Harold Pinter Plays 1

by Harold Pinter

  STANLEY. What do they want here?

  MEG. They want to stay.

  STANLEY. How long for?

  MEG. They didn’t say.

  STANLEY (turning). But why here? Why not somewhere else?

  MEG. This house is on the list.

  STANLEY (coming down). What are they called? What are their names?

  MEG. Oh, Stanley, I can’t remember.

  STANLEY. They told you, didn’t they? Or didn’t they tell you?

  MEG. Yes, they….

  STANLEY. Then what are they? Come on. Try to remember.

  MEG. Why, Stan? Do you know them?

  STANLEY. How do I know if I know them until I know their names?

  MEG. Well … he told me, I remember.

  STANLEY. Well?

  She thinks.

  MEG. Gold—something.

  STANLEY. Goldsomething?

  MEG. Yes. Gold….

  STANLEY. Yes?

  MEG. Goldberg.

  STANLEY. Goldberg?

  MEG. That’s right. That was one of them.

  STANLEY slowly sits at the table, left.

  Do you know them?

  STANLEY does not answer.

  Stan, they won’t wake you up, I promise. I’ll tell them they must be quiet.

  STANLEY sits still.

  They won’t be here long, Stan. I’ll still bring you up your early morning tea.

  STANLEY sits still.

  You mustn’t be sad today. It’s your birthday.

  A pause.

  STANLEY (dumbly). Uh?

  MEG. It’s your birthday, Stan. I was going to keep it a secret until tonight.

  STANLEY. No.

  MEG. It is. I’ve brought you a present. (She goes to the sideboard, picks up the parcel, and places it on the table in front of him.) Here. Go on. Open it.

  STANLEY. What’s this?

  MEG. It’s your present.

  STANLEY. This isn’t my birthday, Meg.

  MEG. Of course it is. Open your present.

  He stares at the parcel, slowly stands, and opens it. He takes out a boy’s drum.

  STANLEY (flatly). It’s a drum. A boy’s drum.

  MEG (tenderly). It’s because you haven’t got a piano. (He stares at her, then turns and walks towards the door, left.) Aren’t you going to give me a kiss? (He turns sharply, and stops. He walks back towards her slowly. He stops at her chair, looking down upon her. Pause. His shoulders sag, he bends and kisses her on the cheek.) There are some sticks in there. (STANLEY looks into the parcel. He takes out two drumsticks. He taps them together. He looks at her.)

  STANLEY. Shall I put it round my neck?

  She watches him, uncertainly. He hangs the drum around his neck, taps it gently with the sticks, then marches round the table, beating it regularly. MEG, pleased, watches him. Still beating it regularly, he begins to go round the table a second time. Halfway round the beat becomes erratic, uncontrolled. MEG expresses dismay. He arrives at her chair, banging the drum, his face and the drumbeat now savage and possessed.

  Curtain

  Act Two

  MCCANN is sitting at the table tearing a sheet of newspaper into five equal strips. It is evening. After a few moments STANLEY enters from the left. He stops upon seeing MCCANN, and watches him. He then walks towards the kitchen, stops, and speaks.

  STANLEY. Evening.

  MCCANN. Evening.

  Chuckles are heard from outside the back door, which is open.

  STANLEY. Very warm tonight. (He turns towards the back door, and back.) Someone out there?

  MCCANN tears another length of paper. STANLEY goes into the kitchen and pours a glass of water. He drinks it looking through the hatch. He puts the glass down, comes out of the kitchen and walks quickly towards the door, left. MCCANN rises and intercepts him.

  MCCANN. I don’t think we’ve met.

  STANLEY. No, we haven’t.

  MCCANN. My name’s McCann.

  STANLEY. Staying here long?

  MCCANN. Not long. What’s your name?

  STANLEY. Webber.

  MCCANN. I’m glad to meet you, sir. (He offers his hand. STANLEY takes it, and MCCANN holds the grip.) Many happy returns of the day. (STANLEY withdraws his hand. They face each other.) Were you going out?

  STANLEY. Yes.

  MCCANN. On your birthday?

  STANLEY. Yes. Why not?

  MCCANN. But they’re holding a party here for you tonight.

  STANLEY. Oh really? That’s unfortunate.

  MCCANN. Ah no. It’s very nice.

  Voices from outside the back door.

  STANLEY. I’m sorry. I’m not in the mood for a party tonight.

