by Tom Stoppard
Milne Oh – how do you do?
Ruth How do you do?
Wagner You’re staying the night here, Jake, leaving early tomorrow. Geoffrey will fill you in.
Milne Fine.
Wagner If the land-line is still out, one of you’d better get back here to file early Saturday to be safe. Either give Gigi your copy or bring his film out.
Milne OK. Don’t worry. What will you do?
Wagner Best I can. (to Ruth) Thanks for everything, (to Milne) See you.
Milne No hard feelings?
Wagner It was your story anyway. (He’s going but a thought strikes him.) Why did you choose the Globe?
Milne Well, Hammaker started on the Messenger. Didn’t you know that?
Wagner No, I didn’t.
Milne Yes. He’s famous in Grimsby.
Wagner (smiles) I bet.
Wagner goes. Ruth sits down.
Ruth What was that about no hard feelings?
Milne Dick isn’t very happy about the Globe using me. He’s a strong union man.
Ruth And you’re not.
Milne It’s not that. It’s just that I think journalism is … special. Dick thinks I’m naïve about newspapers.
Ruth And you’re not?
Milne Do you think I am?
Ruth I haven’t really had time to form an opinion.
Milne He thinks the Globe is a million packets of journalism manufactured every week by businessmen using journalists for their labour, along with typesetters, dispatchers and all the rest.
Ruth That is what the Globe is.
Milne No, it’s not. A free press, free expression – it’s the last line of defence for all the other freedoms.
Ruth I’ve formed an opinion.
Milne (laughs) No, really –
Ruth Why don’t you sit down?
Milne No, thanks. I’m still – you know …
Ruth Would you like a drink?
Milne No, thanks.
Ruth (holding out her empty glass) Would you be good enough …? Straight scotch.
Milne (taking the glass) Of course.
Ruth gets up.
‘Ruth’ Watch yourself, Tallulah. (She walks to the verandah steps.)
Milne (doing the drink) Dick wants union membership to be a licence to practise. ‘This man has been judged fit.’
He joins Ruth and gives her the scotch. She goes further into the garden and Milne follows her. At some point the room pivots out leaving us with the two of them in the garden. The room is no doubt visible at the side of the stage.
Like doctors and lawyers, I suppose.
Ruth Nothing wrong with that. Otherwise you’d have lawyers amputating the wrong leg. And doctors, um, trying their patients, ho, ho –
‘Ruth’ You’re giggling. Shut up.
Ruth Mining engineers have the same sort of thing, I believe, (earnestly) Terribly interesting.
Milne What is?
‘Ruth’ He’s got you there.
Ruth No – do go on. Professional standards. Don’t you think they’re important?
Milne Oh, yes. But nothing could be further from Dick’s mind. He’s honest about that. Others are less so. The fact is nobody’s going to be drummed out of the NUJ for professional incompetence – persistent inaccuracy or illiteracy or getting drunk at the Lord Mayor’s dinner. On the contrary it’s the union which is going to keep them in their jobs. No, what Dick wants is a right-thinking press – one that thinks like him.
Ruth So what? You’d like a right-thinking press, too. One that thinks like you.
Milne Sure I would, but I don’t intend to get it by denying employment to him.
Ruth Perhaps you should.
Milne Think about it.
Ruth (pause) Yes, quite.
‘Ruth’ Clarissa, who’s this rather interesting young man?
Milne Once you establish the machinery it’ll be there for someone else to use. Drum you out if you’re too left-wing, or not left-wing enough, or the wrong colour, or something.
Ruth Well, it would be up to you, wouldn’t it? Everybody’s got a vote.
Milne Everybody who’s allowed in would have a vote, yes.
Ruth You’re an alarmist, Jacob. On the whole people behave responsibly.
Milne On the whole because their behaviour is observed. Reported.
Ruth You’re a cynic.
Milne Me?
Ruth No, that can’t be right.
Milne It wouldn’t be like the Law Society or the BMA.
Ruth It would in principle. If some group got control of the Law Society, they’d be just as free to have only right-thinking solicitors. What then?
Milne Then you’d really need a free press, otherwise you may never find out about it. That’s the whole point. No matter how imperfect things are, if you’ve got a free press everything is correctable, and without it everything is concealable.
