India Song
Page 4
––––– He talks to him, then? That drunk?
––––– Well . . . the other one's asleep, so really he's talking to himself . . . (Little laugh.)
––––– So he doesn't talk to anyone then . . .
––––– That's right . . . (Little laugh.)
––––– What did he find in India to set him off? Didn't he know about it before? Did he actually have to see it? It's not so difficult to find out . . .
Women:
––––– There are moments when he seems happy. Look . . . As if he were suddenly madly happy . . .
Pause.
––––– Perhaps when she dances . . .
––––– What an idea . . .
––––– I've only just noticed . . .
Silence.
––––– Who mentioned Bombay?
––––– He did, to the Secretary at the Club. He saw himself being photographed beside the Sea of Oman on a chaise longue . . . (Little laugh.)
––––– He doesn't talk about it any more, apparently.
Silence.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ has now entered the garden.
He goes toward the French VICE-CONSUL, slowly, as if not to frighten him. The VICE-CONSUL makes as if to run away. The YOUNG ATTACHÉ hesitates, then takes him by the arm. The VICE-CONSUL doesn't attempt to run away any more.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ signs to the VICE-CONSUL to go with him.
They go toward the reception. Go in. MICHAEL RICHARDSON has seen them—he is the only one not watching ANNE-MARIE STRETTER dancing with her husband.
Women:
––––– Did you see . . . ?
Pause.
––––– Yes, it's her he's looking at . . .
Pause.
––––– If you ask me, Bombay's too popular, they'll send him somewhere else . . .
Silence.
––––– Tell me about Madame Stretter.
––––– Irreproachable. Outside the kitchens you'll see big jars of cold water put out for the beggars . . . It's she who . . .
––––– . . . Irreproachable . . . (Little laugh.) Come, come . . .
––––– Nothing that shows. That's what we mean here by irreproachable.
Silence.
Several people go into the garden and look toward the reception. Women fan themselves. (It is to be remembered that it's never those who are seen that speak.)
A man and a woman:
––––– She looks . . . imprisoned in a kind of suffering. But . . . a very old suffering . . . too old to make her sad any more . . .
Pause.
––––– And yet she cries . . . People have seen her . . . in the garden . . . sometimes . . .
––––– The light perhaps, it's so harsh . . . and her eyes are so pale . . .
––––– Perhaps . . . What grace . . . Look . . .
––––– Yes . . .
––––– Frightening . . . don't you think?
Silence.
MICHAEL RICHARDSON has sat down on the left side of the room. He looks as if he is waiting. He doesn't look toward the reception. He is clearly visible. Very handsome. Younger than ANNE-MARIE STRETTER. Obviously shy.
He is smoking. He is tense, absorbed.
Several conversations take place between people, some of whom have and some of whom have not seen the VICE-CONSUL go into the reception.
Women:
––––– The roses are sent direct from Nepal . . .
––––– She gives them away when the dance is over.
––––– (Low) Look . . . there he is . . .
Silence.
––––– He doesn't notice everyone is looking at him . . .
––––– You can hardly see his eyes . . .
––––– His face looks dead . . . Don't you think so? . . . Frightening . . .
––––– Yes. The laugh looks . . . stuck on . . . (Pause.) What's he laughing at?
––––– Who knows?
Pause.
––––– In the gardens, on the way to the office, he whistles “India Song.”
––––– What work does he do?
––––– Filing . . . nothing much . . . just to keep him occupied . . .
Silence.
Men:
––––– It's strange—most women in India have very white skins . . .
––––– They live out of the sun. Closed shutters . . . they're recluses . . .
––––– And they don't do anything out here . . . they're waited on.
––––– Yes, they just rest.
Silence.
––––– I admit I have a look when she and her daughters go by on their way to play tennis . . . In shorts . . . Women's legs seem so beautiful here . . . walking through all that horror . . . ( Pause, then a start.) But look . . .
Silence.
Women:
––––– The first thing to see is the islands . . .
––––– They're so beautiful . . . I don't know what we'd do here without them.
––––– That's what we'll miss about India—the islands in the Indian Ocean . . .
Silence.
Isolated woman's voice:
––––– The best thing during the monsoon
. . . did you know? . . . hot green tea, the way the Chinese make it . . .
Silence.
Women:
––––– Do you see? The Young Attaché's talking to the Vice-consul from Lahore . . .
Silence.
––––– The voice . . . listen to the voice . . . how blank it is . . .
Silence.
Almost total silence. Everyone looks at the YOUNG ATTACHÉ and the VICE-CONSUL.
(The VICE-CONSUL’s voice is harsh, almost strident. The YOUNG ATTACHÉ’s voice is low and soft.)
Young Attaché and Vice-consul:
V.-CONSUL: Yes, it's difficult, of course. But what is it with you, exactly?
