Harold Pinter Plays 2

by Harold Pinter

  DAVIES. Just can’t get the hang of him, that’s all.

  MICK. I had a bit of beetroot somewhere. Must have mislaid it.

  Pause.

  DAVIES chews the sandwich. MICK watches him eat. He then rises and strolls downstage.

  Uuh … listen … can I ask your advice? I mean, you’re a man of the world. Can I ask your advice about something?

  DAVIES. You go right ahead.

  MICK. Well, what it is, you see, I’m … I’m a bit worried about my brother.

  DAVIES. Your brother?

  MICK. Yes … you see, his trouble is.…

  DAVIES. What?

  MICK. Well, it’s not a very nice thing to say.…

  DAVIES (rising, coming downstage). Go on now, you say it.

  MICK looks at him.

  MICK. He doesn’t like work.

  Pause.

  DAVIES. Go on!

  MICK. No, he just doesn’t like work, that’s his trouble.

  DAVIES. Is that a fact?

  MICK. It’s a terrible thing to have to say about your own brother.

  DAVIES. Ay.

  MICK. He’s just shy of it. Very shy of it.

  DAVIES. I know that sort.

  MICK. You know the type?

  DAVIES. I’ve met them.

  MICK. I mean, I want to get him going in the world.

  DAVIES. Stands to reason, man.

  MICK. If you got an older brother you want to push him on, you want to see him make his way. Can’t have him idle, he’s only doing himself harm. That’s what I say.

  DAVIES. Yes.

  MICK. But he won’t buckle down to the job.

  DAVIES. He don’t like work.

  MICK. Work shy.

  DAVIES. Sounds like it to me.

  MICK. You’ve met the type, have you?

  DAVIES. Me? I know that sort.

  MICK. Yes.

  DAVIES. I know that sort. I’ve met them.

  MICK. Causing me great anxiety. You see, I’m a working man: I’m a tradesman. I’ve got my own van.

  DAVIES. Is that a fact?

  MICK. He’s supposed to be doing a little job for me … I keep him here to do a little job … but I don’t know … I’m coming to the conclusion he’s a slow worker.

  Pause.

  What would your advice be?

  DAVIES. Well … he’s a funny bloke, your brother.

  MICK. What?

  DAVIES. I was saying, he’s … he’s a bit of a funny bloke, your brother.

  MICK stares at him.

  MICK. Funny? Why?

  DAVIES. Well … he’s funny.…

  MICK. What’s funny about him?

  Pause.

  DAVIES. Not liking work.

  MICK. What’s funny about that?

  DAVIES. Nothing.

  Pause.

  MICK. I don’t call it funny.

  DAVIES. Nor me.

  MICK. You don’t want to start getting hypercritical.

  DAVIES. No, no, I wasn’t that, I wasn’t … I was only saying.…

  MICK. Don’t get too glib.

  DAVIES. Look, all I meant was—

  MICK. Cut it! (Briskly.) Look! I got a proposition to make to you. I’m thinking of taking over the running of this place, you see? I think it could be run a bit more efficiently. I got a lot of ideas, a lot of plans. (He eyes DAVIES.) How would you like to stay on here, as caretaker?

  DAVIES. What?

  MICK. I’ll be quite open with you. I could rely on a man like you around the place, keeping an eye on things.

  DAVIES. Well now … wait a minute … I … I ain’t never done no caretaking before, you know.…

  MICK. Doesn’t matter about that. It’s just that you look a capable sort of man to me.

  DAVIES. I am a capable sort of man. I mean to say, I’ve had plenty offers in my time, you know, there’s no getting away from that.

  MICK. Well, I could see before, when you took out that knife, that you wouldn’t let anyone mess you about.

  DAVIES. No one messes me about, man.

  MICK. I mean, you’ve been in the services, haven’t you?

  DAVIES. The what?

  MICK. You been in the services. You can tell by your stance.

  DAVIES. Oh … yes. Spent half my life there, man. Over seas … like … serving … I was.

  MICK. In the colonies, weren’t you?

  DAVIES. I was over there. I was one of the first over there.

  MICK. That’s it. You’re just the man I been looking for.

