by Tom Stoppard
GUIL meanwhile has approached the other spy, brow creased in thought.
PLAYER ( to GUIL): Are you familiar with this play?
GUIL: No.
PLAYER: A slaughterhouse---eight corpses all told. It brings out the best in us.
GUIL ( tense, progressively rattled during the whole mime and commentary): You!---What do you know about death?
PLAYER: It's what the actors do best. They have to exploit whatever talent is given to them, and their talent is dying. They can die heroically, comically, ironically, slowly, suddenly, disgustingly, charmingly, or from a great height. My own talent is more general. I extract significance from melodrama, a significance which it does not in fact contain; but occasionally, from out of this matter, there escapes a thin beam of light that, seen at the right angle, can crack shell of mortality.
ROS: Is that all they can do---die?
PLAYER: No, no---they kill beautifully. In fact some of them Id even better than they die.
The rest die better than they They're a team.
ROS: Which ones are which?
PLAYER: There's not much in it.
GUIL ( tear, derision): Actors! The mechanics of cheap melodrama! That isn't death! ( More quietly. ) You scream and choke and sink to your knees, but it doesn't bring ~ home to anyone---it doesn't catch them unawares and start the whisper in their skulls that says---"One day you are going to die." ( He straightens up. ) You die so many times; how can you expect them to believe in your death?
PLAYER: On the contrary, it's the only kind they do believe. They're conditioned to it. I had an actor once who was condemned to hang for stealing a sheep--- -or a lamb, I forget which---so I got permission to have him hanged in the middle of a play---had to change the plot a bit but I thought it would be effective, you know---and you wouldn't believe it, he just wasn't convincing! It was impossible to suspend one's disbelief---and what with the audience jeering and throwing peanuts, the whole thing was a disaster!---he did nothing but cry all the time---right out of character---just stood there and cried...
Never again.
In good burnout he has already turned back to the mime: the two SPIES awaiting execution at the hands of the PLAYER , who takes his dagger out of his belt.
Audiences know what to expect, and that is all that they are prepared to believe in. ( To the SPIES:) Show!
The SPIES die at some length, rather well. The light has begun to go, and it fades as they die, and as GUIL speaks.
GUIL: No, no, no... you've got it all wrong... you can't act death. The fact of it is nothing to do with seeing it happen ---it's not gasps and blood and falling about---that isn't what makes it death. It's just a man failing to reappear, that's all ---now you see him, now you don't, that the only thing that's real: here one minute and gone the next and never coming back---an exit, unobtrusive and unannounced, a disappearance gathering weight as it goes on, until, finally, it is heavy with death.
The two SPIES lie still, barely visible. The PLAYER Comes forward and throws the SPIES' cloaks over their bodies. ROS starts to clap, slowly. BLACKOUT. A second of silence, then much noise. Shouts . "The King rises!-... "Give o'er the play!" and cries for "Lights lights, lightsl" When the light comes, after a few seconds, it comes a sunrise. The stage is empty save for two cloaked figures sprawl, the ground in the approximate positions last held by the dead SPIES. As the light grows, they are seen to be ROS and GUIL and to be resting quite comfortably. ROS raises himself elbows and shades his eyes as he stares into the audience. Finally:
ROS: That must be cast, then. I think we can assume that
GUIL: I'm assuming nothing.
ROS: No, it's all right. That the sun. East.
GUIL ( looks up): Where?
ROS: I watched it come up.
GUIL: No... it was light all the time, you see, and you a your eyes very, very slowly. If you'd been facing back there you'd be swearing that was east.
ROS ( standing up): You're a mass of prejudice.
GUIL: I've been taken in before.
ROS ( looks out over the audience): Rings a bell.
GUIL: They're waiting to see what were going to do.
ROS: Good old east
GUIL: As soon as we make a move they'll come pouring every side, shouting obscure instructions, confusing ridiculous remarks, messing us about from here to breakfast and getting our names wrong.