Y. ATTACHÉ: The heat, naturally. But also the monotony . . . the light . . . no color . . . I don't know if I shall ever get used to it.
V.-CONSUL: As bad as that?
Y. ATTACHÉ: Well . . . I wasn't prejudiced before I left France . . . What about you? before Lahore? would you have preferred somewhere else?
V.-CONSUL: No. Lahore was what I wanted.
Silence.
Then “India Song.”
Man and woman (low):
––––– Did you hear?
––––– Not very clearly. I thought he said: “Lahore was what I desired”. . .
––––– I heard: “what I . . . what I'd . . .”
––––– And what does it mean? Nothing . . .
––––– (In one breath.) The report said people used to see him at night through his bedroom window, walking up and down as if it was broad daylight . . . and talking . . . always to himself . . .
––––– . . . At night . . . as if it was broad daylight . . .
––––– Yes . . .
Silence.
One man's voice is heard dominating all the others.
Man (George Crawn):
––––– Come over to the bar. Allow me to introduce myself. An old friend of Anne-Marie Stretter's. George Crawn . . . Serve yourselves . . . there isn't a bartender . . .
Hubbub for a few seconds—people going over to the bar.
Woman:
––––– He said that to distract people's attention . . .
The noise dies down.
Y. ATTACHÉ: Come over to the bar. (Pause.) What are you afraid of?
No answer.
Y. ATTACHÉ: They say you'd like to go to Bombay?
V.-CONSUL: Won't they let me stay in Calcutta?
Y. ATTACHÉ: No.
V.-CONSUL: In that case I leave it to the authorities. They can send me where the
y like.
Y. ATTACHÉ: Bombay's not so crowded, the climate's better, and it's pleasant to be by the sea.
Silence.
Isolated man's voice:
––––– It's as if he didn't hear when you speak to him.
Y. ATTACHÉ: What are you doing? Come along . . .
V.-CONSUL: I'm listening to “India Song.” (Pause.) I came to India because of it.
Silence.
ANNE-MARIE STRETTER appears on the stage for the first time in Act II. She has come from the reception. She smiles at MICHAEL RICHARDSON. He stands, and watches her coming. He doesn't smile. No one sees them (everyone is watching the VICE-CONSUL and the YOUNG ATTACHÉ). It was she whom MICHAEL RICHARDSON was waiting for.
ANNE-MARIE STRETTER and MICHAEL RICHARDSON look at each other.
He puts his arms around her.
They dance in a corner of the room, alone.
We hear the public voice of the VICE-CONSUL.
V.-CONSUL: That tune makes me want to love. I never have.
No answer.
Silence.
The last speech was delivered while we could see the couple dancing.
The couple disappear, left.
“India Song” still.
V.-CONSUL: I'm sorry. I didn't ask to see my file. But you know it. What do they say?
Y. ATTACHÉ: They say Lahore . . . What you did in Lahore . . . People can't understand it, no one can, no matter how they try . . .
V.-CONSUL (pause): No one?
No answer.
Silence.
The BEGGAR WOMAN appears in the garden.
She hides behind a bush.
Stays there.
Men:
––––– He said it was impossible for him to give a convincing explanation of what he did in Lahore.
––––– . . . convincing . . . ?
––––– I was particularly struck by the word.
ANNE-MARIE STRETTER comes back, from the left side of the room. Slowly. She stops. She looks toward the garden: the two women of the Ganges look at each other.
The BEGGAR WOMAN, unafraid, sticks her bald head out, then hides again.
ANNE-MARIE STRETTER walks away, with the same slow step.
Women:
––––– She goes to the islands alone. The Ambassador goes hunting in Nepal.
––––– Alone . . . well . . .
––––– With him—Michael Richardson. And others . . .
––––– They say her lovers are Englishmen, foreigners from the embassies . . . They say the Ambassador knows . . .
––––– It's only what he expected when he met her . . . he's older than she is . . .
Pause.
––––– There's a friendship between them now that's proof against anything . . .
Silence.
ANNE-MARIE STRETTER has gone into the reception.
“India Song” ends.
The VICE-CONSUL goes back into the garden.
He is near the BEGGAR WOMAN, but they don't see each other.
A blues.
Men and women:
––––– Protocol requires everyone to have one dance with the Ambassador's wife . . .
––––– Look . . . He's left the Young Attaché . . . He's gone back into the garden . . .
––––– Again . . . Ever since the beginning of the evening he's kept going back there . . .
––––– As if he was on the point of running away.
––––– And yet at the same time . . .
Silence.
The VICE-CONSUL stands motionless, staring at the reception with all his might.
Men and women (continued):
––––– What's he looking at?
––––– The Ambassador's wife dancing with the Young Attaché.
