you think?
TIM
What am I supposed to think?
TOM
By the way, can I borrow your drill, Tim?
TIM
What for?
TOM
I want to hang some things on the wall.
TIM
Like what? That thing?
TOM
A few pictures.
SANDRA
They’re for the people who’ll be looking at the house. Viewing will be strictly by appointment.
TOM
I bought a few pictures, just to hang up.
TIM
To add a bit of class, eh?
SHEILA
Get the drill for him, Tim, please.
SANDRA
No, there’s no hurry.
TIM
No, it’s fine. I’m going to get it now. That thing’s eyes are following me.
TIM rises to get the drill.
TOM
Have you any spare drill bits too? If you have, that would be great.
Exit TIM for the drill.
SANDRA, SHEILA and TOM start examining the model lion on the coffee table.
Re-enter TIM with the old drill, which he inspects and plugs in. He sits back down with it. He squeezes the trigger occasionally, punctuating the conversation with its revving.
TIM
This one no longer packs a sufficient punch.
Squeezes trigger for a rev
I did something brave at work today. It followed on from a little incident at breakfast, in the canteen, yesterday. The general manager was behind the financial controller in the queue, watching him getting his tray filled. When the big man asked for beans, the boss tapped him on the shoulder. What are you doing, getting beans? You’re management. We don’t eat beans. Only poor people eat beans.
TIM points the drill like a gun at the lion and squeezes the trigger again.
SHEILA
What did he do?
SANDRA
I suppose he couldn’t give them back. Scraping them off the plate would be too messy.
TIM
He stood his ground and ordered his beans.
SANDRA
And?
TIM
He went and sat down with his tray.
SHEILA
What’s all that got to do with you?
TIM
The rest of us in management just had to order beans at breakfast this morning.
SHEILA
I see. There’s safety in numbers.
SANDRA
Nobody can be singled out after that, if you all did it.
TIM
I don’t know if that has anything much to do with the point I was trying to make.
SHEILA
What do you mean? You all did it, so you’re all OK.
TIM
Never mind. Forget it.
SHEILA
Look, I know it was stupid, to say that thing about the beans in the first place.
SANDRA
I would have just ignored it.
Pause as TOM asks for and takes the drill and then gives it a few revs.
TOM
This baby has seen some service, hasn’t she, Tim? But I don’t see any space for more shelves.
TIM
I know, we’re cramped, aren’t we? I’ll have to do my thing in the attic.
TOM
You should invest in a new one. A drill with real power.
TIM
That’s what I was thinking.
TOM
I’m about to buy a mighty one for our new place, if you want to borrow it for a while, later on.
TIM
I was thinking you would. But this one will have to do for now, won’t it? Will you be happy enough with it for now?
SANDRA
Yes, thanks very much, Tim.
TIM takes the drill back.
TIM
They’re going up very fast over there.
SHEILA
They look like they’re going to be nice houses.
TIM
Bird houses. Don’t tell me you’re tired of the lane now, as well?
SHEILA
No, no, what do you mean?
TOM
Listen, Tim, we didn’t mean to, you know…
SANDRA
Even though you said Ampleforth Close was stupid.
TOM
We hoped you’d be happy for us, if anything.
TIM
It would be going too far to say I’m happy, here. Ampleforth Close? Mother of Jesus, what kind of name is that for an Irish address?
SANDRA
I think it sounds classy.
TIM
You would.
SANDRA
If you’re so interested in old hat, why don’t you sign up for an Irish language class, or something?
TIM
What else have I got left, apart from herself here and two fuckers bleeding me dry and pissing it away? Marriage, mortgage, shopping, death.
TIM stands up with the drill.
TOM
Sit down, Tim.
SHEILA
Where are you going?
TIM
I’m leaving you. However briefly, darling. I’m hitting the pub. I’m not doing any more DIY, I’m not knocking down any more walls and I’m not going to fry in the sun anymore.
TOM
Hey, relax there, Tim.
TIM
Our home is warm and comfortable and structurally sound. So leave the bloody thing alone. That’s going to be my new motto. She can come to the pub with me if she likes. I know you two won’t go, whatever happens.
SANDRA
Going to the pub doesn’t solve anyone’s problems.
TIM
Whatever, I leave you both to your dreams of a property ladder going up to heaven. Ampleforth Close. Jesus. You’re welcome to it.
SANDRA
Well, if that’s they way you feel…
TOM
Er, Tim, can I still have your drill?
TIM
Sure, Tom, I won’t need it any more. I still have my meat and two veg. They don’t belong on any shopping list. But first let me prove to you that it still works.
TIM drills through the lion’s head, before totally destroying it by stamping on it repeatedly before their amazed eyes.
