*
29
A canvas chair, outdoors. A man seated, his arms extended down the arms of the chair, his shoulders hunched, his head still. He gazes at the horizon. A woman enters and stops. The man senses her presence behind him but refuses to acknowledge her. The woman lifts one arm from the elbow, and grasping the elbow with the opposite hand, plays with her fingers and thumb, an imitation of patience. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, then lets her arms fall to her sides. Suddenly she goes out, denied and impetuous. For a short time the man does not move, then he lifts one arm and runs his fingers through his hair. He suffers. His legs, formerly outstretched, are retracted, lifted and wrapped in his arms. He lays his face to his knees, then gnaws them. He makes small, desperate animal sounds…
*
30
An old woman, with hat and stick, her spine distorting her walk. Behind her, in her tracks, her son, not young but infantile. He bears in either hand full bags of shopping. The old woman stops. Her son stops, a regulated distance behind her. She peers around as if contemplating a purchase. Her attitude is disdainful. She starts off again, and stops again, the man follows suit. Now she looks round at him, both hands clasped on the stick. She looks at him, as if she did not know him thoroughly.
OLD WOMAN: What when I’m gone?
(If she expects an answer, the man does not offer one. His gaze is directed at the ground. She studies him longer, as if her scrutiny could get sense from him. At last she turns and moves on. He waits, then moves after her…)
*
31
Two lines of running convicts cross the stage in opposite directions. They are barefoot and wear shorts and singlets, barely clean. Between the lines stands an officer, a cane under his arm, a whistle in his mouth. After several circuits the whistle is blown once. The convicts stop, staring ahead. The officer walks slowly about, examining them, lifting their chins with his cane if they droop, but not unkindly. He blows the whistle twice. They resume running. A pair of lovers, entwined, lost in their mutuality, drift in, stop and embrace, oblivious to the running figures. The whistle is blown. The officer repeats his routine. The loving couple continue their adoration. The whistle is blown twice. The men run, their eyes always ahead of them. Now the officer blows five shrill blasts and the men head offstage, preserving their strict order. The officer remains, the cane behind his back. His eyes on the ground. In the silence, the couple disengage. First the woman, then the man, notice the officer. They shift uncomfortably, and with a tacit understanding, depart. At once the officer races after them, disappearing offstage and returning at once, dragging the man backwards, the cane tight to his throat and held by both ends, the woman shrieking and clinging to the officer’s arm. The officer lowers the half-suffocated man to the ground. The woman drapes herself over the collapsed body, lifting his head, deep moans coming from him and her together. The officer’s hands hang at his sides. Nervously, he takes off his cap. He observes the consequences of his action. He drifts away, stopping, looking back, and drifting again…
*
32
A woman returns to a house where she has been happy. Her gaze travels over its surfaces, her hands resting loosely in her coat pockets. She looks at the ground. She is about to walk to the door, when a second woman appears unexpectedly behind her. The first woman turns slowly to her.
SECOND WOMAN: Nothing here is what it was
(The first woman examines the face of the second so searchingly, the second woman folds her arms defiantly. The first woman looks back at the house. Suddenly the second woman bursts into tears, her arms fall to her sides. The first woman watches this dispassionately until, with a shaking of her head, the weeping woman stops. The first woman looks at the still, distraught figure, then turns to go into the house. She stops on a thought, and is still, then she goes into the house. The second woman puts her hands together, finger tips joined and adopts a position of patience. After some moments have passed, the first woman reappears, barefoot, bare-legged, and her coat thrown over her head. She walks blindly, tripping and stopping, moving and tripping again, though never falling. The second woman chooses not to observe her ordeal. As the first woman departs, a book is flung after her from the house. It slides over the ground. The second woman cannot resist the temptation to laugh, a laughter which simultaneously fills her with shame. A second book follows the first, igniting a second eruption of laughter, as the second woman runs her hands through her hair, shaking her head, and yielding to the pleasure of it. When a third book is thrown she alters with a sudden swiftness, and ceasing to laugh, puts her hands on her hips and adopts a stance of repudiation. No book follows..)
*
33
A city park. A man early for an appointment, walks a little, turns, stands a long time, repeats the short walk. A woman, entering in a similar state of anxiety, watches him, her shoulders loose, drained of any pride but fixed in the remnants of her fascination. When the man turns, he sees her. They are still, looking with wan smiles. The desire to run to one another lives in their limbs, but is gone from their minds, and in vital seconds, dies. At last her shoulders lift in a question. His hand lifts, a fist, a substitute for already-spoken words, and falls again. His eyes fall also. The woman waits, as if still there might be a chance. She sways on her feet, caught between staying and leaving. He lends her nothing. Her own fists rise, and fall. Still she holds her place, then as if overwhelmed by a deluge, turns and strides to a second man who walks boldly in and catches her in his arms. The woman does not admit the embrace, but allowing the second man to take her by her arm, goes out with him, hurrying from the terrible place. The first man, who has watched this but only by lifting his eyes, lets his eyes fall again. He cannot move. A deep groan departs from him. He seems to sink, the groan coming again. Shrunken, he rebuilds himself, creating finally a gesture as if he lifted some cowl or helmet from his face, and letting his hands travel down his sides. He is quite still.