  DAVIES. What for?

  MICK. Caretaker.

  DAVIES. Yes, well … look … listen … who’s the landlord here, him or you?

  MICK. Me. I am. I got deeds to prove it.

  DAVIES. Ah … (Decisively.) Well listen, I don’t mind doing a bit of caretaking, I wouldn’t mind looking after the place for you.

  MICK. Of course, we’d come to a small financial agreement,

  mutually beneficial.

  DAVIES. I leave you to reckon that out, like.

  MICK. Thanks. There’s only one thing.

  DAVIES. What’s that?

  MICK. Can you give me any references?

  DAVIES. Eh?

  MICK. Just to satisfy my solicitor.

  DAVIES. I got plenty of references. All I got to do is to go down to Sidcup tomorrow. I got all the references I want down there.

  MICK. Where’s that?

  DAVIES. Sidcup. He ain’t only got my references down there, he got all my papers down there. I know that place like the back of my hand. I’m going down there anyway, see what I mean, I got to get down there, or I’m done.

  MICK. So we can always get hold of these references if we want

  them.

  DAVIES. I’ll be down there any day, I tell you. I was going down today, but I’m … I’m waiting for the weather to break.

  MICK. Ah.

  DAVIES. Listen. You can’t pick me up a pair of good shoes, can you? I got a bad need for a good pair of shoes. I can’t get anywhere without a pair of good shoes, see? Do you think there’s any chance of you being able to pick me up a pair? THE LIGHTS FADE TO BLACKOUT.

  LIGHTS UP. Morning.

  ASTON is pulling on his trousers over long underwear. A slight grimace. He looks around at the head of his bed, takes a towel from the rail and waves it about. He pulls it down, goes to DAVIES and wakes him. DAVIES sits up abruptly.

  ASTON. You said you wanted me to get you up.

  DAVIES. What for?

  ASTON. You said you were thinking of going to Sidcup.

  DAVIES. Ay, that’d be a good thing, if I got there.

  ASTON. Doesn’t look much of a day.

  DAVIES. Ay, well, that’s shot it, en’t it?

  ASTON. I … I didn’t have a very good night again.

  DAVIES. I slept terrible.

  Pause.

  ASTON. You were making.…

  DAVIES. Terrible. Had a bit of rain in the night, didn’t it?

  ASTON. Just a bit.

  He goes to his bed, picks up a small plank and begins to sandpaper it.

  DAVIES. Thought so. Come in on my head.

  Pause.

  Draught’s blowing right in on my head, anyway.

  Pause.

  Can’t you close that window behind that sack?

  ASTON. You could.

  DAVIES. Well then, what about it, then? The rain’s coming right in on my head.

  ASTON. Got to have a bit of air.

  DAVIES gets out of bed. He is wearing his trousers, waistcoat and vest.

  DAVIES (putting on his sandals). Listen. I’ve lived all my life in the air, boy. You don’t have to tell me about air. What I’m saying is, there’s too much air coming in that window when I’m asleep.

  ASTON. Gets very stuffy in here without that window open.

  ASTON crosses to the chair, puts the plank on it, and continues sandpapering.

  DAVIES. Yes, but listen, you don’t know what I’m telling you. That bloody rain,
man, come right in on my head. Spoils my sleep. I could catch my death of cold with it, with that draught. That’s all I’m saying. Just shut that window and no one’s going to catch any colds, that’s all I’m saying.

  Pause.

  ASTON. I couldn’t sleep in here without that window open.

  DAVIES. Yes, but what about me? What … what you got to say about my position?

  ASTON. Why don’t you sleep the other way round?

  DAVIES. What do you mean?

  ASTON. Sleep with your feet to the window.

  DAVIES. What good would that do?

  ASTON. The rain wouldn’t come in on your head.

  DAVIES. No, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do that.

  Pause.

  I mean, I got used to sleeping this way. It isn’t me has to change, it’s that window. You see, it’s raining now. Look at it. It’s coming down now.

  Pause.

  ASTON. I think I’ll have a walk down to Goldhawk Road. I got talking to a man there. He had a saw bench. It looked in pretty good condition to me. Don’t think it’s much good to him.

