B: Your harp? [Pause.] What’s all this about a harp?
B: I once had a little harp. Be still and let me listen.
[Pause.]
B: How long are you going to stay like that?
A: I can stay for hours listening to all the sounds.
[They listen.]
B: What sounds?
A: I don’t know what they are.
[They listen.]
B: I can see it. [Pause.] I can–
A: [Imploring.] Will you not be still?
B: No! [A takes his head in his hands.] I can see it clearly, over there on the stool. [Pause.] What if I took it, Billy, and made off with it? [Pause.] Eh Billy, what would you say to that? [Pause.] There might be another old man, some day, would come out of his hole and find you playing the mouth-organ. And you’d tell him of the little fiddle you once had. [Pause.] Eh Billy? [Pause.] Or singing. [Pause.] Eh Billy, what would you say to that? [Pause.] There croaking to the winter wind [rime with unkind], having lost his little mouth-organ. [He pokes him in the back with the pole.] Eh Billy? [A whirls round, seizes the end of the pole and wrenches it from B’s grasp.]
Rough for Theatre II
Like Rough for Theatre I, written in French in the late 1950s. First published in English translation by Grove Press, New York, in 1976.
Upstage centre high double window open on bright night sky. Moon invisible.
Downstage audience left, equidistant from wall and axis of window, small table and chair. On table an extinguished reading-lamp and a briefcase crammed with documents.
Downstage right, forming symmetry, identical table and chair. Extinguished lamp only.
Downstage left door.
Standing motionless before left half of window with his back to stage, C.
Long pause.
Enter A. He closes door, goes to table on right and sits with his back to right wall. Pause. He switches on lamp, takes out his watch, consults it and lays it on the table. Pause. He switches off. Long pause.
Enter B. He closes door, goes to table on left and sits with his back to left wall. Pause. He switches on lamp, opens briefcase and empties contents on table. He looks round, sees A.
B: Well!
A: Hsst! Switch off. [B switches off. Long pause. Low.] What a night! [Long pause. Musing] I still don’t understand. [Pause.] Why he needs our services. [Pause.] A man like him. [Pause.] And why we give them free. [Pause.] Men like us. [Pause.] Mystery. [Pause.] Ah well … [Pause. He switches on.] Shall we go? [B switches on, rummages in his papers.] The crux, [B rummages.] We sum up and clear out. [B rummages.] Set to go?
B: Rearing.
A: We attend.
B: Let him jump.
A: When?
B: Now.
A: From where?
B: From here will do. Three to three and a half metres per floor, say twenty-five in all.
[Pause.]
A: I could have sworn we were only on the sixth. [Pause.] He runs no risk?
B: He has only to land on his arse, the way he lived. The spine snaps and the tripes explode.
[Pause. A gets up, goes to the window, leans out, looks down. He straightens up, looks at the sky. Pause. He goes back to his seat.]
A: Full moon.
B: Not quite. Tomorrow.
[A takes a little diary from his pocket.]
A: What’s the date?
B: Twenty-fourth. Twenty-fifth tomorrow.
A: [Turning pages.] Nineteen … twenty-two … twenty-four. [Reads.] ‘Our Lady of Succour. Full moon.’ [He puts back the diary in his pocket.] We were saying then … what was it … let him jump. Our conclusion. Right?
B: Work, family, third fatherland, cunt, finances, art and nature, heart and conscience, health, housing conditions, God and man, so many disasters.
[Pause.]
A: [Meditative.] Does it follow? [Pause.] Does it follow? [Pause.] And his sense of humour? Of proportion?
B: Swamped.
[Pause.]
A: May we not be mistaken?
B: [Indignant.] We have been to the best sources. All weighed and weighed again, checked and verified. Not a word here [brandishing sheaf of papers] that is not cast iron. Tied together like a cathedral. [He flings down the papers on the table. They scatter on the floor.] Shit!
[He picks them up. A raises his lamp and shines it about him.]
A: Seen worse dumps. [Turning towards window.] Worse outlooks. [Pause.] Is that Jupiter we see?
[Pause.]
B: Where?