ROS starts to protest but he has hardly opened his mouth before:
CLAUDIUS ( off stage-with urgency): Ho, Guildenstern!
GUIL is still prone. Small pause.
ROS AND GUIL: You're wanted…
GUIL furiously leaps to his feet as CLAUDIUS and GERTRUDE enter. They are in some desperation.
CLAUDIUS: Friends both, go join you with some further aid: Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, and from his mother's closet hath he dragged him. Go seek him out; speak fair and bring the body into the chapel. I pray you haste in this. ( As he and GERTRUDE are hurrying out. ) Come Gertrude, well call up our wisest friends and lot them know both what we mean to do...
They've gone. ROS and GUIL remain quite still.
GUIL: Well...
ROS: Quite.
GUIL: Well, then.
ROS: Quite, quite. ( Nods with spurious confidence. ) Seek him out. ( Pause. ) Etcetera.
GUIL: Quite.
ROS: Well. ( Small pause. ) Well, that's a step in the right direction.
GUIL: You didn't like him?
ROS: Who?
GUIL: Good God, I hope more tears are shed for us!
ROS: Well, it's progress, isn't it? Something positive. Seek him out. ( Looks round without moving his feet. ) Where does one begin... ? ( Takes one step towards the wings and halts. )
GUIL: Well, that's a step in the right direction.
ROS: You think so? He could be anywhere.
GUIL: All right-you go that way, I'll go this way.
ROS: Right.
They walk towards opposite wings. ROS halts.
N o.
GUIL halts.
You go this way---I'll go that way.
GUIL: All right.
They march towards each other, cross. ROS halts.
ROS: Wait a minute.
GUIL halts.
I think we should stick together. He might be violent.
GUIL: Good point. I'll come with you.
GUIL marches across to ROS . They turn to leave. ROS halts.
ROS: No, I’ll come with you.
GUIL: Right.
They turn, march across to the opposite wing. ROS halls. GUIL halts.
ROS: I'll come with you, my way.
GUIL: All right.
They turn again and march across. ROS halts. GUIL halts.
ROS: I've just thought. If we both go, he could come here. That would be stupid, wouldn't it?
GUIL: All right---I'll stay, you go.
ROS: Right.
GUIL marches to midstage.
I say.
GUIL wheels and carries on marching back towards ROS , who starts marching downstage. They cross. ROS halts.
I've just thought.
GUIL halts.
We ought to stick together; he might be violent.
GUIL: Good point.
GUIL marches down to join ROS . They stand still for a moment in their original positions.
Well, at last we're getting somewhere.
Pause.
Of course, he might not come.
ROS ( airily): Oh, he'll come.
GUIL: We'd have some explaining to do.
ROS: He'll come. ( Airily wanders upstage. ) Don't worry-take my word for it-( Looks out-is appalled. ) He's coming!
GUIL: What's he doing?
ROS: Walking.
GUIL: Alone?
ROS: No.
GUIL: Not walking?
ROS: No.
GUIL: Who's with him?
ROS: The old man.
GUIL: Walking?
ROS: No.
GUIL: Ah. That's an o
pening if ever there was one. ( And is suddenly galvanized into action. ) Let him walk into the trap!
ROS: What trap?
GUIL: You stand there! Don't let him pass!
He positions ROS with his back to one wing, facing HAMLET 's entrance. GUIL
positions himself next to ROS , a few feet away they are covering one side of the stage, facing the opposite side. GUIL unfastens his belt. ROS does the same. They join the two belts, and hold them taut between them. it trousers slide slowly down. HAMLET
enters opposite, slowly, dragging POLONIUS 's body. He enters upstage, makes a small arc and leaves by side, a few feet downstage. ROS and GUIL , holding the belts taut, stare at him in some bewilderment. HAMLET leaves, dragging the body. They relax the the belts.
ROS: That was close.
GUIL: There's a limit to what two people can do.
They undo the belts. ROS pulls up his trousers.
ROS ( worriedly --he walks a few paces towards HAMLET): was dead.