This is what we do to vulgar trespassers around here. Now, I’m going out. Before I forget where to get a late drink in this town. That’s going to be my new hobby. Garden cleaner.
Exit TIM. Embarrassed, shocked silence.
SHEILA
I don’t know what’s got into him.
TOM
Is he under a lot of pressure?
SANDRA
You just sat there and let him do that!
SHEILA is still looking at the lion in bits.
SHEILA
I’m really sorry about… that. Can it be… fixed?
SANDRA gets up to go.
SANDRA
Come on, Tom.
SHEILA
Let me talk to him, when he calms down. He’s never been any way violent before, you both know that. He’s a good provider.
SANDRA
I’ll see you on Saturday, if Tim’s recovered his composure and apologised and replaced the lion by then. Come on, Tom.
SHEILA
He’s under a lot of pressure at work, Tom.
TOM
We know, we know. Are you OK? Don’t worry about it. Do you want us to stay?
SHEILA
No, thanks.
TOM
Do you want me… to go after him?
SANDRA
Are you going to the pub too?
TOM
Who, me?
SHEILA
No, no, forget it. I think I’ll go to bed, in fact. He’ll come back and cool off on the sofa, or somewhere. It was an eventful day.
SHEILA has another look at the smashed lion. She puts a hand to her mouth. She may even be laughing.
TOM then lights up a cigar and has a smoke before they leave.
SANDRA
Tom!
TOM
Shut up. I had a hard day too. A cigar is just a cigar.
He takes a drag.
Sometimes.
CURTAIN
Happy Nights
© John Flynn 2006
Characters
PATRICK, a burglar
MICHEL, a burglar
Scenario
Happy Nights was inspired by a real event. One night in July 1961, Samuel Beckett’s Marne cottage at Ussy was burgled. According to his biographer James Knowlson, the burglars, as well as enjoying all the food and drink they could find, stole his clothes – even his old underpants – but left a painting that was quite valuable untouched. Happy Nights was produced by Red Kettle theatre company and premiered in Ireland at the Waterford Festival of New Plays in April 2007. John Hurt was the special guest at the first performance.
Set
A representation of a window is seen in the centre at the back. A bookcase stands to the left of the window. A rectangular bureau desk, stacked with papers, stands to the right, with a chair. A round dining table should be placed in front, flanked by two wicker chairs, each with arms and a cushion on its seat. A small wicker footstool and a large wicker wastepaper basket should also be present.
– – –
The scene is darkness apart from moonlight in the window. From off left come the sounds of a shutter being forced and a window broken.
Enter PATRICK and MICHEL, dressed as tramps. PATRICK switches on the light and MICHEL ducks under the furniture.
PATRICK limps, having hurt his leg gaining entry. He grimaces, mutters, holds his knee. MICHEL observes but makes no comment.
MICHEL
Hope nobody comes.
PATRICK
We won’t wait around.
They take time to size up their surroundings.
MICHEL
What time is it?
PATRICK
Past midnight.
MICHEL
Never knew such silence.
PATRICK
At this place, at this moment, all mankind is us.
MICHEL
I like it that way. We should have plenty of time.
PATRICK
We have time to grow old.
They begin to search through books and papers and quickly make a mess.
MICHEL is rougher at this and shows less finesse. He throws books on the floor.
PATRICK
Take it easy. Have some respect. For the books, at least.
MICHEL takes it easier. After a couple of minutes, PATRICK halts.
PATRICK
I’m hungry. Do you want to go and see if there’s anything to eat?
MICHEL
That’s an idea. We could feed ourselves.
MICHEL exits left.
PATRICK
Calling after MICHEL
Don’t bother with anything like carrots or radishes. No vegetables of any kind!
PATRICK examines the contents of desk drawers. Pots and pans rattle off left.
MICHEL returns with a re-corked bottle of wine and two glasses. He pulls the cork with his teeth. They sit on the wicker chairs.
PATRICK holds his knee. MICHEL sniffs the wine in the bottle.
MICHEL
This wine should still be all right. There is a couple of unopened bottles too.
PATRICK
Any food?
MICHEL
Some tins. But I couldn’t find an opener or a corkscrew.
Brief pause as PATRICK reflects.
PATRICK
How did prehistoric man open cans? What did he use?
They sample the wine.
MICHEL
It’s a pity. I’m hungry too. Damn.
PATRICK
Producing a knife
Be reasonable, you haven’t yet tried everything.
PATRICK hands the knife to MICHEL, who exits left.
PATRICK resumes the search.
MICHEL returns with a couple of open tins and sits again. He samples the contents before passing it to PATRICK, who tops up their wine glasses.
PATRICK tries the contents of the tin and they both drink some more wine.