A: Switch off. [They switch off.] It must be.
B: [Irritated.] Where?
A: [Irritated] There, [B cranes.] There, on the right, in the corner.
[Pause.]
B: No. It twinkles.
B: What is it then?
B: [Indifferent.] No idea. Sirius. [He switches on.] Well? Do we work or play? [A switches on.] You forget this is not his home. He’s only here to take care of the cat. At the end of the month shoosh back to the barge. [Pause. Louder.] You forget this is not his home.
A: [Irritated.] I forget, I forget! And he, does he not forget? [With passion.] But that’s what saves us!
B: [Searching through his papers.] Memory… memory… [He takes up a sheet.] I quote: ‘An elephant’s for the eating cares, a sparrow’s for the Lydian airs.’ Testimony of Mr Swell, organist at Seaton Sluice and lifelong friend.
[Pause.]
B: [Glum.] Tsstss!
B: I quote: ‘Questioned on this occasion’–open brackets–‘(judicial separation)’–close brackets–‘regarding the deterioration of our relations, all he could adduce was the five or six miscarriages which clouded’–open brackets–‘(oh through no act of mine!)’–close brackets–‘the early days of our union and the veto which in consequence I had finally to oppose’–open brackets–‘(oh not for want of inclination!)’–close brackets–‘to anything remotely resembling the work of love. But on the subject of our happiness’–open brackets–‘(for it too came our way, unavoidably, and here my mind goes back to the first vows exchanged at Wootton Bassett under the bastard acacias, or again to the first fifteen minutes of our wedding night at Littlestone-on-Sea, or yet again to those first long studious evenings in our nest on Commercial Road East)’–close brackets–‘on the subject of our happiness not a word, Sir, not one word.’ Testimony of Mrs Aspasia Budd-Croker, button designer in residence, Commercial Road East.
A: [Glum] Tsstss!
B: I quote again: ‘Of our national epos he remembered only the calamities, which did not prevent him from winning a minor scholarship in the subject.’ Testimony of Mr Peaberry, market gardener in the Deeping Fens and lifelong friend. [Pause.] ‘Not a tear was known to fall in our family, and God knows they did in torrents, that was not caught up and piously preserved in that inexhaustible reservoir of sorrow, with the date, the hour and the occasion, and not a joy, fortunately they were few, that was not on the contrary irrevocably dissolved, as by a corrosive. In that he took after me.’ Testimony of the late Mrs Darcy-Croker, woman of letters. [Pause.] Care for more?
A: Enough.
B: I quote: ‘To hear him talk about his life, after a glass or two, you would have thought he had never set foot outside hell. He had us in stitches. I worked it up into a skit that went down well.’ Testimony of Mr Moore, light comedian, c/o Widow Merryweather-Moore, All Saints on the Wash, and lifelong friend.
[Pause.]
A: [Stricken.] Tsstss! [Pause.] Tsstsstss!
B: You see. [Emphatic.] This is not his home and he knows it full well.
[Pause]
A: Now let’s have the positive elements.
B: Positive? You mean of a nature to make him think… [hesitates, then with sudden violence] … that some day things might change? Is that what you want? [Pause. Calmer.] There are none.
A: [Wearily.] Oh yes there are, that’s the beauty of it.
[Pause, B rummages in his papers.]
B: [Looking up.] Forgive me, Bertrand. [Pause. Rum
mages. Looks up.] I don’t know what came over me. [Pause. Rummages. Looks up.] A moment of consternation. [Pause. Rummages.] There is that incident of the lottery … possibly. Remember?
A: No.
B: [Reading.] ‘Two hundred lots … winner receives high class watch … solid gold, hallmark nineteen carats, marvel of accuracy, showing year, month, date, day, hour, minute and second, super chic, unbreakable hair spring, chrono escapement nineteen rubies, anti-shock, anti-magnetic, airtight, waterproof, stainless, self-winding, centre seconds hand, Swiss parts, de luxe lizard band.’
A: What did I tell you? However unhopefully. The mere fact of chancing his luck. I knew he had a spark left in him.