  MCCANN. Oh, is that so? I’m sorry.

  STANLEY. Yes, I’m going out to celebrate quietly, on my own.

  MCCANN. That’s a shame.

  They stand.

  STANLEY. Well, if you’d move out of my way—

  MCCANN. But everything’s laid on. The guests are expected.

  STANLEY. Guests? What guests?

  MCCANN. Myself for one. I had the honour of an invitation.

  MCCANN begins to whistle “The Mountains of Morne”.

  STANLEY (moving away). I wouldn’t call it an honour, would you? It’ll just be another booze-up.

  STANLEY joins MCCANN in whistling “The Mountains of Morne”. During the next five lines the whistling is continuous, one whistling while the other speaks, and both whistling together.

  MCCANN. But it is an honour.

  STANLEY. I’d say you were exaggerating.

  MCCANN. Oh no. I’d say it was an honour.

  STANLEY. I’d say that was plain stupid.

  MCCANN. Ah no.

  They stare at each other.

  STANLEY. Who are the other guests?

  MCCANN. A young lady.

  STANLEY. Oh yes? And….?

  MCCANN. My friend.

  STANLEY. Your friend?

  MCCANN. That’s right. It’s all laid on.

  STANLEY walks round the table towards the door. MCCANN meets him.

  STANLEY. Excuse me.

  MCCANN. Where are you going?

  STANLEY. I want to go out.

  MCCANN. Why don’t you stay here?

  STANLEY moves away, to the right of the table.

  STANLEY. So you’re down here on holiday?

  MCCANN. A short one. (STANLEY picks up a strip of paper. MCCANN moves in.) Mind that.

  STANLEY. What is it?

  MCCANN. Mind it. Leave it.

  STANLEY. I’ve got a feeling we’ve met before.

  MCCANN. No we haven’t.

  STANLEY. Ever been anywhere near Maidenhead?

  MCCANN. No.

  STANLEY. There’s a Fuller’s teashop. I used to have my tea there.

  MCCANN. I don’t know it.

  STANLEY. And a Boots Library. I seem to connect you with the High Street.

  MCCANN. Yes?

  STANLEY. A charming town, don’t you think?

  MCCANN. I don’t know it.

  STANLEY. Oh no. A quiet, thriving community. I was born and brought up there. I lived well away from the main road.

  MCCANN. Yes?

  Pause.

  STANLEY. You’re here on a short stay?

  MCCANN. That’s right.

  STANLEY. You’ll find it very bracing.

  MCCANN. Do you find it bracing?

  STANLEY. Me? No. But you will. (He sits at the table.) I like it here, but I’ll be moving soon. Back home. I’ll stay there too, this time. No place like home. (He laughs.) I wouldn’t have left, but business calls. Business called, and I had to leave for a bit. You know how it is.

  MCCANN (sitting at the table, left). You in business?

  STANLEY. No. I think I’ll give it up. I’ve got a small private income, you see. I think I’ll give it up. Don’t like being away from home. I used to live very quietly—played records, that’s about all. Everything delivered to the door. Then I started a little private business, in a
small way, and it compelled me to come down here—kept me longer than I expected. You never get used to living in someone else’s house. Don’t you agree? I lived so quietly. You can only appreciate what you’ve had when things change. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Cigarette?

  MCCANN. I don’t smoke.

  STANLEY lights a cigarette. Voices from the back.

  STANLEY. Who’s out there?

  MCCANN. My friend and the man of the house.

  STANLEY. You know what? To look at me, I bet you wouldn’t think I’d led such a quiet life. The lines on my face, eh? It’s the drink. Been drinking a bit down here. But what I mean is … you know how it is … away from your own … all wrong, of course … I’ll be all right when I get back … but what I mean is, the way some people look at me you’d think I was a different person. I suppose I have changed, but I’m still the same man that I always was. I mean, you wouldn’t think, to look at me, really … I mean, not really, that I was the sort of bloke to—to cause any trouble, would you? (MCCANN looks at him.) Do you know what I mean?

  MCCANN. No. (As STANLEY picks up a strip of paper.) Mind that.

  STANLEY (quickly). Why are you down here?

  MCCANN. A short holiday.

  STANLEY. This is a ridiculous house to pick on. (He rises.)

  MCCANN. Why?

  STANLEY. Because it’s not a boarding house. It never was.

  MCCANN. Sure it is.

  STANLEY. Why did you choose this house?