Ruth I’m with you on the free press. It’s the newspapers I can’t stand.
Milne (laughs) I know what you mean. They let me down too. Arguing with the Trots in the reporters room ‘The press is the last hope for democracy!!’ … and I’d find I’m thumping my fist on some starlet’s left nipple. You don’t have to tell me, I know it better than you – the celebration of inanity, and the way real tragedy is paraphrased into an inflationary spiral of hackneyed melodramas – Beauty Queen In Tug-Of-Love Baby Storm … Tug-Of-Love Baby Mum In Pools Win … Pools Man In Beauty Queen Drug Quiz. I know. It’s the price you pay for the part that matters.
‘Ruth’ I like that one who’s doing all the talking.
Milne It’s not easy to defend, but it’s mainly attacked for the wrong reasons. People think that rubbish-journalism is produced by men of discrimination who are vaguely ashamed of truckling to the lowest taste. But it’s not. It’s produced by people doing their best work. Proud of their expertise with a limited number of cheap devices to put a shine on the shit. Sorry. I know what I’m talking about because I started off like that, admiring it, trying to be that good, looking up to Fleet Street stringers, London men sometimes, on big local stories. I thought it was great. Some of the best times in my life have been spent sitting in a clapped-out Ford Consul outside a suburban house with a packet of Polos and twenty Players, waiting to grab a bereaved husband or a footballer’s runaway wife who might be good for one front page between oblivion and oblivion. I felt part of a privileged group, inside society and yet outside it, with a licence to scourge it and a duty to defend it, night and day, the street of adventure, the fourth estate. And the thing is – I was dead right. That’s what it was, and I was part of it because it’s indivisible. Junk journalism is the evidence of a society that has got at least one thing right, that there should be nobody with the power to dictate where responsible journalism begins. (Pause.) I’m sorry. I go on a bit. I’m not usually so wound up. It’s been an amazing day. I was the only reporter in Malakuangazi, you know. I mean, that story I sent over, it’s probably the best story I’ll ever get in my life.
Ruth You must be tired.
Milne Not a bit.
Ruth Hungry?
Milne Starving.
Ruth Then let’s eat.
Milne I’m sorry I talked so much.
Ruth No. I like you to talk.
She looks at him steadily, too long for his comfort.
Milne Thanks very much for having me here. I’ll go and sort myself out.
Milne goes into the lighted house. Ruth stays in the dark.
‘Ruth’ Run. Run, you stupid bitch.
Night into day.
Ruth has gone.
Dawn.
The jeep drives in. Francis at the wheel. Carson comes out of the house, shortly followed by Guthrie. Guthrie has changed some of his clothes, still blue denim or something non-military. He has his camera bag and another shoulder bag. Carson shouts up as though to an upstairs window.
Carson Jake! (He turns and sees Guthrie.) All set? Where’s Jake?
Guthrie What’s th
at?
Carson Your jeep.
Carson goes to the jeep to say something to Francis. Guthrie stays right downstage.
Guthrie I can see it’s a jeep. Wagner said a car.
Carson What’s the difference? Car, jeep. This isn’t a trip for a family saloon.
Guthrie is very angry and upset but still controlled.
Guthrie A family saloon is neutral. A jeep is a target. Listen – I know the game. I know the edge on every hand I’m dealt. It was the same in the Congo, Angola, Somalia. And it’s the same here.
Then he sees that Milne has come out of the house wearing army type clothing, including a camouflage-coloured cotton bush hat.
(Explodes) Oh, bloody hell, he’s dressed up like action man! (He takes the hat off Milne’s head and throws it on the ground.)
Milne What’s the matter? (He picks up the hat.)
Guthrie You don’t drive into an African war in a khaki shirt with epaulettes!
Carson What war? There isn’t going to be any war today.
Milne I’ve got a tennis shirt in my bag – I’ll change if you like.
Guthrie Did you bring your racket? This is crazy. Wagner should have done the trip.
Milne Thought you were on my side. Come on, Gigi – (He goes towards the jeep, and towards Carson.)
Carson Got it?