B: The trouble is he didn’t procure it himself. It was a gift. That you forget.
A: [Irritated.] I forget, I forget! And he, does he not–[Pause.] At least he kept it.
B: If you can call it that.
A: At least he accepted it. [Pause.] At least he didn’t refuse it.
B: I quote: ‘The last time I laid eyes on him I was on my way to the Post Office to cash an order for back-pay. The area before the building is shut off by a row of bollards with chains hung between them. He was seated on one of these with his back to the Thompson works. To all appearances down and out. He sat doubled in two, his hands on his knees, his legs astraddle, his head sunk. For a moment I wondered if he was not vomiting. But on drawing nearer I could see he was merely scrutinizing, between his feet, a lump of dogshit. I moved it slightly with the tip of my umbrella and observed how his gaze followed the movement and fastened on the object in its new position. This at three o’clock in the afternoon if you please! I confess I had not the heart to bid him the time of day, I was overcome. I simply slipped into his hip pocket a lottery ticket I had no use for, while silently wishing him the best of luck. When two hours later I emerged from the Post Office, having cashed my order, he was at the same place and in the same attitude. I sometimes wonder if he is still alive.’ Testimony of Mr Feckman, certified accountant and friend for better and for worse.
[Pause.]
A: Dated when?
B: Recent.
A: It has such a bygone ring. [Pause.] Nothing else?
B: Oh … bits and scraps … good graces of an heirless aunt … unfinished–
A: Hairless aunt?
B: … heirless aunt … unfinished game of chess with a correspondent in Tasmania … hope not dead of living to see the extermination of the species … literary aspirations incompletely stifled … bottom of a dairy-woman in Waterloo Lane … you see the kind of thing.
[Pause.]
A: We pack up this evening, right?
B: Without fail. Tomorrow we’re at Bury St Edmunds.
A: [Sadly.] We’ll leave him none the wiser. We’ll leave him now, never to meet again, having added nothing to what he knew already.
B: All these testimonies were new to him. They will have finished him off.
A: Not necessarily. [Pause.] Any light on that? [Papers.] This is vital. [Papers.] Something … I seem to remember … something … he said himself.
B: [Papers.] Under ‘Confidences’ then. [Brief laugh.] Slim file. [Papers.] Confidences … confidences … ah!
A: [Impatient] Well?
B: [Reading.] ‘… sick headaches … eye trouble … irrational fear of vipers … ear trouble …’–nothing for us there–‘… fibroid tumours … pathological horror of songbirds … throat trouble … need of affection …’–we’re coming to it–‘… inner void … congenital timidity … nose trouble …’–ah! listen to this!–‘…morbidly sensitive to the opinion of others …’ [Looks up.] What did I tell you?
A: [Glum.] Tsstss!
B: I’ll read the whole passage: ‘… morbidly sensitive to the opinion of others–’ [His lamp goes out.] Well! The bulb has blown! [The lamp goes on again.] No, it hasn’t! Must be a faulty connection. [Examines lamp, straightens flex.] The flex was twisted, now all is well. [Reading.] ‘… morbidly sensitive–’ [The lamp goes out.] Bugger and shit!
A: Try giving her a shake, [B shakes the lamp. It goes on again.] See! I picked up that wrinkle in the Band of Hope.
[Pause.]
B: What?
A: Keep your hands off the table. If it’s a connection the least jog can do it.
B: [Having pulled back his chair a little way.] ‘… morbidly sensitive–’
[The lamp goes out. B bangs on the table with his fist. The lamp goes on again. Pause.]
A: Mysterious affair, electricity.
B: [Hurriedly.] ‘… morbidly sensitive to the opinion of others at the time, I mean as often and for as long as they entered my awareness–’ What kind of Chinese is that?
A: [Nervously.] Keep going, keep going!
B: ‘… for as long as they entered my awareness, and that in either case, I mean whether such on the one hand as to give me pleasure or on the contrary on the other to cause me pain, and truth to tell–’ Shit! Where’s the verb?
A: What verb?
B: The main!
A: I give up.
