India Song
Page 5
Pause.
Y. ATTACHÉ: You play.
A.-M. S.: Sometimes. (Pause.) Not so much, the last few years . . .
Y. ATTACHÉ (gently; love already): Why?
A.-M. S. (slowly): It's hard to put it into words . . .
Long pause.
Y. ATTACHÉ : Tell me.
A.-M. S.: For me . . . for some time . . . there's been a kind of pain . . . associated with music . . .
No answer.
Silence.
The VICE-CONSUL moves from where he was standing in the garden and goes into the reception. The people still going back and forth between the garden and the reception watch him.
A certain commotion. Some stifled exclamations.
Then two or three couples come into the garden, as if they were running away from the man from Lahore.
Woman:
––––– What's happening?
––––– The Vice-consul from Lahore has asked the wife of the First Secretary at the Spanish Embassy to dance . . .
Pause.
––––– Poor woman . . . But what are people afraid of?
––––– They're not afraid . . . It's more a sort of . . . repulsion . . . But it's . . . involuntary . . . you can't analyze it . . .
Silence.
Y. ATTACHÉ: Will you have to dance with him?
A.-M. S.: I don't have to do anything, but . . . (Smile in the voice.)
Pause.
Y. ATTACHÉ: Last night he was in the garden. By the tennis courts.
The answer comes slowly.
A.-M. S.: I think he sleeps badly.
Pause.
Y. ATTACHÉ : He's still looking at you.
Silence.
Isolated woman's voice:
––––– Poor woman . . . and on top of that she feels obliged to talk to him . . .
Silence.
Y. ATTACHÉ: Repulsion is a feeling you know nothing about?
Pause.
A.-M. S.: I don't understand . . . How could one know nothing about it?
Y. ATTACHÉ (low): The horror . . .
No answer.
Silence.
Y. ATTACHÉ (very clear and distinct): They're talking about leprosy.
Silence.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ was referring to the conversation between the VICE-CONSUL and the wife (Spanish) of the Secretary at the Spanish Embassy.
Vice-consul and Spanish Woman:
SP. W. (accent): . . . the wife of one of our secretaries was going mad, thinking she'd caught it . . . impossible to get the idea out of her head . . . she had to be sent back to Madrid . . .
V.-CONSUL: She had leprosy?
SP. W. (astonished): Of course not! . . . accidents are very rare . . . in three years I only know of a ballboy at the Club . . . all the staff are examined regularly . . . most thorough . . . I shouldn't have mentioned it . . . I don't know how it happened . . .
V.-CONSUL: But I'm not frightened of leprosy.
SP. W.: Just as well, because . . . Of course, there are worse places . . . Take Singapore . . .
V.-CONSUL (interrupting): Don't you understand? I want to catch it.
Slight commotion.
Then silence.
Man and woman:
––––– She left him in the middle of the dance . . . What happened?
––––– He must have said something . . . something that frightened her . . .
Silence.
Some guests leave the garden and go back into the reception.
The BEGGAR WOMAN sticks her bald head out and watches—like an owl. Then hides again. The YOUNG ATTACHÉ must have seen her.
Y. ATTACHÉ: There's a beggar woman in the garden.
A.-M. S.: I know . . . She's the one who sings —didn't you know? Of course, you've only just arrived in Calcutta . . . I think she sings a song from Savannakhet . . . That's in Laos . . . She intrigues us . . . I tell myself I must be mistaken, it's not possible, we're thousands of miles from Indochina here . . . How could she have done it?
Y. ATTACHÉ (pause): I've heard her in the street, early in the morning . . . It's a cheerful song.
A.-M. S.: The children sing it in Laos . . . She must have come down through the river valleys. But how did she cross the mountains—the Cardamon Hills?
Y. ATTACHÉ: She's quite mad.
A.M. S.: Yes, but you see . . . she's alive. Sometimes she comes to the islands. How? No one knows.
Y. ATTACHÉ: Perhaps she follows you. Follows white people?
A.-M. S.: That happens. Food.
Some guests leave the reception. Slight fear.
Men and women:
––––– Where is he?
––––– Over by the bar . . . He drinks too much, that fellow. It'll end badly.
––––– There's something . . . impossible . . . about him.
––––– Yes.
––––– And no one invited him anywhere in Lahore either?
––––– No.
––––– He went through hell in Lahore.
––––– Yes, but . . . How can one overcome this . . . this disgust . . . ?
Men:
––––– He's anger personified.
––––– Against whom? Against what?
No answer.
Silence.
Women:
––––– He used to call down death on Lahore, fire and death.
––––– Perhaps he drank?
––––– No, no . . . Out here, drinking affects us all in the same way—we talk about going home . . . No, he wasn't drunk . . .