GUIL: Of course he's dead!
ROS ( turns to GUIL): Properly.
GUIL: ( angrily): Death's death, isn't it?
ROS falls silent. Pause.
Perhaps hell come back this way.
ROS starts to take off his belt.
No, no, no!-if we can't learn by experience, what else have we got?
ROS desists. Pause.
ROS: Give him a shout.
GUIL: I thought we'd been into all that.
ROS ( shouts): Hamlet!
GUIL: Don't be absurd.
ROS ( shouts): Lord Hamlet!
HAMLET enters. ROS is a little dismayed.
What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
HAMLET: Compounded it with dust, whereto is kin.
ROS: Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence and bear it to the chapel.
HAMLET: Do not believe it.
ROS: Believe what?
HAMLET: That I can keep your counsel and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge, what replication should be made by the son of a king?
ROS: Take you me for a sponge, my lord?
HAMLET: Ay, sir, that soaks up the King's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end. He keeps them, like an ape, in the comer of his jaw, first mouthed, to be last swallowed. When he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again.
ROS: I understand you not, my lord.
HAMLET: I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish car.
ROS: My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to the King.
HAMLET: The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body. The King is a thing GUIL: A thing, my lord-?
HAMLET: Of nothing. Bring me to him.
HAMLET moves resolutely towards one wing. They move with him, shepherding. Just before they reach the exit, HAMLET , apparently seeing CLAUDIUS approaching from off stage, bends low in a sweeping bow. ROS and GUIL , cued by Hamlet, also bow deeply--a sweeping ceremonial bow with their cloaks swept round them.
HAMLET , however, continues the movement into an about-turn and walks off in the opposite direction. ROS and GUIL , with their heads low, do not notice. No one comes on. ROS and GUIL squint upwards and find that they are bowing to nothing.
CLAUDIUS enters behind them. At first word they leap up and do a double-take.
CLAUDIUS: How now? What hath befallen?
ROS: Where the body is bestowed, my lord, we cannot get from him.
CLAUDIUS: But where is he?
ROS ( fractional hesitation): Without, my lord; guarded to know your pleasure.
CLAUDIUS ( moves): Bring him before us.
This hits ROS between the eyes but only his eyes show it. Again his hesitation is fractional. And then with great deliberation he turns to GUIL .
ROS: Ho! Bring in the lord.
Again there is a fractional moment In which ROS is smug, GUIL is trapped and betrayed. GUIL opens his mouth and closes it. The situation is saved. HAMLET , escorted, is marched in just as CLAUDIUS leaves. HAMLET and his ESCORT Cross the stage and go out, following CLAUDIUS . Lighting changes to Exterior.
ROS ( moves to go): All right, then?
GUIL ( does not move; thoughtfully): And yet it doesn't seem enough; to have breathed such significance. Can that be all? And why us?-anybody would have done. And we have contributed nothing.
ROS: It was a trying episode while it lasted, but they've done with us now.
GUIL: Done what?
ROS: I don't pretend to have understood. Frankly, I'm not very interested. If they won't tell us, that's their affair. ( He wanders upstage towards the exit. ) For my part, I'm only glad that that's the last we've seen of him-( And he glances off stage and turns front, his face betraying the fact that )
ROS: Talking.
GUIL: To himself?
ROS Makes to go, GUIL Cuts him off.
Is he alone?
ROS: NO, he's with a soldier.
GUIL: Then he's not talking to himself, is he?
ROS: Not by himself Should we go?
GUIL: Where?
ROS: Anywhere.
GUIL: Why?
ROS puts up his head listening.
ROS: There it is again. ( In anguish. ) All I ask is a change ground!
GUIL: ( coda): Give us this day our daily round...
HAMLET enters behind them, talking with a soldier in arms. ROS and GUIL don't look round.
ROS: They'll have us hanging about till we're dead. At least. And the weather will change.
( Looks up. ) The spring can't last for ever.
HAMLET: Good sir, whose powers are these?