MICHEL stands up again and exits left. He returns with his arms full of clothing and footwear (a pair of boots, a straw hat, a working jacket and an old pair of underpants).
They inspect and swap these items continuously until PATRICK is wearing the straw hat and jacket and MICHEL the boots and the underpants (on the outside). They sit again.
PATRICK raises a toast.
PATRICK
To our absent host.
MICHEL
He’s a writer or something, isn’t he? Personally I wouldn’t know him even if I met him.
They guffaw.
PATRICK
To the maestro.
MICHEL
What if he comes?
PATRICK
Maybe he’ll come tomorrow. Back in Paris, he is sleeping. He knows nothing. Let him sleep on.
MICHEL
But while we’re not sleeping…
PATRICK
Others suffer. We’re no saints. We make no appointments.
MICHEL
But arrive unannounced.
PATRICK
Unlike billions.
Pause to look around
Far from this Marne muck.
MICHEL
As though the world were short of slaves.
PATRICK
It’s a vile planet.
MICHEL empties the first tin, scrapes it and leaves it on the table.
MICHEL
Cocks an ear
What’s that? What’s happening?
PATRICK
A robbery is taking its course.
MICHEL
Hope nobody comes.
PATRICK
You should know better. There’s no hope of that happening. Not now. Relax.
MICHEL
I don’t know. I can’t relax. I can’t go on like this.
PATRICK limps to the window to look out past the curtains.
PATRICK
Uninhabited.
MICHEL
Do you think we’ll ever be caught?
PATRICK
Deep breath first
The chances are fifty-fifty, I’d guess. Over an entire lifetime of crime, that is.
MICHEL
It’s a reasonable percentage. From a life.
PATRICK
Or maybe one of us will be safe, while the other is damned?
MICHEL
Trace of anguish
Until then, must we go on?
PATRICK
We’ll go on. Unless you have a better idea.
MICHEL
I have no idea. Well, none worth talking about.
PATRICK
We won’t despair. Whatever we find here.
MICHEL
We won’t presume, either.
PATRICK
Never presume, except that somebody might be hanging around. It’s safer to presume that much, at least.
MICHEL
Yes, but-
PATRICK
Yes?
MICHEL
Maybe you’re different but I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.
PATRICK
I think you’re hearing voices.
MICHEL
A normally reliable little voice told me about this place.
PATRICK
And? Drink your wine and count your blessings. I wanted to do this one because it’s an ugly little thing.
MICHEL
I thought this chap would have lots of stuff.
MICHEL tosses more papers onto the floor.
PATRICK
Quite spartan, isn’t it? Never mind. It’s good to be in his den, in his old rags. And we always find something, eh, to leave the impression we existed?
MICHEL
There are still those bottles of wine.
Points off left
There’s a painting out there too, if you want to take a look at it.
MICHEL hands the knife and the second tin to PATRICK and then pours more wine.
MICHEL
And what if we do get caught? What if? One day – one night – happy pickings, and then – bang! – all our troubles are only beginning.
MICHEL takes the empty tin from the dining table and throws it on the floor.
MICHEL
What time is it?
PATRICK
Stop asking me the damned time. Are there any more tins?
MICHEL
Billions. This was the break we needed all along.
PATRICK looks up. He puts down the knife and tin, as if something is dawning on him.
PATRICK
Do you have some aspirations?
MICHEL
I think more of resolutions, these days.
PATRICK
To drink less?
Brief pause
And to eat more, at this very moment. Are you sure there’s nothing else?
MICHEL
There are some bananas. But they’ve gone off.
PATRICK
Ah.
Pause
Have you grown attached to those underpants?
MICHEL
I’m going to keep them.
PATRICK
After you, I wouldn’t want them back.
Brief pause
MICHEL
Smiling
No, I wouldn’t want them back.
PATRICK removes the jacket and puts it on dining table.
MICHEL
Have we sunk so low that we’ve gone too far?
PATRICK
There must be something in here.
MICHEL
Don’t you think we should stop?
Spreads his arms
While the going is bad.
PATRICK
All life long the same questions.
MICHEL
The same answers. You should have been a lawyer.
PATRICK
Indicates his shabby clothes
I was.
Brief pause
MICHEL
And if we do get caught?
PATRICK
They’ll make an example of us. So much happens around here.
MICHEL
So many robberies.
PATRICK
We’d have to repent.
MICHEL
Our being thieves.
PATRICK
All the break-ins.
Brief pause
PATRICK and MICHEL
Together
We’d be crucified!
They both ponder in silence.
PATRICK
Then we’d wonder if we’d have been better off alone, each one for himself.
Pause
PATRICK
In the meantime, let us converse calmly.
MICHEL
We are capable of being silent.
They go silent.