Milne pats the small bag he’s carrying.
Milne Got it.
Milne gets into the jeep. Francis guns the engine a little. Guthrie stands looking at the ground.
Well, are you coming or not?
Guthrie (quietly) Oh, shit.
Then he moves quickly to the jeep, puts his camera bag on board and swings on behind as the jeep starts to move.
Blackout.
Act Two
The room at night.
The room occupies the whole stage now.
Ruth sits in one of the comfortable chairs. She is wearing a long dress, not formal hut loose and comfortable, perhaps a kaftan; more dressed up than we have seen her, rich material but not gaudy. She sits facing the audience.
The room is not brightly lit, and the edges are in gloom.
Milne stands at the edge of the room, having just entered. He is dressed the way we first saw him.
Ruth doesn’t turn round.
Ruth Hello, Jacob, I’m glad it’s you. I’ve been holding my breath since I heard the jeep. I’m glad you’re back. I missed you, Jake. Actually, Jake, I … Christ, I’ve been missing you, Jake … (She turns round.)
Milne Hello.
Ruth Oh – hello!
Milne Thought you were having a snooze.
Ruth No, no. Good trip?
Milne Yes, thanks. Piece of cake.
Ruth Lots of scoops?
Milne Masses.
Ruth Come and sit down. Have a drink.
Milne No thanks. Where’s Geoffrey?
Ruth He’s away.
Milne I thought everybody would be asleep.
Ruth I felt like waiting up. Are you all right?
Milne Never better.
Ruth laughs.
What’s up?
Ruth Nothing. I like the way you have such a good time. Dashing around for the glory of the Globe. Grimsby man in Globe glory dash.
Milne You do think I’m naïve.
Ruth No I don’t.
Milne Too young and romantic.
Ruth That’s different.
Milne I expect I’ll end up like Dick.
Ruth I hope not.
Milne Dick’s all right. He’s a bit …
Ruth Wagnerian. (English pronunciation)
Milne I suppose he’s gone off with the press corps.
Ruth I suppose so. It’s nice that you’ve got us to come back to.
Milne Yes – a line to London on tap – one couldn’t ask for more. Oh – and present company included, of course.
‘Ruth’ Help.
Milne Well, I expect you’d like to go to bed.
‘Ruth’ I’m over here.
Milne I’ve got a piece to write.
‘Ruth’ To hell with that.
Milne You won’t mind if I try to get London later?
‘Ruth’ And to hell with London.
Milne I’m sure Geoffrey wouldn’t mind. Is he in KC?
‘Ruth’ Why don’t you shut up and kiss me.
Milne He said I could help myself.
‘Ruth’ So kiss me.
Milne Perhaps I should try for a line first – let them know I’m here.
Ruth I would prefer you to kiss me.
Milne Kiss you?
Pause. Ruth blinks and turns to him.
Ruth Yes.
Milne Well … um, I was just saying, I ought to establish contact with the office.
Ruth Yes. I think that would be a very sensible idea.
Milne Thank you.
Ruth But isn’t it rather late, or early, or something?
Milne It is here.
Ruth Oh yes. We seem to have got off the subject.
Milne Have you been out this evening?
Ruth No. Why?
Milne You look – a bit dressed up.
Ruth This old thing? I just threw it on as I stepped out of the shower.
Milne Ah. Jolly nice.
Ruth Wouldn’t do for the club at all.
Milne Is there a club?
Ruth The Jeddu Country Club. Very quiet since independence. They used to have Coronation dances, I believe. Now it’s billiards, bar and smoking room. I don’t play billiards but I drink and smoke. And they get all the important magazines – Country Life, Mining Review, Kambawe Today … and, you’ll be pleased to know, some of the London papers.
Milne Doesn’t sound bad at all. Are they flown in?
Ruth I don’t think so. We’re still getting the Morning Post. It’s all right, you don’t have to kiss me at all.
Milne It isn’t that I don’t think you’re attractive.
Ruth No. It’s just that Geoffrey has been damned decent to you …
Milne Well, yes. And even if he hadn’t …
Ruth It wouldn’t be right to make free with his possessions – his ox, his ass, his wife –
Milne Wait a minute. (He pauses, concentrating for four or five seconds – he looks at her.) No.