MAN: The man there then
(Pause. He scoffs unconvincingly. Pause.)
Always the man there
(He is able to move. He walks a few paces.)
Good
(He ponders.)
Good the man is there
(He goes to walk on. He stops, seeing it is the route he came by but more significantly, the route the woman departed on. He turns deliberately. He marches in the opposite direction.)
*
34
An old man seated on a park chair. His head is sunk between his shoulders. His hands rest on the sides on the chair, as if propping him in position. His legs are wide apart. A girl, elegant, tall, passes him reading an open newspaper, her pace varying as her concentration increases or fails. Her attention is wholly engaged by reading. She does not observe the old man. He does not react to her passage. After some time has elapsed, two young men run past, perhaps in pursuit of her. The old man seems not to perceive this either. His head lifts fractionally to watch some garden birds in his vicinity. One hand painfully reaches into his coat pocket. His shoulder, stiff and arthritic, makes the manoeuvre an ordeal. His hand emerges with breadcrumbs. With a strange twist of his arm he succeeds in spreading the crumbs in front of him. The pleasure he discovers in this is cut short as he tries to return the hand to its original position. He lets out a short, sharp cry as the arm fixes in mid-movement. His face is creased by pain. He leaves the arm in the air, familiar with its idiosyncrasies. As he maintains this crippled position, the young men return, holding the young woman aloft, one grasping her shoulders, the other her knees. They seem adept at carrying. The young woman’s head hangs down, her mouth open, unconscious or possibly dead. The men move swiftly but show no sign of fear. As they depart, the old man’s head slowly turns. But his shoulder fixes. Again he lets out a cry. Slowly, his body relaxes, the spasms relent. He discovers his original posture.
*
35
A chair carried on long poles, a bearer at each corner, all four
in livery. In the chair a high dignitary. His head rests on a gloved hand. He watches the passing landscape with indifference. The bearers stop. They lower the chair and stand, heads bowed, hands clasped before them. The dignitary waits. He examines his fingers. He casts a glance at the sky. He lifts the skirts of his coat. He lets them fall. At last a man and a woman appear. The man carries a newly-born child, wrapped. He clasps it tenderly to his shoulder. The couple wait before the dignitary, the woman with her head lowered, the man proud. The dignitary extends a hand before him, ungloved. The woman goes to it and kisses it reverently. The hand falls. The man goes to the dignitary and extends the child to him. The dignitary kisses the forehead of the infant, and the man withdraws, leaving the woman alone. She lifts her gaze. The dignitary, attempting to suppress his tears, turns his head one way and the other, again and again. The woman, infected by his grief, heaves, and extends a hand towards him. The bearers maintain a discreet immobility. At last the dignitary’s emotions overwhelm his decorum. He wails. The woman, also wailing, clasps her face in her hands. The two shudder, mutually infatuated, but yards apart. At last their pain recedes. The bearers without a sign from their master, simultaneously take up the poles. They carry away the dignitary, who, resting his chin on his hand, stares over the country…
*
36
An old servant sweeps a path. His method is characterized by its regular, unhurried discipline, two strokes to the right, two to the left. At a certain point he stops. His hand goes to his face, he grieves. He looks through his tears, through his fingers, an elbow on the handle of the broom. He recovers. He sweeps. He stops, this time against his will, holds the handle with a shuddering tightness, in both hands, and avoids weeping. His body straightens, he sweeps on. After a few more actions with the broom, his sobs overcome him, and he sinks to his knees, grasping the upright broom for support in one hand. His chest heaves. His breath is full, profound until at last his crisis passes. He does not climb to his feet but remains on his knees. He knows he must sooner or later stand but lacks the will. He looks at the path in front of him. He removes his hand from the broom which remains upright for a second, then topples. The old man’s arms hang at his sides. A countess, in hat and gloves, walks swiftly by as if marching to an appointment. For a moment she does not seem to notice him. She stops abruptly. She freezes. Her head turns. She sees the servant on the edge of death. She weeps. Her shoulders heave. The servant lifts one hand, to console her. She raises one gloved hand to him.
*
37
A nun, seated. A novice enters. She waits.
NUN: You do not wish to leave it is a dread all of us experience this dread it passes
(Neither moves nor meets the other’s gaze. A long time elapses. At last the nun turns to face the novice.)
All of us
(The novice is resolute.)
All of us
(And keeps her eyes on the nun.)
It passes
(The boldness of the novice’s stare discomforts the nun. She stands violently as if to reprimand her, but her gaze falls. She walks a little way, stops and turns to examine the novice from the rear. The novice is still. To break the tension of the nun’s stare the novice flings her starched collar to the floor, a stratagem that is ineffectual…)
All of us experience this dread
(The novice is defiant.)
