Plays 5

by Tom Stoppard

  Annie It’s his view of the world. Perhaps from where he’s standing you’d see it the same way.

  Henry Or perhaps I’d realize where I’m standing. Or at least that I’m standing somewhere. There is, I suppose, a world of objects which have a certain form, like this coffee mug. I turn it, and it has no handle. I tilt it, and it has no cavity. But there is something real here which is always a mug with a handle. I suppose. But politics, justice, patriotism – they aren’t even like coffee mugs. There’s nothing real there separate from our perception of them. So if you try to change them as though there were something there to change, you’ll get frustrated, and frustration will finally make you violent. If you know this and proceed with humility, you may perhaps alter people’s perceptions so that they behave a little differently at that axis of behaviour where we locate politics or justice; but if you don’t know this, then you’re acting on a mistake. Prejudice is the expression of this mistake.

  Annie Or such is your perception.

  Henry All right.

  Annie And who wrote it, why he wrote it, where he wrote it – none of these things count with you?

  Henry Leave me out of it. They don’t count. Maybe Brodie got a raw deal, maybe he didn’t. I don’t know. It doesn’t count. He’s a lout with language. I can’t help somebody who thinks, or thinks he thinks, that editing a newspaper is censorship, or that throwing bricks is a demonstration while building tower blocks is social violence, or that unpalatable statement is provocation while disrupting the speaker is the exercise of free speech … Words don’t deserve that kind of malarkey. They’re innocent, neutral, precise, standing for this, describing that, meaning the other, so if you look after them you can build bridges across incomprehension and chaos. But when they get their corners knocked off, they’re no good any more, and Brodie knocks corners off without knowing he’s doing it. So everything he builds is jerry-built. It’s rubbish. An intelligent child could push it over. I don’t think writers are sacred, but words are. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones in the right order, you can nudge the world a little or make a poem which children will speak for you when you’re dead.

  Annie goes to the typewriter, pulls out the page from the machine and reads it.

  Annie ‘Seventy-nine. Interior. Commander’s capsule. From Zadok’s p.o.v. we see the green glow of the laser strike-force turning towards us. BCU Zadok’s grim smile. Zadok: “I think it’s going to work. Here they come!” Kronk, voice over: “Hold your course!” Zadok: –’

  Henry (interrupts) That’s not words, that’s pictures. The movies. Anyway, alimony doesn’t count. If Charlotte made it legal with that architect she’s shacked up with, I’d be writing the real stuff.

  Annie lets the page drop on to the typewriter.

  Annie You never wrote mine.

  Henry That’s true. I didn’t. I tried.

  I can’t remember when I last felt so depressed.

  Oh yes. Yesterday.

  Don’t be rotten to me. I’ll come to Glasgow and I’ll sit in your dressing-room and I’ll write Kronk and Zadok every night while you’re doing ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore.

  Annie I’m not going to Glasgow.

  Henry Yes, you bloody are.

  Annie No I’m bloody not. We’ll get Brodie’s play off the ground. I want to do it. I want to do it. Don’t I count? Hen? (Pause.) Well, I can see it’s difficult for a man of your fastidious tastes. Let’s have some literacy. Something decent.

  Annie stabs her finger on to the small radio on Henry’s desk. Quietly it starts playing pop. She starts to go out of the room.

  Henry (exasperated) Why Brodie? Do you fancy him or what?

  She looks back at him and he sees that he has made a mistake.

  I take it back.

  Annie Too late. (She leaves the room.)

  SCENE SIX

  Annie and Billy.

  Annie is sitting by the window of a moving train. She is immersed in a paperback book.

  Billy walks into view and pauses, looking at her for a moment. She is unaware of his presence. He carries a zipped grip bag. He speaks with a Scottish accent.

  Billy Excuse me, is this seat taken?

  Annie hardly raises her eyes.

  Annie No.

  Billy sits down next to or opposite her. He puts the grip on the seat next to him. He looks at her. She doesn’t look up from her book. He looks at his watch and then out of the window and then back at her.