Two women have come into the room. They are hot, they fan themselves. They look around.
A blues.
They look at the reception.
Suddenly they stop fanning themselves: they've just seen something.
Blues.
Isolated woman's voice:
––––– It was bound to happen. Look . . . The Vice-consul from Lahore is going over to Madame Stretter . . .
Silence.
Men:
––––– Have you noticed? Out here the white people talk about nothing but themselves . . . The rest . . . And yet the time when most Europeans commit suicide is during famines . . .
––––– . . . which don't cause them any suffering . . . (Little laugh.)
Silence.
The two women watch with intense curiosity as the VICE-CONSUL goes over toward Madame Stretter.
The sound of the reception ceases almost completely for a few seconds.
Then it begins again, faintly. Politely stifled exclamations.
Men and women (conversations 1 and 2):
No. 1
––––– Did you see? The Ambassador . . . ? How cleverly he got his wife out of it . . .
Silence.
––––– Where are they going?
––––– Into the other drawing room . . . Of course, the Ambassador would have had to talk to him sooner or later . . . so . . .
Silence.
No. 2
––––– Did you see? What diplomacy . . . everyone saw.
––––– Where are they going?
––––– Into the other drawing room . . . (Pause.) A servant's bringing them some champagne . . .
Silence.
No. 1
––––– Why doesn't he go? Asking to be humiliated like that . . .
No. 2
––––– He said something to the Club Secretary that keeps coming back to me . . . “At home, in Neuilly, in a drawing room, there's a big black piano—closed . . . On the music rest there's the score of ‘India Song.’ My mother used to play it. I could hear it from my bedroom. It's been there ever since she died . . .”
––––– What is it you find so striking?
––––– The image.
Silence.
Silence. Blues.
MADAME STRETTER and the
YOUNG ATTACHÉ are walking through the gardens.
Ambassador and Vice-consul:
AMB.: If I've got it right, my dear fellow, you'd prefer Bombay? But you wouldn't be given the same job there as you had in . . . (He hesitates.) Lahore. It's too soon yet . . . Whereas if you stay here . . . people will forget . . . India is a gulf of indifference, really . . . If you like, I'll keep you on in Calcutta . . . Would you like me to?
V.-CONSUL: Yes.
Silence.
Women (low):
––––– He told her he wanted to catch leprosy.
––––– Mad . . .
Silence.
AMB.: Funny things, careers. The more you want one the less you make one. You can't just make a career. There are a thousand different ways of being a French Vice-consul . . . If you forget Lahore other people will forget it too . . .
V.-CONSUL (pause): I don't forget Lahore.
Silence.
Isolated man's voice:
––––– Only one person has anything to do with him. The Secretary at the European Club. A drunk.
AMB.: You can't get used to Calcutta? (No answer.) People put that sort of thing down to their nerves. There are remedies, you know.
V.-CONSUL: No.
Silence.
Woman and man (low):
––––– And what are they talking about?
––––– The reformatory in Arras. Childhood. And . . . (Stops.)
––––– And . . . ?
––––– Her . . . the French Ambassador's wife . . .
Silence.
AMB.: At first everyone's like that. I remember I was, myself. You either go home or you stay. If you stay, you have to find . . . or rather invent . . . a way of looking at things . . . of enduring Lahore . . .
V.-CONSUL: I couldn't.
Silence.
Isolated woman's voice (low):
––––– She's gone into the garden with the Young Attaché. (Pause.) I told you.
Silence.
AMB.: Take my advice . . . weigh up the pros and cons . . . and if you're not . . . sure of yourself, go back to Paris . . .
V.-CONSUL: No.
Silence.
AMB. In that case . . . how do you see the future?
V.-CONSUL: I see nothing.
Silence.
Women (low):
––––– After every reception the leftovers are given to the poor. Her idea. (Lower.) She's coming back . . .
Silence.
––––– Oh, I see! The garden's full of beggars . . . crowds of them all around the kitchens . . .
––––– The sentries have been told to let them through.
Silence.
ANNE-MARIE STRETTER and the YOUNG ATTACHÉ come in again (from the left). They go toward the reception.
The blues is over. Another takes up the theme of “India Song.”
Before entering the reception ANNE-MARIE STRETTER halts, as does the YOUNG ATTACHÉ. They wait.
For there, on the other side of the room, is the man from Lahore. Distraught, he comes toward her. Stops. Bows. Pale.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ makes a gesture as if to stop ANNE-MARIE STRETTER from accepting.
She hesitates, but only for a second, and then accepts the man from Lahore's invitation to dance.
“India Song” becomes very distant. All conversations grow faint, become intermittent murmurs. Almost total silence.
