Swift cross fade of lights to down centre area.
PETE is seen vaguely, standing downstage below LEN’S room. MARK is seated in his room. Unlit. LEN crouches, watching PETE.
Pete walks by the river. Under the woodyard wall stops. Stops. Hiss of the yellow grass. The wood battlements jaw over the wall. Dust in the fairground ticks. The night ticks. He hears the tick of the roundabout, up river with the sweat. Pete walks by the river. Under the woodyard wall stops. Stops. The wood hangs. Deathmask on the water. Pete walks by the—gull. Slicing gull. Gull. Down. He stops. Rat corpse in the yellow grass. Gull pads. Gull probes. Gull stamps his feet. Gull whinnies up. Gull screams, tears, Pete, tears, digs, Pete cuts, breaks, Pete stretches the corpse, flaps his wings, Pete’s beak grows, probes, digs, pulls, the river jolts, no moon, what can I see, the dwarfs collect, they slide down the bridge, they scutter by the shoreside, the dwarfs collect, capable, industrious, they wear raincoats, it is going to rain, Pete digs, he screws in to the head, the dwarfs watch, Pete tugs, he tugs, he’s tugging, he kills, he’s killing, the rat’s head, with a snap the cloth of the rat’s head tears. Pete walks by the … [Deep groan.]
He sinks into chair left of his table. Lights in LEN’S room swiftly fade up. PETE turns to him.
PETE: You look the worse for wear. What’s the matter with you?
LEN: I’ve been ill.
PETE: Ill? What’s the matter?
LEN: Cheese. Stale cheese. It got me in the end. I’ve been eating a lot of cheese.
PETE: Yes, well, it’s easy to eat too much cheese.
LEN: It all came out, in about twenty-eight goes. I couldn’t stop shivering and I couldn’t stop squatting. It got me all right. I’m all right now. I only go three times a day now. I can more or less regulate it. Once in the morning. A quick dash before lunch. Another quick dash after tea, and then I’m free to do what I want. I don’t think you understand. That cheese didn’t die. It only began to live when you swallowed it, you see, after it had gone down. I bumped into a German one night, he came home with me and helped me finish it off. He took it to bed with him, he sat up in bed with it, in the guest’s suite. I went in and had a gander. He had it taped. He was brutal with it. He would bite into it and then concentrate. I had to hand it to him. The sweat came out on his nose but he stayed on his feet. After he’d got out of bed, that was. Stood bolt upright, swallowed it, clicked his fingers, ordered another piece of blackcurrant pie. It’s my pie-making season. His piss stank worse than the cheese. You look in the pink.
PETE: You want to watch your step. You know that? You’re going from bad to worse. Why don’t you pull yourself together? Eh? Get a steady job. Cultivate a bit of go and guts for a change. Make yourself useful, mate, for Christ’s sake. As you are, you’re just a dead weight round everybody’s neck. You want to listen to your friends, mate. Who else have you got?
PETE taps him on the shoulder and exits. A light comes up on MARK. The lights in LEN’S room fade out. LEN rises to down centre.
LEN: Mark sits by the fireside. Crosses his legs. His fingers wear a ring. The finger poised. Mark regards his finger. He regards his legs. He regards the fireside. Outside the door is the black blossom. He combs his hair with an ebony comb, he sits, he lies, he lowers his eyelashes, raises them, sees no change in the posture of the room, lights a cigarette, watches his hand clasp the lighter, watches the flame, sees his mouth go forward, sees the consummation, is satisfied. Pleased, sees the smoke in the lamp, pleased with the lamp and the smoke and his bulk, pleased with his legs and his ring and his hand and his body in the lamp. Sees himself speaking, the words arranged on his lips, sees himself with pleasure silent.
Under the twigs they slide, by the lilac bush, break the stems, sit, scutter to the edge of the lawn and there wait, capable, industrious, put up their sunshades, watch. Mark lies, heavy, content, watches his smoke in the window, times his puff out, his hand fall, [with growing disgust] smiles at absent guests, sucks in all comers, arranges his web, lies there a spider.
LEN moves to above armchair in MARK’S room as lights fade up. Down centre area fades out.
What did you say?
MARK: I never said anything.
LEN: What do you do when you’re tired, go to bed?
MARK: That’s right.
LEN: You sleep like a log.
MARK: Yes.
LEN: What do you do when you wake up?
MARK: Wake up.
LEN: I want to ask you a question.
MARK: No doubt.
LEN: Are you prepared to answer questions?
MARK: No.
LEN: What do you do in the day when you’re not walking about?
MARK: I rest.
LEN: Where do you find a resting place?
MARK: Here and there.
LEN: By consent?
MARK: Invariably.
LEN: But you’re not particular?
MARK: Yes, I’m particular.
LEN: You choose your resting place?
MARK: Normally.
LEN: That might be anywhere?
MARK: Yes.
LEN: Does that content you?
MARK: Sure! I’ve got a home. I know where I live.
LEN: You mean you’ve got roots. Why haven’t I got roots? My house is older than yours. My family lived here. Why haven’t I got a home?
MARK: Move out.