  Billy You’d think with all these Fascists the trains would be on time.

  Annie looks up at him and jumps a mile. She gives a little squeal.

  Annie Jesus, you gave me a shock. (She looks at him, pleased and amused.) You fool.

  Billy drops the accent.

  Billy Hello.

  Annie I didn’t know you were on the train.

  Billy Yes, well, there you are. How are you?

  Annie All right. I gather you read it, then.

  Billy Brodie’s play? Yes, I read it.

  Annie And?

  Billy He can’t write.

  Small pause.

  Annie I know. I just thought it was something you’d do well.

  Billy Oh, yes. I could do a job on it. Are you going to do it?

  Annie I hope so. Not as it is, I suppose. Thank you for reading it anyway.

  Billy Do you mind me coming to sit with you?

  Annie No, not at all.

  Billy It doesn’t mean we have to talk.

  Annie It’s all right.

  Billy How do you feel?

  Annie Scared. I’m always scared. I think, this is the one where I get found out.

  Billy Well, better in Glasgow.

  Annie Is anyone else on this train?

  Billy No, we’re completely alone.

  Annie I mean any of us, the others.

  Billy I don’t know. Some of them are flying up, on the shuttle.

  Annie I fancied the train.

  Billy I fancied it with you.

  Annie meets his look.

  Annie Billy …

  Billy What did you think when you saw me?

  Annie Just now?

  Billy No. On the first day.

  Annie I thought God, he’s so young.

  Billy (Scottish) I’ve lived more than you’ll ever live.

  Annie All right, all right.

  Billy I’m the one who should be scared. You’re smashing.

  Annie I don’t feel right.

  Billy You seem right to me.

  Annie I’m older than you.

  Billy That doesn’t matter.

  Annie I’m a lot older. I’m going to look more like your mother than your sister.

  Billy That’s all right, so long as it’s incest. Anyway, I like older women.

  Annie Billy, you mustn’t keep flirting with me.

  Billy Why not?

  Annie Well, because there’s no point. Will you stop?

  Billy No. Is that all right?

  Pause.

  Annie Did you know I was going to be on this train?

  Billy (nods) Watched you get on. I thought I’d come and find you when it got started.

  Annie You certainly thought about it.

  Billy I had to wait until the inspector came round. I haven’t got a first-class ticket.

  Annie What will you do if he comes back?

  Billy I’ll say you’re my mum. How come you get a first-class ticket?

  Annie I don’t really. I’m afraid I upped it myself.

  Billy You approve of the class system?

  Annie You mean on trains or in general?

  Billy In general. Travelling first-class.

  Annie There’s no system. People group together when they’ve got something in common. Sometimes it’s religion and sometimes it’s, I don’t know, breeding budgies or being at Eton. Big and small groups overlapping. You can’t blame them. It’s a cultural thing; it’s not classes or system. (She makes a connection.) There’s nothing really there – it’s just the
way you see it. Your perception.

  Billy Bloody brilliant. There’s people who’ve spent their lives trying to get rid of the class system, and you’ve done it without leaving your seat.

  Annie Well …

  Billy The only problem with your argument is that you’ve got to be travelling first-class to really appreciate it.

  Annie I …

  Billy Where do you get all that from? Did you just make it up? It’s daft. I prefer Brodie. He sounds like rubbish, but you know he’s right. You sound all right, but you know it’s rubbish.

  Annie Why won’t you do his play, then?

  Billy I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I’ll do it if you’re doing it.

  Annie You shouldn’t do it for the wrong reasons.

  Billy Why not? Does he care?

  Annie You said he can’t write.

  Billy He can’t write like your husband. But your husband’s a first-class writer.

  Annie Are you being nasty about Henry?

  Billy No. I saw House of Cards. I thought it was quite good.

  Annie He’ll be relieved to hear that.

  Pause.

  Billy Don’t go off me.