At first, the VICE-CONSUL and ANNE-MARIE STRETTER dance in the room.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ watches them.
Then they move toward the reception.
The YOUNG ATTACHÉ moves forward, still watching them.
Other people move toward the garden. They all look toward the reception.
CONVERSATION BETWEEN A.-M. S. AND THE VICE-CONSUL, LOW BUT VIOLENT, VERY SLOW:
Long silence, before the conversation begins.
V.-CONSUL: I didn't know that you existed.
No answer.
V.-CONSUL: Calcutta has become a form of hope for me.
Silence.
A.-M. S.: I love Michael Richardson. I'm not free of that love.
V.-CONSUL: I know.
I love you like that, in that love.
It doesn't matter to me.
No answer.
V.-CONSUL: My voice sounds odd. Can you hear?
It frightens them.
A.-M. S.: Yes.
V.-CONSUL: Whose voice is it?
No answer.
V.-CONSUL: I shot at myself in Lahore, but I didn't die.
Other people separate me from Lahore. I don't separate myself.
Lahore is me. Do you understand too?
Pause. Gently.
A.-M. S.: Yes. Don't shout.
V.-CONSUL: No.
Silence.
V.-CONSUL: You are with me about Lahore. I know. You are in me. I'll carry you inside me. (Terrible brief laugh.) And you'll shoot the Shalimar lepers with me. What can you do about it?
Silence.
V.-CONSUL: I didn't need to dance with you to know you. You know that.
A.-M. S.: Yes.
Pause.
V.-CONSUL: There's no need for us to go any further, you and I. (Terrible brief laugh.) We haven't anything to say to each other. We are the same.
Pause.
A.-M. S.: I believe you.
Pause.
V.-CONSUL: Love affairs you have with others. We don't need that.
Silence.
The VICE-CONSUL’s voice is broken by a sob. It is no longer under his control.
V.-CONSUL: I wanted to know the smell of your hair—that's why I . . . (He stops. A sob.)
Silence.
His voice returns to normal—almost.
V.-CONSUL: After the reception your friends stay on.
I'd like to stay with you for once.
A.-M. S.: You haven't a chance.
Pause.
V.-CONSUL: They'd throw me out.
A.-M. S.: Yes.
You're someone they have to forget.
Pause.
V.-CONSUL: Like Lahore.
A.-M. S.: Yes.
Silence.
V.-CONSUL: What will become of me?
A.-M. S.: You'll be posted somewhere a long way from Calcutta.
Pause.
V.-CONSUL: That's what you want.
A.-M. S.: Yes.
Pause.
V.-CONSUL: Very well. And when will it end?
A.-M. S.: When you die, I believe.
Silence.
V.-CONSUL (heart-rending): What's this pain? Mine?
Pause.
A.-M. S.: Knowledge.
V.-CONSUL (terrible laugh): Of you?
No answer.
Silence.
V.-CONSUL: I'm going to shout. I'm going to ask them to let me stay tonight.
Pause.
A.-M. S.: (pause): Do as you like.
V.-CONSUL: So that something should happen between us. In public. Shouting is all I know. Let them at least find out a love can be shouted.
No answer.
V.-CONSUL: They'll feel uncomfortable for half an hour. Then they'll start talking again.
No answer.
V.-CONSUL: I even know you won't tell anyone you agreed.
No answer.
Silence.
“India Song” ends.
It is replaced by “Heure exquise” sung.
The sky grows pale.
Two men, drunk, stagger in and collapse into arm-chairs.
Over “Heure exquise” mingled -with it, the VICE-CONSUL’s first cry.
V.-CONSUL: Let me stay!
Silence.
Guests shrink back toward the garden. The two drunk men laugh. The others are horrified.
V.-CONSUL: I'm going to stay here tonight, with her, for once, with her! Do you hear?
Silence.
Isolated woman's voice:
–––––How awful . . .
Isolated voi
ce of Young Attaché:
–––––You really ought to go home, you've had too much to drink . . . come along . . .
“Heure exquise” still.
The VICE-CONSUL shrieks.
V.-CONSUL: I'm going to stay! In the French Embassy!
I'm going to the islands with her!
Please! Please! Let me stay!
Silence.
Isolated woman's voice (anguished):
–––––She looks as if she didn't hear . . .
Another (the same):
–––––This is terrible . . .
Silence.
V.-CONSUL (shrieking): Once! Just once! I've never loved anyone but her!
Silence.
Isolated man's voice, to Vice-consul:
––––– We're sorry, but you're the sort of person who only interests us when you're not there.
Silence.
Isolated woman's voice:
––––– How cruel . . . It's terrible . . . horrible . . .