LEN: Do you believe in God?
MARK: What?
LEN: Do you believe in God?
MARK: Who?
LEN: God.
MARK: God?
LEN: Do you believe in God?
MARK: Do I believe in God?
LEN: Yes.
MARK: Would you say that again?
LEN goes swiftly to shelf. Picks up biscuit jar. Offers to MARK.
LEN: Have a biscuit.
MARK: Thanks.
LEN: They’re your biscuits.
MARK: There’s two left. Have one yourself.
LEN puts biscuits away.
LEN: You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.
MARK: Really?
LEN: Do you know what the point is? Do you know what it is?
MARK: No.
LEN: The point is, who are you? Not why or how, not even what. I can see what, perhaps, clearly enough. But who are you? It’s no use saying you know who you are just because you tell me you can fit your particular key into a particular slot, which will only receive your particular key because that’s not foolproof and certainly not conclusive. Just because you’re inclined to make these statements of faith has nothing to do with me. It’s not my business. Occasionally I believe I perceive a little of what you are but that’s pure accident. Pure accident on both our parts, the perceived and the perceiver. It’s nothing like an accident, it’s deliberate, it’s a joint pretence. We depend on these accidents, on these contrived accidents, to continue. It’s not important then that it’s conspiracy or hallucination. What you are, or appear to be to me, or appear to be to you, changes so quickly, so horrifyingly, I certainly can’t keep up with it and I’m damn sure you can’t either. But who you are I can’t even begin to recognize, and sometimes I recognize it so wholly, so forcibly, I can’t look, and how can I be certain of what I see? You have no number. Where am I to look, where am I to look, what is there to locate, so as to have some surety, to have some rest from this whole bloody racket? You’re the sum of so many reflections. How many reflections? Whose reflections? Is that what you consist of? What scum does the tide leave? What happens to the scum? When does it happen? I’ve seen what happens. But I can’t speak when I see it. I can only point a finger. I can’t even do that. The scum is broken and sucked back. I don’t see where it goes. I don’t see when, what do I see, what have I seen? What have I seen, the scum or the essence? What about it? Does all this give you the right to stand there and tell me you know who you are? It’s a bloody impertinence. There’s a great desert and there’s a wind stopping. Pete’s been eating too much cheese, he�
��s ill from it, it’s eating his flesh away, but that doesn’t matter, you’re still both in the same boat, you’re eating all my biscuits, but that doesn’t matter, you’re still both in the same boat, you’re still standing behind the curtains together. He thinks you’re a fool, Pete thinks you’re a fool, but that doesn’t matter, you’re still both of you standing behind my curtains, moving my curtains in my room. He may be your Black Knight, you may be his Black Knight, but I’m cursed with the two of you, with two Black Knight’s, that’s friendship, that’s this that I know. That’s what I know.
MARK: Pete thinks I’m a fool? [Pause.] Pete … Pete thinks that I’m a fool?
LEN exits. Lights in MARK’S room fade out and then fade in again. Doorbell rings. MARK rises, goes off to front door.
Silence.
PETE [entering]: Hullo, Mark.
MARK [re-enters and sits again): Hullo.
PETE: What are you doing?
MARK: Nothing.
PETE: Can I sit down?
MARK: Sure.
Pete sits right armchair. Pause.
PETE: Well, what are you doing with yourself?
MARK: When’s that?
PETE: Now.
MARK: Nothing.
MARK files his nails.
[Pause.]
PETE: Len’s in hospital.
MARK: Len? What’s the matter with him?
PETE: Kidney trouble. Not serious. [Pause.] Well, what have you been doing with yourself?
MARK: When?
PETE: Since I saw you.
MARK: This and that.
PETE: This and what?
MARK: That.
[Pause.]
PETE: Do you want to go and see Len?
MARK: When? Now?
PETE: Yes. It’s visiting time. [Pause.] Are you busy?
MARK: No.
[Pause.]
PETE: What’s up?
MARK: What?
PETE: What’s up?
MARK: What do you mean?
PETE: You’re wearing a gasmask.
MARK: Not me.
[Pause.]
PETE [rising]: Ready?
MARK: Yes. [He rises and exits.]
PETE [as he follows mark off]: Fine day. [Pause.] Bit chilly.
The door slams as they leave the house. Lights up on LEN in hospital bed. Listening to wireless (earphones).
PETE and MARK enter.
LEN: You got here.
PETE [sitting left of bed]: Yes.
LEN: They can’t do enough for me here.
PETE: Why’s that?
LEN: Because I’m no trouble, [MARK sits right of bed.] They treat me like a king. These nurses, they treat me exactly like a king. [Pause.] Mark looks as though he’s caught a crab.
MARK: Do I?
PETE: Airy, this ward.
LEN: Best quality blankets, home cooking, everything you could wish for. Look at the ceiling. It’s not too high and it’s not too low.
[Pause.]
PETE: By the way, Mark, what happened to your pipe?
MARK: Nothing happened to it.
[Pause.]
LEN: You smoking a pipe? [Pause.] What’s it like out today?
PETE: Bit chilly.
LEN: Bound to be.