  Pause.

  Have a walk down there, I think.

  DAVIES. Listen to that. That’s done my trip to Sidcup. Eh, what about closing that window now? It’ll be coming in here.

  ASTON. Close it for the time being.

  DAVIES closes the window and looks out.

  DAVIES. What’s all that under that tarpaulin out there?

  ASTON. Wood.

  DAVIES. What for?

  ASTON. To build my shed.

  DAVIES sits on his bed.

  DAVIES. You haven’t come across that pair of shoes you was going to look out for me, have you?

  ASTON. Oh. No. I’ll see if I can pick some up today.

  DAVIES. I can’t go out in this with these, can I? I can’t even go out and get a cup of tea.

  ASTON. There’s a café just along the road.

  DAVIES. There may be, mate.

  Dining ASTON’S speech the room grows darker.

  By the close of the speech only ASTON can be seen clearly. DAVIES and all the other objects are in the shadow. The fade-down of the light must be as gradual, as protracted and as unobtrusive as possible.

  ASTON. I used to go there quite a bit. Oh, years ago now. But I stopped. I used to like that place. Spent quite a bit of time in there. That was before I went away. Just before. I think that … place had a lot to do with it. They were all … a good bit older than me. But they always used to listen. I thought … they understood what I said. I mean I used to talk to them. I talked too much. That was my mistake. The same in the factory. Standing there, or in the breaks, I used to … talk about things. And these men, they used to listen, whenever I … had anything to say. It was all right. The trouble was, I used to have kind of hallucinations. They weren’t hallucinations, they … I used to get the feeling I could see things … very clearly … everything … was so clear … everything used … everything used to get very quiet … everything got very quiet … all this … quiet … and … this clear sight … it was … but maybe I was wrong. Anyway, someone must have said something. I didn’t know anything about it. And … some kind of lie must have got around. And this lie went round. I thought people started being funny. In that café. The factory. I couldn’t understand it. Then one day they took me to a hospital, right outside London. They … got me there. I didn’t want to go. Anyway … I tried to get out, quite a few times. But … it wasn’t very easy. They asked me questions, in there. Got me in and asked me all sorts of questions. Well, I told them … when they wanted to know … what my thoughts were. Hmmnn. Then one day … this man … doctor, I suppose … the head one … he was quite a man of … distinction … although I wasn’t so sure about that. He called me in. He said … he told me I had something. He said they’d concluded their examination. That’s what he said. And he showed me a pile of papers and he said that I’d got something, some complaint. He said … he just said that, you see. You’ve got … this thing. That’s your complaint. And we’ve decided, he said, that in your interests there’s only one course we can take. He said … but I can’t … exactly remember … how he put it … he said, we’re going to do something to your brain. He said … if we don’t, you’ll be in here for the rest of your life, but if we do, you stand a chance. You can go out, he said, and live like the others. What do you want to do to my brain, I said to him. But he just repeated what he’d said. Well, I wasn’t a fool. I knew I was a minor. I knew he couldn’t do anything to me without getting permission. I knew he had to get permission from my mother. So I wrote to her and told her what they were trying to do. But she signed their form, you see, giving them permission. I know that because he showed me her signature when I brought it up. Well, that night I tried to escape, that night. I spent five hours sawing at one of the bars on the window in this ward. Right throughout the dark. They used to shine a torch over the beds every half hour. So I timed it just right. And then it was nearly done, and a man had a … he had a fit, right next to me. And they caught me, anyway. About a week later they started to come round and do this thing to the brain. We were all supposed to have it done, in this ward. And they came round and did it one at a time. One a night. I was one of the last. And I could see quite clearly what they did to the others. They used to come round with these … I don’t know what they were … they looked like big pincers, with wires on, the wires were attached to a little machine. It was electric. They used to hold the man down, and this chief … the chief doctor, used to fit the pincers, something like earphones, he used to fit them on either side of the man’s skull. There was a man holding the machine, you see, and he’d … turn it on, and the chief would just press these pincers on either side of the skull and keep them there. Then he’d take them off. They’d cover the man up … and they wouldn’t touch him again until later on. Some used to put up a fight, but most of them didn’t. They just lay there. Well, they were coming round to me, and the night they came I got up and stood against the wall. They told me to get on the bed, and I knew they had to get me on the bed because if they did it while I was standing up they might break my spine. So I stood up and then one or two of them came for me, well, I was younger then, I was much stronger than I am now, I was quite strong then, I laid one of them out and I had another one round the throat, and then suddenly this chief had these pincers on my skull and I knew he wasn’t supposed to do it while I was standing up, that’s why I …. anyway, he did it. So I did get out. I got out of the place … but I couldn’t walk very well. I don’t think my spine was damaged. That was perfectly all right. The trouble was … my thoughts … had become very slow … I couldn’t think at all … I couldn’t … get … my thoughts … together … uuuhh … I could … never quite get it … together. The trouble was, I couldn’t hear what people were saying. I couldn’t look to the right or the left, I had to look straight in front of me, because if I turned my head round … I couldn’t keep … upright. And I had these headaches. I used to sit in my room. That was when I lived with my mother. And my brother. He was younger than me. And I laid everything out, in order, in my room, all the things I knew were mine, but I didn’t die. The thing is, I should have been dead. I should have died. Anyway, I feel much better now. But I don’t talk to people now. I steer clear of places like that café. I never go into them now. I don’t talk to anyone … like that. I’ve often thought of going back and trying to find the man who did that to me. But I want to do something first. I want to build that shed out in the garden.