Ruth Well, I’m glad it wasn’t instantaneous.
Milne I mean your argument. It sounds good but it’s not. I might make free with his ox and his ass – or his jeep – because they are merely his possessions. But if I indulged my desire for you I would be numbering you among them. As it is, it seems I regard a wife as different from a jeep, which puts me in the forefront of enlightened thinking, (smiles) Wouldn’t you say?
Ruth What desire for me?
Milne Oh, crikey.
Ruth Had any lewd thoughts?
Milne I told you I found you attractive.
Ruth Tell me about the lewd thoughts.
Milne No.
Ruth Oh, come on. Don’t be such a spoil-sport. There you are, in the jeep. The sun beats down. Bwana Guthrie is taking pictures of nature and poverty for the colour magazine. Tracker Francis is keeping his eye on the road. Your thoughts drift … ‘I say, that Ruth Carson, she’s all woman.’ Carry on from there.
Milne won’t.
Did you undress me?
Milne No.
Ruth I kept my clothes on?
Milne You undressed yourself.
Ruth Ah. Was it dark or daylight? On a bed? On the floor? Long grass? In the jeep? (Pause.) It was in the jeep.
Milne (sharply) No, it wasn’t. (Pause.) It was in a parallel world. No day or night, no responsibilities, no friction, almost no gravity.
Ruth I know it. How was I?
Milne (exasperated) Ruth.
Ruth You were good. It’s about time you called me Ruth.
Milne Show some, then. Ruth: that which is lacking in ruthlessness. It comes into Milton. ‘Look homeward angel, now, and melt with ruth.’ Compassion – contrition. Something like that.
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Ruth I’m not really a tart.
Milne No – of course.
Ruth I was almost a tart with my first husband, but he was a rotter in his own way. He was frankly proud of his left-hook.
Milne Was he?
Ruth Unjustifiably so. You could slip it quite easily and get him with a right-cross. What a way to live. To get me, all Geoffrey had to do was clear his throat and hold the door.
Milne Did you love him too?
Ruth Of course I loved him – loved Africa. Just like Deborah Kerr in King Solomon’s Mines before the spider got into her underwear. And I haven’t been a tart with Geoffrey. Slipped once, but that was in a hotel room and hotel rooms shouldn’t count as infidelity. They constitute a separate moral universe. Anyway, I had terrible PCR, and a tart wouldn’t, would she?
Milne What’s PCR?
Ruth Post-coital remorse. Post-coital ruth. Quite needlessly – I mean, it’s a bit metaphysical to feel guilt about the idea of Geoffrey being hurt if Geoffrey is in a blissful state of ignorance – don’t you think?
Milne No.
Ruth No. Fresh start. Hello! – had a good trip? (Pause.) I don’t know. I got into a state today.
Ruth’s fingers play on the arm of her chair: distant piano is heard – ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’ – just a fragment of it – it is interrupted by Milne.
Milne What sort of state?
Ruth Itchy. I’m telling you this because it is interesting, you understand. Went to bed feeling nothing more dangerous than a heightened sense of you being in the house. Woke up fluttering with imminent risk. Quite a pleasant feeling, really. Like walking along the top board knowing you don’t have to jump. But a desperate feeling, too, because if you’re not going to jump what the hell are you doing up there? So I got dressed to say goodbye to you. Really. Dressed for it. ‘What shall I wear to say goodbye to Jake?’ Don’t feel flattered. You look like you look, and you’ve got a way of being gauche which suggests that you’ve got the edge on people who know the ground and prepare their effects – I was attracted, as it happens, but it’s like throwing a pair when you’ve got three-of-a-kind on the table. This time, bingo, but no use at all to anyone looking for a straight. Anyway, while I was dressing for this intensely laconic farewell, you’d been gone an hour. Geoffrey hadn’t wanted to wake me. He’s thoughtful about things like that. Saying goodbye would have taken care of it, I expect. It was finding you gone that did it. Quietus interruptus. I went peculiar. I lost my view of myself. I was unembarrassable. Your sheets were cold. Pillow had no smell. You say something.