PETE: The sun’s come out.
LEN: The sun’s come out? [Pause.] Well, Mark, bring off the treble chance this week?
MARK: Not me.
[Pause.]
LEN: Who’s driving the tank?
PETE: What?
LEN: Who’s driving the tank?
PETE: Don’t ask me. We’ve been walking up the road back to back.
LEN: You’ve what? [Pause.] You’ve been walking up the road back to back? [Pause.] What are you doing sitting on my bed? You’re not supposed to sit on the bed, you’re supposed to sit on the chairs!
PETE [rising and moving off]: Well, give me a call when you get out. [He exits.]
MARK [rising and following him]: Yes give me a call. [He exits.]
LEN: [calling after them]: How do I know you’ll be in?
Blackout. Lights come up on MARK’S flat. MARK enters and sits. PETE enters, glances at MARK, sits.
PETE: Horizontal personalities, those places. You’re the only vertical. Makes you fed dizzy. [Pause.] You ever been inside one of those places?
MARK: I can’t remember.
PETE: Right. [Stubs out cigarette, rises, goes to exit.]
MARK: All right. Why do you knock on my door?
PETE: What?
MARK: Come on. Why do you knock on my door?
PETE: What are you talking about?
MARK: Why?
PETE: I call to see you.
MARK: What do you want with me? Why come and see me?
PETE: Why?
MARK: You’re playing a double game. You’ve been playing a double game. You’ve been using me. You’ve been leading me up the garden.
PETE: Mind how you go.
MARK: You’ve been wasting my time. For years.
PETE: Don’t push me boy.
MARK: You think I’m a fool.
PETE: Is that what I think?
MARK: That’s what you think. You think I’m a fool.
PETE: You are a fool.
MARK: You’ve always thought that.
PETE: From the beginning.
MARK: You’ve been leading me up the garden.
PETE: And you.
MARK: You know what you are? You’re an infection.
PETE: Don’t believe it. All I’ve got to do to destroy you is to leave you as you wish to be.
He walks out of the room. MARK stares, slowly goes off as lights fade. Lights come up on down centre area. Enter LEN.
LEN: They’ve stopped eating. It’ll be a quick get out when the whistle blows. All their belongings are stacked in piles. They’ve doused the fire. But I’ve heard nothing. What is the cause for alarm? Why is everything packed? Why are they ready for the off? But they say nothing. They’ve cut me off without a penny. And now they’ve settled down to a wide-eyed kip, crosslegged by the fire. It’s insupportable. I’m left in the lurch. Not even a stale frankfurter, a slice of bacon rind, a leaf of cabbage, not even a mouldy piece of salami, like they used to sling me in the days when we told old tales by suntime. They sit, chock-full. But I smell a rat. They seem to be anticipating a rarer dish, a choicer spread. And this change. All about me the change. The yard as I know it is littered with scraps of cat’s meat, pig bollocks, tin cans, bird brains, spare parts of all the little animals, a squelching, squealing carpet, all the dwarfs’ leavings spittled in the muck, worms stuck in the poisoned shit heaps, the alleys a whirlpool of piss, slime, blood, and fruit juice. Now all is bare. All is clean. All is scrubbed. There is a lawn. There is a shrub. There is a flower.
THE COLLECTION
The Collection was first presented by Associated Rediffusion Television, London, on 11 May, 1961, with the following cast:
HARRY, a man in his forties Griffith Jones
JAMES, a man in his thirties Anthony Bate
STELLA, a woman in her thirties Vivien Merchant
BILL, a man in his late twenties John Ronane
Directed by Joan Kemp-Welch
The play was first presented on the stage at the Aldwych Theatre on 18 June 1962, with the following cast:
HARRY Michael Hordern
JAMES Kenneth Haigh
STELLA Barbara Murray
BILL John Ronane
Directed by Peter Hall and Harold Pinter
AUTUMN
The stage is divided into three areas, two peninsulas and a promontory. Each area is distinct and separate from the other.
Stage left, HARRY’S house in Belgravia. Elegant décor. Period furnishing. This set comprises the living-room, hall, front door and staircase to first floor. Kitchen exit below staircase.
Stage right, JAMES’S flat in Chelsea. Tasteful contemporary furnishing. This set comprises the living-room only. Offstage right, other rooms and front do
or.
Upstage centre on promontory, telephone box.
THE COLLECTION
The telephone box is lit in a half light. A figure can be dimly observed inside it, with his back to the audience. The rest of the stage is dark. In the house the telephone is ringing. It is late at night.
Night light in house fades up. Street fades up.
HARRY approaches the house, opens the front door and goes in. He switches on a light in the hall, goes into the living-room, walks to the telephone and lifts it.
HARRY. Hullo.
VOICE. Is that you, Bill?
HARRY. No, he’s in bed. Who’s this?
VOICE. In bed?
HARRY. Who is this?
VOICE. What’s he doing in bed?
Pause.
HARRY. Do you know it’s four o’clock in the morning?
VOICE. Well, give him a nudge. Tell him I want a word with him. (Pause.)
Harold Pinter Plays 2 Page 9