MICHEL
How’s your leg?
PATRICK
Bad.
MICHEL
But you can walk.
PATRICK
I’ll live.
MICHEL
Is this any way to live?
Brief pause
MICHEL
We should have done something else.
PATRICK
We should have thought of that a million years ago.
MICHEL
Back in the Fifties.
They think of the Fifties.
PATRICK
We have our excuses.
MICHEL
It’s because we want drink.
PATRICK
Add naked bodies.
MICHEL
So she said, last night.
PATRICK
We should have done somewhere else.
MICHEL kicks papers around.
PATRICK replaces a couple of books on the shelves.
PATRICK then sits again, grimaces again. MICHEL follows suit.
PATRICK
Have a last look in the kitchen.
MICHEL
You look this time.
PATRICK
But my leg-
MICHEL
If you tell me any more about the blows you received I’ll stick a carrot up your arse.
PATRICK limps off left. More rattling. He returns with some more tins and puts them on the table.
Then he exits right again, this time returning with two bottles of wine. He puts them in the same place.
When he limps off a third time MICHEL sits up and pays attention.
When PATRICK comes back he is carrying a bottle of whiskey.
PATRICK
Finish your tin.
MICHEL
Finish your own.
Pause for MICHEL to indicate the whiskey bottle.
MICHEL
I suppose you’ll want to keep that for yourself?
PATRICK
You can have the wine. And the clothes.
MICHEL
We ran out of stuffy little bourgeois types to rob. Then you just picked on people you didn’t like.
PATRICK
Ignorant apes.
MICHEL
Just what do you want now?
PATRICK
Whiskey.
Pause as PATRICK examines the bottle.
PATRICK
Even then I didn’t let you take anything of sentimental value.
Brief pause
For sentimental reasons.
MICHEL
People get sentimental about money. I needed money. Now I’ve saved some.
Brief pause
Why don’t you just leave this place?
PATRICK
I can’t, I’ve spent mine.
MICHEL
Don’t you ever think of something you’d like to do, apart from this?
PATRICK
Lie on my back and fart and think of Beckett.
MICHEL finds no answer to that.
PATRICK
Just how much money do you think you need anyway?
MICHEL
After a little hesitation
Enough to open a little shop.
PATRICK
Laughs wildly
That’s no job for a man.
MICHEL
Maybe not, but there’s no money here for us, buried up to our necks in books and papers.
PATRICK
If you ever open that shop I’ll rob it. And lose my last friend here. Maybe then I’ll leave.
MICHEL exits left and brings in the painting. He examines it from various angles before PATRICK grabs it, turns it the right way up and props it against a leg of the dining table.
The audience cannot see it.
PATRICK
Don’t put a boot through that.
MICHEL
I’m more cultured than that. What makes you think…?
PATRICK
Whether you do it on purpose or accidentally, on purpose.
MICHEL
These boots are starting to hurt me.
PATRICK
Take them off.
MICHEL
I can’t. They’re stuck.
PATRICK
Just like the underpants.
They sit again, facing each other, having moved the chairs and footstool closer together.
PATRICK pulls off the boots. MICHEL sighs, puts his shoes back on, then picks up the boots.
MICHEL
I’ll keep them anyway. I might even give them to some tramp.
MICHEL puts the boots on the table. PATRICK examines the unopened tins.
MICHEL
Are you going to take that stuff too?
PATRICK
I thought I might eat it. But I’ll give it to the dog.
MICHEL begins to assemble a clothes pile on top of the boots. PATRICK grabs the jacket and puts it back on, rubbing his knee.
PATRICK
Referring to the old jacket
Don’t worry, I’ll give you this later.
MICHEL
What about the painting?
PATRICK
Put it back. How would we get rid of it around here?
MICHEL
Except hang it from a tree?
They pause for an un-enlightening bout of reflection. PATRICK sticks tins in the jacket pockets.
MICHEL
Well, shall we go?
PATRICK
Take off your underpants first.
MICHEL removes the underpants, folds them and puts them on the straw hat on top of the boots.
PATRICK picks up the bottles of wine and passes them to MICHEL.
Then MICHEL picks up the underpants again, in order to wrap the bottles after he places a bottle in each boot. Finally he places the hat on top of the finished pile.
PATRICK lifts the whiskey bottle and then takes a book from a shelf. He shows the book to MICHEL, who lifts the pile in his arms.
PATRICK
He signed it. I’ll sell it, down the line.
MICHEL
I can’t do this anymore.
PATRICK
That’s what you think. We are French. We don’t care. Nobody cares unless it happens to him.
They take a lingering last look around the room.
PATRICK
Well, shall we go?
MICHEL
Yes, let’s go.
They leave.
Dr. John Flynn 