  MCCANN. You know, sir, you’re a bit depressed for a man on his birthday.

  STANLEY (sharply). Why do you call me sir?

  MCCANN. You don’t like it?

  STANLEY (to the table.) Listen. Don’t call me sir.

  MCCANN. I won’t, if you don’t like it.

  STANLEY (moving away). No. Anyway, this isn’t my birthday.

  MCCANN. No?

  STANLEY. No. It’s not till next month.

  MCCANN. Not according to the lady.

  STANLEY. Her? She’s crazy. Round the bend.

  MCCANN. That’s a terrible thing to say.

  STANLEY (to the table). Haven’t you found that out yet? There’s a lot you don’t know. I think someone’s leading you up the garden path.

  MCCANN. Who would do that?

  STANLEY (leaning across the table). That woman is mad!

  MCCANN. That’s slander.

  STANLEY. And you don’t know what you’re doing.

  MCCANN. Your cigarette is near that paper.

  Voices from the back.

  STANLEY. Where the hell are they? (Stubbing his cigarette.) Why don’t they come in? What are they doing out there?

  MCCANN. You want to steady yourself.

  STANLEY crosses to him and grips his arm.

  STANLEY (urgently). Look—

  MCCANN. Don’t touch me.

  STANLEY. Look. Listen a minute.

  MCCANN. Let go my arm.

  STANLEY. Look. Sit down a minute.

  MCCANN (savagely, hitting his arm). Don’t do that!

  STANLEY backs across the stage, holding his arm.

  STANLEY. Listen. You knew what I was talking about before, didn’t you?

  MCCANN. I don’t know what you’re at at all.

  STANLEY. It’s a mistake! Do you understand?

  MCCANN. You’re in a bad state, man.

  STANLEY (whispering, advancing). Has he told you anything? Do you know what you’re here for? Tell me. You needn’t be frightened of me. Or hasn’t he told you?

  MCCANN. Told me what?

  STANLEY (hissing). I’ve explained to you, damn you, that all those years I lived in Basingstoke I never stepped outside the door.

  MCCANN. You know, I’m flabbergasted with you.

  STANLEY (reasonably). Look. You look an honest man. You’re being made a fool of, that’s all. You understand? Where do you come from?

  MCCANN. Where do you think?

  STANLEY. I know Ireland very well. I’ve many friends there. I love that country and I admire and trust its people. I trust them. They respect the truth and they have a sense of humour. I think their policemen are wonderful. I’ve been there. I’ve never seen such sunsets. What about coming out to have a drink with me? There’s a pub down the road serves draught Guinness. Very difficult to get in these parts —(He breaks off. The voices draw nearer. GOLDBERG and PETEY enter from the back door.)

  GOLDBERG (as he enters). A mother in a million. (He sees STANLEY.) Ah.

  PETEY. Oh hullo, Stan. You haven’t met Stanley, have you, Mr Goldberg?

  GOLDBERG. I haven’t had the pleasure.

  PETEY. Oh well, this is Mr Goldberg, this is Mr Webber.

  GOLDBERG. Pleased to meet you.

  PETEY. We were just getting a bit of air in the garden.

  GOLDBERG. I was telling Mr Boles about my old mum. What days. (He sits at the table, right.) Yes. When I was a youngster, of a Friday, I used to go for a walk down the canal with a girl who lived down my road. A beautiful girl. What a voice that bird had! A nightingale, my word of honour. Good? Pure? She wasn’t a Sunday school teacher for nothing. Anyway, I’d leave her with a little kiss on the cheek —I never took liberties—we weren’t like the young men these days in those days. We knew the meaning of respect. So I’d give her a peck and I’d bowl back home. Humming away I’d be, past the children’s playground. I’d tip my hat to the toddlers, I’d give a helping hand to a couple of stray dogs, everything came natural. I can see it like yesterday. The sun falling behind the dog stadium. Ah! (He leans back contentedly.)

  MCCANN. Like behind the town hall.

  GOLDBERG. What town hall?

  MCCANN. In Carrikmacross.

  GOLDBERG. There’s no comparison. Up the street, into my gate, inside the door, home. “Simey!” my old mum used to shout, “quick before it gets cold.” And there on the table what would I see? The nicest piece of gefilte fish you could wish to find on a plate.

  MCCANN. I thought your name was Nat.

  GOLDBERG. She called me Simey.

  PETEY. Yes, we all remember our childhood.