  Annie If you weren’t a child, you’d know that you won’t get anywhere with a married woman if you’re snotty about her husband. Remember that with the next one.

  Billy I’faith, I mean no harm, sister. I’m just scared sick of you. How is’t with ye?

  Annie I am very well, brother.

  Billy Trust me, but I am sick; I fear so sick ‘twill cost my life.

  Annie Mercy forbid it! ’Tis not so, I hope.

  Billy I think you love me, sister.

  Annie Yes, you know I do.

  Billy I know’t, indeed. You’re very fair.

  Annie Nay, then, I see you have a merry sickness.

  Billy That’s as it proves. The poets feign, I read,

  That Juno for her forehead did exceed

  All other goddesses; but I durst swear

  Your forehead exceeds hers, as hers did theirs.

  Annie ’Troth, this is pretty!

  Billy Such a pair of stars

  As are thine eyes would, like Promethean fire,

  If gently glanced, give life to senseless stones.

  Annie Fie upon ye!

  Billy The lily and the rose, most sweetly strange,

  Upon your dimpled cheeks do strive for change:

  Such lips would tempt a saint; such hands as those

  Would make an anchorite lascivious.

  Annie O, you are a trim youth!

  Billy Here! (His ‘reading’ has been getting less and less discreet. Now he stands up and opens his shirt.)

  Annie (giggling) Oh, leave off. (She looks around nervously.)

  Billy (starting to shout)

  And here’s my breast; strike home!

  Rip up my bosom; there thou shalt behold

  A heart in which is writ the truth I speak.

  Annie You daft idiot.

  Billy Yes, most earnest. You cannot love?

  Annie Stop it.

  Billy My tortured soul

  Hath felt affliction in the heat of death.

  Oh, Annabella, I am quite undone!

  Annie Billy!

  SCENE SEVEN

  Henry and Charlotte and Debbie.

  The living-room of Scene Two, without all the records. Charlotte is searching through a file of newspaper cuttings and programmes. A large, loaded ruck-sack is sitting by the door. Debbie is smoking.

  Henry Since when did you smoke?

  Debbie I don’t know. Years. At school. Me and Terry used to light up in the boiler room.

  Henry I and Terry.

  Debbie I and Terry. Are you sure?

  Henry It doesn’t sound right but it’s correct. I paid school fees so that you wouldn’t be barred by your natural disabilities from being taught Latin and learning to speak English.

  Charlotte I thought it was so that she’d be a virgin a bit longer.

  Henry It was also so that she’d speak English. Virgo syntacta.

  Debbie You were done, Henry. Nobody left the boiler room virgo with Terry.

  Henry I wish you’d stop celebrating your emancipation by flicking it at me like a wet towel. Did the staff know about this lout, Terry?

  Debbie He was on the staff. He taught Latin.

  Henry Oh well, that’s all right then.

  Charlotte Apparently she’d already lost it riding anyway.

  Henry That doesn’t count.

  Charlotte In the tackroom.

  Henry God’s truth. The groom.

  Charlotte That’s why he was bow-legged.

  Henry I told you – I said you’ve got to warn her about being carried away.

  Debbie You don’t get carried away in jodhpurs. It needs absolute determination.

  Henry Will you stop this.

  Charlotte No. I can’t find it. It was yonks ago. I mean, not being catty, I was nearer the right age.

  Henry Does it really matter who played Giovanni to your Annabella in ’Tis Pity Shes a Whore?

  Charlotte I just think it’s awful to have forgotten his name.

  Debbie Perhaps he’s forgotten yours.

  Charlotte But it was my virginity, not his.

  Debbie Was it actually on stage?

  Charlotte Don’t be silly – it was a British Council tour. No, it was in a boarding house in Zagreb.

  Debbie A bawdy house?

  Charlotte The British Council has a lot to answer for.

  Henry Look, we’re supposed to be discussing a family crisis.

  Charlotte What’s that?

  Henry Our daughter going on the streets.