SOLDIER: They are of Norway, sir.
HAMLET: How purposed, sir, I pray you?
SOLDIER: Against some part of Poland
HAMLET: Who commands them, sir?
SOLDIER: The nephew to old Norway! Fortinbras.
ROS: We'll be cold. The summer won't last.
GUIL: It's autumnal.
ROS ( examining the ground): No leaves.
GUIL: Autumnal-nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day... Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it... Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth-reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.
ROS ( head up, listening): I got it again then.
They listen-faintest sound of TRAGEDIANS ' band.
HAMLET: I humbly thank you, sir.
SOLDIER: God by you, sir. ( Exit. )
ROS gets up quickly and goes to HAMLET .
ROS: Will it please you go, my lord?
HAMLET: I'll be with you straight. Go you a little before.
HAMLET turns to face upstage. ROS returns down. GUIL faces front, doesn't turn.
GUIL: Is he there?
ROS: Yes.
GUIL: What's he doing?
ROS looks over his shoulder.
ROS: Talking.
GUIL: To himself?
ROS: Yes.
Pause. ROS makes to leave.
ROS: He said we can go. Cross my heart.
GUIL: I like to know where I am. Even if I don't know am, I like to know that. If we go there's no knowing.
ROS: No knowing what?
GUIL: If well ever come back.
ROS: We don't want to come back.
GUIL: That may very well be true, but do we want to go?
ROS: Well be free.
GUIL: I don't know. It's the same sky.
ROS: We've come this far.
He moves towards exit. GUIL follows him.
And besides, anything could happen yet.
They go.
BLACKOUT
ACT THREE
Opens in pitch darkness
. Soft sea sounds.
After several seconds of nothing, a voice from the dark...
GUIL: Are you there?
ROS: Where?
GUIL ( bitterly): A flying start...
Pause.
ROS: Is that you?
GUIL: Yes.
ROS: How do you know?
GUIL ( explosion): Oh-for-Gods-sake!
ROS: We're not finished, then?
GUIL: Well, we're here, aren't we?
ROS: Are we? I can't see a thing.
GUIL: You can still think, can't you?
ROS: I think so.
GUIL: You can still talk.
ROS: What should I say?
GUIL: Don't bother. You can feel, can't you?
ROS: Ah! There's life in me yet!
GUIL: What are you feeling?
ROS: A leg. Yes, it feels like my leg.
GUIL: How does it feel?
ROS: Dead.
GUIL: Dead?
ROS ( panic): I can't feel a thing!
GUIL: Give it a pinch! ( Immediately he yelps. )
ROS: Sorry.
GUIL: Well, that's cleared that up.
Longer pause.- the sound builds a little and identifies itself---the sea. Ship timbers, wind in the rigging, and then shouts of sailors calling obscure but inescapably nautical instructions from all directions, far and near. A short list. Hard a larboard! Let go the stays! Reef down me heartiest Is that you, coxn? Hel-Ilo! Is that you? Hard a port!
Easy as she goes! Keep her steady on the lee! Haul away, lads! (Snatches of sea shanty maybe.) Fly the jib! Topail up, me maties! When the point has been well made and more so.
ROS: We're on a boat. ( Pause. ) Dark, isn't it?
GUIL: Not for night.
ROS: No, not for night.
GUIL: Dark for day.
Pause.
ROS: Oh yes, it's dark for day.
GUIL: We must have gone north, of course.
ROS: Off course?
GUIL: Land of the midnight sun, that is.
ROS: Of course.
Some sailor sounds. A lantern is lit upstage--in fact by HAMLET . The stage lightens disproportionately Enough to see: ROS and GUIL sitting downstage. Vague shapes of rigging, etc., behind.
I think it's getting light.
GUIL: Not for night.
ROS: This far north.
GUIL: Unless we're off course.
ROS ( small pause): Of course. A better light--Lantern? Moon?... Light. Revealing, among other things, three large man-sized cc on deck, upended, with lids. Spaced but in line.