All of us
All of us
(A pause, then with a flourish the novice flings off her cassock, and stands in her shift. She holds the cassock outstretched by one hand… choosing her moment, she lets it fall to the floor, leaving her hand in the air. This gesture is maintained until it visibly agonizes her… her hand falls to her side…)
All of us
All of us
(The novice spins on her heel to face the nun. Their look is long… the novice marches in her shift, worldly and a provocation… the nun hangs her head, choosing not to observe her… the novice invests more in her stride, arching her back to advertise her breasts… as she marches she loosens her hair, which falls over her shoulders… the nun keeps her eyes fixed to a spot, her pain contained… after several more turns, the novice stops. Now the nun lifts her eyes to her… the novice laughs, and stops. She weeps, and stops. The nun observes her without bitterness. Now she chooses to walk, the same route as the novice, but differently, a walk so simple it is affective and causes the novice to smile, to wipe her eyes. The nun stops, but briefly, then goes to her chair and sits. She observes the novice, her chin in one hand…)
You do not wish to leave
(The novice neither confirms nor denies this. The nun turns away. She waits, her hands folded on her knee. The novice places one hand on her heart. With the other she covers her eyes. The nun rises from her chair and leaves…)
*
38
A tram stop. A woman approaches, warily, as if it threatened her. She wears a coat, a scarf over her head, and carries a suitcase. She puts down the suitcase. Her hand, no longer occupied with the suitcase, twitches. She picks up the suitcase. She looks in both directions, as if uncertain where the tram will appear from. A man enters and stands behind her, starting a queue. He reads a newspaper. The woman puts down the suitcase and immediately picks it up again, a neurotic movement that the man observes but clandestinely. A second man enters and stands behind the first, his hands in his pockets. The woman, uncomfortable in her decision, quits the queue and takes a few steps back in the direction she came from, but stops. She seems unable to move forward or back. The second man watches. With a resolution, the woman returns but now joins the back of the queue and puts down the bag. A woman appears and stands behind her. A bell sounds in the distance. The queue looks round as one, and the woman, seeing the tram approaching strides away unhesitatingly, a move characterized by energy, decision, even elegance. The queue edges away to mount the tram. The bell clangs. When the tram has gone, the woman is seen approaching the stop with the same suspicious moves that characterized her first attempt at travelling, but now she puts the bag down, and undoing the clasps, opens it and removes a hat. She looks about her to see she is not observed and swiftly exchanges the headscarf for the hat. She closes the case. She goes to the stop. She puts down the suitcase. Again her hand writhes. She again picks it up. A couple arrive, arms around one another. They make a queue behind the woman, arms locked round one another’s waists, foreheads joined, eyes staring into eyes. With a sudden move the woman places herself behind them in the queue. She looks in the direction she now expects the tram to appear from, and the clang of its bell confirms its approach. As the couple disengage to board the tram, the woman hurries off, as if summoned. The couple move away. The bell clangs. In the returning silence the woman strolls back, casual, letting her heels scrape the ground and swinging the suitcase playfully. She goes to the stop, puts down the bag and plucks her gloves. She laughs, privately. The laugh is not extinguished by the appearance of a morose youth, who stands behind her with a book. His concentration on it, perhaps a self-defence, prevents him reacting to her repetitive bending from the waist to see if a tram is approaching. The clang of its bell inspires her to pluck up her case with a blithe impatience. She seems to move up to board but in the same way swerves off and marches away, this time laughing loudly, even ecstatically. The youth looks after her with faint interest, and the tram bell clangs. The stage is empty. The woman does not reappear…
*
39
An elegant woman, the lover of a decayed man, has found a style of walking which whilst maintaining her own dignity, never outpaces his. The man moves painfully on two sticks. She preserves a parallel course, only a few feet to his left. Her head turns, alert, taking in the view, the activity of a street. His head seems rigidly directed towards the ground. As they advance, the man lets fall one of his sticks, an accident that humiliates him. He stands, despairing. The woman, accustomed to every nuance of his decay, bends with a fine movement to recover the stick and goes to replace it
in his hand. The man shakes his head with despair, his hand shakes with self-loathing. The woman is patient, holding her posture. The man’s hand clenches into a fist of bitterness.
WOMAN: I said I would always love you
(He shudders with self-disgust…)
I said
I said
(At last his hand closes over the stick. Only then does the woman rise from her posture. They proceed. The woman is aware that this incident has been observed by a man. She observes this without being affected by it. After a few paces the decayed man drops the same stick again. The faintest suggestion of irritation might be seen in the woman’s features. In the hiatus before she bends to retrieve the fallen stick, the observing man moves swiftly and picks up the stick himself. His eyes do not meet the woman’s. He stoops, offering it to the decayed man. The decayed man, sensitive to every condescension, leaves the stick in the air until the apparently kind gesture seems foolish to the man who has made it. He shrugs. His eyes rise to the woman. The woman knows full well his purpose was never altruistic. She does nothing to assist him out of his dilemma, whilst knowing her own power over him. The man’s humiliation causes him to offer the stick to her instead. She declines to relieve him. The man swallows his pride, and lays the stick down, without a sound, on the ground. The decayed man has not moved or glanced once in his direction. The man awkwardly withdraws, looking over his shoulder at what might follow. The woman repeats the operation as before, adopting the same discreet but elegant pose. The decayed man exploits his weak position by not taking the stick until the woman is uncomfortable, and provoked…)
Barker, Plays Eight Page 23