Silence.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ and ANNE-MARIE STRETTER dance into the room, then back to the reception. They too create a silence around them.
Women (low):
––––– Did you hear? (Pause.) She said to him: “I wish I were you, arriving in India for the first time during the summer monsoon.” (Pause.) They're too far away . . . I can't hear any more . . .
Conversation between Anne-Marie Stretter (voice marvelous in its sweetness) and the Young Attaché:
A.-M. S. (deliberate repetition with slight error): I wish I were you, coming here for the first time in the rains. (Pause.) You're not bored? What do you do? In the evenings? On Sundays?
Y. ATTACHÉ: I read . . . I sleep . . . I don't really know . . .
A.-M. S. (pause): Boredom is a personal thing, of course. One doesn't know what to advise.
Y. ATTACHÉ : I don't think I'm bored.
Pause.
A.-M. S.: And then . . . (stops) . . . perhaps it's not so important as people make out . . . Thank you for the parcels of books, you send them on from the office so quickly . . .
Y. ATTACHÉ : A pleasure . . .
Silence.
The noise gradually starts up around them again, faintly.
Men (in the silence of the preceding conversation ):
––––– What an intriguing woman. All those books. Those sleepless nights in the residency in the Delta . . .
––––– Yes . . . What can be behind that sweetness . . . ?
––––– Nearly every smile is enough to break your heart . . .
Silence.
A.-M.S.: One might say practically nothing is . . . one can do practically nothing in India . . .
Y. ATTACHÉ (gentle): You mean . . . ?
A.-M.S.: Oh . . . nothing . . . the general despondency . . . (There is a smile in her voice.)
Men and women:
––––– They say she sometimes has had . . . attacks . . .
––––– (Low) You mean . . . the trip to Chandernagor?
––––– Yes. And something else . . . sometimes she shuts herself up in her room . . . No one can see her . . .
––––– Except him, Michael Richardson . . .
––––– Yes, of course . . .
A.-M. S.: It's neither painful nor pleasant living in India. Neither easy nor difficult. It's nothing, really . . . nothing . . .
Y. ATTACHÉ (pause): You mean it's impossible?
A.-M. S.: Well . . . (Charming frivolity in her voice.) . . . yes . . . perhaps . . . (Smile in her voice.) But that's probably an over-simplification . . .
Men and women:
––––– She used to give concerts in Venice . . . She was one of the hopes of European music.
––––– Was she very young when she left Venice?
––––– Yes. She went away with a French civil servant that she left for Stretter.
Silence.
Y. ATTACHÉ : They say you're a Venetian.
A.-M. S.: My father was French. My mother . . . yes, she was from Venice.
Silence.
Men and women (continued):
––––– She plays nearly every evening. In the dry season, that is. (Pause.) During the monsoon it's so damp pianos get out of tune overnight . . .
Silence.
Y. ATTACHÉ: The first time I saw you I thought you were English.
A.-M. S.: That does sometimes happen.
Pause.
Y. ATTACHÉ : Are there any who never get used to it?
A.-M. S. (slowly): Nearly everyone gets used to it.
Silence.
Y. ATTACHÉ (suddenly crisp): The French Vice-consul in Lahore is looking at you.
No answer.
Y. ATTACHÉ: He's been looking at you all evening.
No answer.
Y. ATTACHÉ: Haven't you noticed?
She avoids answering.
A.-M. S.: Where is he hoping to be posted, do you know?
Y. ATTACHÉ (he knows): Here in Calcutta.
A.-M. S.: Really . . .
Y. ATTACHÉ: I imagined you knew.
/> No answer.
Silence.
Servants pass through.
Dances follow one another: blues, tangos, foxtrots.
A.-M. S.: Did my husband tell you? We'd like to invite you to the islands.
Y. ATTACHÉ : I'll be very pleased to come.
Silence.
Man and woman:
––––– If you listen closely, the voice has certain Italian inflections . . .
Pause.
––––– Yes . . . Perhaps it's that . . . the foreign origin . . . that makes her seem . . . far away?
––––– Perhaps . . .
A.-M. S.: You write, I believe?
Y. ATTACHÉ (pause): I once thought I could. Before. (Pause.) Did someone tell you?
A.-M. S.: Yes, but I'd probably have guessed . . . (Smile in the voice.) From your way of being silent . . .
Y. ATTACHÉ (smiling): I gave it up. (Pause.) Monsieur Stretter used to write too?
A.-M. S.: Yes, it did happen, to him too. And then . . . (She stops.)
Y. ATTACHÉ (pause): And you?
A.-M. S.: I've never tried . . .
Y. ATTACHÉ (crisply): You think it's not worth it, don't you . . . ?
A.-M. S. (smile): Well . . . (She stops.) Well, yes, if you like . . .