  GOLDBERG. Too true. Eh, Mr Webber, what do you say? Childhood Hot water bottles. Hot milk. Pancakes. Soap suds. What a life.

  Pause.

  PETEY (rising from the table). Well, I’ll have to be off.

  GOLDBERG. Off?

  PETEY. It’s my chess night.

  GOLDBERG. You’re not staying for the party?

  PETEY. No, I’m sorry, Stan. I didn’t know about it till just now. And we’ve got a game on. I’ll try and get back early.

  GOLDBERG. We’ll save some drink for you, all right? Oh, that reminds me. You’d better go and collect the bottles.

  MCCANN. Now?

  GOLDBERG. Of course, now. Time’s getting on. Round the corner, remember? Mention my name.

  PETEY. I’m coming your way.

  GOLDBERG. Beat him quick and come back, Mr Boles.

  PETEY. Do my best. See you later, Stan.

  PETEY and MCCANN go out, left. STANLEY moves to the centre.

  GOLDBERG. A warm night.

  STANLEY (turning). Don’t mess me about!

  GOLDBERG. I beg your pardon?

  STANLEY (moving downstage). I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. We’re booked out. Your room is taken. Mrs Boles forgot to tell you. You’ll have to find somewhere else.

  GOLDBERG. Are you the manager here?

  STANLEY. That’s right.

  GOLDBERG. Is it a good game?

  STANLEY. I run the house. I’m afraid you and your friend will have to find other accommodation.

  GOLDBERG (rising). Oh, I forgot, I must congratulate you on your birthday. (Offering his hand.) Congratulations.

  STANLEY (ignoring hand). Perhaps you’re deaf.

  GOLDBERG. No, what makes you think that? As a matter of fact, every single one of my senses is at its peak. Not bad going, eh? For a man past fifty. But a birthday, I always feel, is a great occasion, taken too much for granted these days. What a thi
ng to celebrate—birth! Like getting up in the morning. Marvellous! Some people don’t like the idea of getting up in the morning. I’ve heard them. Getting up in the morning, they say, what is it? Your skin’s crabby, you need a shave, your eyes are full of muck, your mouth is like a boghouse, the palms of your hands are full of sweat, your nose is clogged up, your feet stink, what are you but a corpse waiting to be washed? Whenever I hear that point of view I feel cheerful. Because I know what it is to wake up with the sun shining, to the sound of the lawnmower, all the little birds, the smell of the grass, church bells, tomato juice—

  STANLEY. Get Out.

  Enter MCCANN, with bottles.

  Get that drink out. These are unlicensed premises.

  GOLDBERG. You’re in a terrible humour today, Mr Webber. And on your birthday too, with the good lady getting her strength up to give you a party.

  MCCANN puts the bottles on the sideboard.

  STANLEY. I told you to get those bottles out.

  GOLDBERG. Mr Webber, sit down a minute.

  STANLEY. Let me—just make this clear. You don’t bother me. To me, you’re nothing but a dirty joke. But I have a responsibility towards the people in this house. They’ve been down here too long. They’ve lost their sense of smell. I haven’t. And nobody’s going to take advantage of them while I’m here. (A little less forceful.) Anyway, this house isn’t your cup of tea. There’s nothing here for you, from any angle, any angle. So why don’t you just go, without any more fuss?

  GOLDBERG. Mr Webber, sit down.

  STANLEY. It’s no good starting any kind of trouble.

  GOLDBERG. Sit down.

  STANLEY. Why should I?

  GOLDBERG. If you want to know the truth, Webber, you’re beginning to get on my breasts.

  STANLEY. Really? Well, that’s—

  GOLDBERG. Sit down.

  STANLEY. No.

  GOLDBERG sighs, and sits at the table right.

  GOLDBERG. McCann.

  MCCANN. Nat?

  GOLDBERG. Ask him to sit down.

  MCCANN. Yes, Nat. (MCCANN moves to STANLEY.) Do you mind sitting down?

  STANLEY. Yes, I do mind.

  MCCANN. Yes now, but—it’d be better if you did.

  STANLEY. Why don’t you sit down?

  MCCANN. No, not me—you.

  STANLEY. No thanks.

  Pause.

  MCCANN. Nat.

  GOLDBERG. What?

  MCCANN. He won’t sit down.

  GOLDBERG. Well, ask him.

  MCCANN. I’ve asked him.

  GOLDBERG. Ask him again.