  Debbie On the road, not the streets.

  Charlotte Stop being so dramatic.

  Henry I have a right to be dramatic.

  Charlotte I see what you mean.

  Henry I’m her father.

  Charlotte Oh, I see what you mean.

  Henry She’s too young to go off with a man.

  Charlotte She’s certainly too young to go off without one. It’s all right. He’s nice. (She has given up her search of the file and now leaves carrying the file. To Debbie) If I’m in the bath when he comes I want to see you both before you disappear. (She goes out.)

  Henry What does he play?

  Debbie looks blank.

  Ma said he’s a musician.

  Debbie Oh – um – steam organ …

  Henry A travelling steam organist? (Pause.) He’s not a musician.

  Debbie Fairground.

  Henry Well, swings and roundabouts.

  Debbie Tunnel of love. How’s Annie?

  Henry In Glasgow.

  Debbie Don’t worry, Henry, I’ll be happy.

  Henry Happy? What do you mean happy?

  Debbie Happy! Like a warm puppy.

  Henry Dear Christ, is that what it’s all come down to? – no philosophy that can’t be printed on a T-shirt. You don’t get visited by happiness like being lucky with the weather. The weather is the weather.

  Debbie And happiness?

  Henry Happiness is … equilibrium. Shift your weight.

  Debbie Are you happy, Henry?

  Henry I don’t much like your calling me Henry. I liked being called Fa. Fa and Ma.

  Debbie Happy days, eh? How’re the Everlys getting on? And the Searchers. How’s old Elvis?

  Henry He’s dead.

  Debbie I did know that. I mean how’s he holding up apart from that?

  Henry I never went for him much. ‘All Shook Up’ was the last good one. However, I suppose that’s the fate of all us artists.

  Debbie Death?

  Henry People saying they preferred the early stuff.

  Debbie Well, maybe you were better then.

  Henry Didn’t you like the last one?

  Debbie What, House of Cards? Well, it wasn’t about anything, except did she have it off or didn’t she? What a crisis. Infidelity among the architect class. Again.

&
nbsp; Henry It was about self-knowledge through pain.

  Debbie No, it was about did she have it off or didn’t she. As if having it off is infidelity.

  Henry Most people think it is.

  Debbie Most people think not having it off is fidelity. They think all relationships hinge in the middle. Sex or no sex. What a fantastic range of possibilities. Like an on/off switch. Did she or didn’t she. By Henry Ibsen. Why would you want to make it such a crisis?

  Henry I don’t know, why would I?

  Debbie It’s what comes of making such a mystery of it. When I was twelve I was obsessed. Everything was sex. Latin was sex. The dictionary fell open at meretrix, a harlot. You could feel the mystery coming off the word like musk. Meretrix! This was none of your mensa-a-table, this was a flash from the forbidden planet, and it was everywhere. History was sex, French was sex, art was sex, the Bible, poetry, penfriends, games, music, everything was sex except biology which was obviously sex but obviously not really sex, not the one which was secret and ecstatic and wicked and a sacrament and all the things it was supposed to be but couldn’t be at one and the same time – I got that in the boiler room and it turned out to be biology after all. That’s what free love is free of – propaganda.

  Henry Don’t get too good at that.

  Debbie What?

  Henry Persuasive nonsense. Sophistry in a phrase so neat you can’t see the loose end that would unravel it. It’s flawless but wrong. A perfect dud. You can do that with words, bless ’em. How about ‘What free love is free of, is love’? Another little gem. You could put a ‘what’ on the end of it, like Bertie Wooster, ‘What free love is free of is love, what?’ – and the words would go on replicating themselves like a spiral of DNA … ‘What love is free of love? – free love is what love, what? –’

  Debbie (interrupting) Fa. You’re going on.

  Henry Yes. Well, I remember, the first time I succumbed to the sensation that the universe was dispensable minus one lady –

  Debbie Don’t write it, Fa. Just say it. The first time you fell in love. What?