  Curtain

  Act Three

  Two weeks later.

  MICK is lying on the floor, down left, his head resting on the rolled carpet, looking up at the ceiling.

  DAVIES is sitting in the chair, holding his pipe. He is wearing the smoking jacket. It is afternoon.

  Silence.

  DAVIES. I got a feeling he’s done something to them cracks.

  Pause.

  See, there’s been plenty of r
ain in the last week, but it ain’t been dripping into the bucket.

  Pause.

  He must have tarred it over up there.

  Pause.

  There was someone walking about on the roof the other night. It must have been him.

  Pause.

  But I got a feeling he’s tarred it over on the roof up there. Ain’t said a word to me about it. Don’t say a word to me.

  Pause.

  He don’t answer me when I talk to him.

  He lights a match, holds it to his pipe, and blows it.

  He don’t give me no knife!

  Pause.

  He don’t give me no knife to cut my bread.

  Pause.

  How can I cut a loaf of bread without no knife?

  Pause.

  It’s an impossibility.

  Pause.

  MICK. You’ve got a knife.

  DAVIES. What?

  MICK. You’ve got a knife.

  DAVIES. I got a knife, sure I got a knife, but how do you expect me to cut a good loaf of bread with that? That’s not a bread-knife. It’s nothing to do with cutting bread. I picked it up somewhere. I don’t know where it’s been, do I? No, what I want—

  MICK. I know what you want.

  Pause. DAVIES rises and goes to the gas stove.

  DAVIES. What about this gas stove? He tells me it’s not con nected. How do I know it’s not connected? Here I am, I’m sleeping right with it, I wake up in the middle of the night, I’m looking right into the oven, man! It’s right next to my face, how do I know, I could be lying there in bed, it might blow up, it might do me harm!

  Pause.

  But he don’t seem to take any notice of what I say to him. I told him the other day, see, I told him about them Blacks, about them Blacks coming up from next door, and using the lavatory. I told him, it was all dirty in there, all the banisters were dirty, they were black, all the lavatory was black. But what did he do? He’s supposed to be in charge of it here, he had nothing to say, he hadn’t got a word to say.

  Pause.

  Couple of weeks ago … he sat there, he give me a long chat … about a couple of weeks ago. A long chat he give me. Since then he ain’t said hardly a word. He went on talking there … I don’t know what he was … he wasn’t looking at me, he wasn’t talking to me, he don’t care about me. He was talking to himself! That’s all he worries about. I mean, you come up to me, you ask my advice, he wouldn’t never do a thing like that. I mean, we don’t have any conversation, you see? You can’t live in the same room with someone who … who don’t have any conversation with you.