B: Hold on till I find the verb and to hell with all this drivel in the middle. [Reading.] ‘… were I but … could I but …’ –Jesus!–‘… though it be … be it but…’–Christ!–ah! I have it–‘… I was unfortunately incapable …’ Done it!
A: How does it run now?
B: [Solemnly.] ‘… morbidly sensitive to the opinion of others at the time …’–drivel drivel drivel–‘… I was unfortunately incapable–’
[The lamp goes out. Long pause.]
A: Would you care to change seats? [Pause.] You see what I mean? [Pause.] That you come over here with your papers and I go over there. [Pause.] Don’t whinge, Morvan, that will get us nowhere.
B: It’s my nerves. [Pause.] Ah if I were only twenty years younger I’d put an end to my sufferings!
A: Fie! Never say such horrid things! Even to a well-wisher!
B: May I come to you? [Pause.] I need animal warmth. [Pause.]
A: [Coldly.] As you like, [B gets up and goes towards A.] With your files if you don’t mind, [B goes back for papers and briefcase, returns towards A, puts them on A’s table, remains standing. Pause.] Do you want me to take you on my knees?
[Pause. B goes back for his chair, returns towards A, stops before A’s table with the chair in his arms. Pause.]
B: [Shyly.] May I sit beside you? [They look at each other.] No? [Pause.] Then opposite. [He sits down opposite A, looks at him. Pause.] Do we continue?
A: [Forcibly.] Let’s get it over and go to bed.
[B rummages in his papers.]
B: I’ll take the lamp. [He draws it towards him.] Please God it holds out. What would we do in the dark the pair of us? [Pause.] Have you matches?
A: Never without. [Pause.] What we would do? Go and stand by the window in the starlight, [B’s lamp goes on again.] That is to say you would.
B: [Fervently.] Oh no not alone I wouldn’t!
A: Pass me a sheet, [B passes him a sheet.] Switch off.
[B switches off.] Oh lord, yours is on again.
B: This gag has gone on long enough for me.
A: Just so. Go and switch it off.
[B goes to his table, switches off his lamp. Pause.]
B: What am I to do now? Switch it on again?
A: Come back.
B: Switch on then till I see where I’m going.
[A switches on. B goes back and sits down opposite A. A switches off, goes to window with sheet, halts, contemplates the sky.]
A: And to think all that is nuclear combustion! All that faerie! [He stoops over sheet and reads haltingly.] ‘Aged ten, runs away from home first time, brought back next day, admonished, forgiven.’ [Pause.] ‘Aged fifteen, runs away from home second time, dragged back a week later, thrashed, forgiven.’ [Pause.] ‘Aged seventeen, runs away from home third time, slinks back six months later with his tail between his legs, locked up, forgiven.’ [Pause.] ‘Aged seventeen runs away from home last time, crawls
back a year later on his hands and knees, kicked out, forgiven.’
[Pause. He moves up against window to inspect C’s face, to do which he has to lean out a little way, with his back to the void.]
B: Careful!
[Long pause, all three dead still]
B: [Sadly.] Tsstss! [He resumes his equilibrium.] Switch on. [B switches on. A goes back to his table, sits, returns the sheet to B.] It’s heavy going, but we’re nearly home.
B: How does he look?
A: Not at his best.
B: Has he still got that little smile on his face?
B: Probably.
B: What do you mean, probably, haven’t you just been looking at him?
A: He didn’t have it then.
B: [With satisfaction.] Ah! [Pause.] Could never make out what he thought he was doing with that smile on his face. And his eyes? Still goggling?
A: Shut.
B: Shut!
A: Oh it was only so as not to see me. He must have opened them again since. [Pause. Violently.] You’d need to stare them in the face day and night! Never take your eyes off them for a week on end! Unbeknownst to them!
[Pause.]
B: Looks to me we have him.
A: [Impatiently.] Come on, we’re getting nowhere, get on with it.
[B rummages in his papers, finds the sheet.]
B: [Reading at top speed.] ‘… morbidly sensitive to the opinion of others at the time…’–drivel drivel drivel–‘… I was unfortunately incapable of retaining it for more than ten or fifteen minutes at the most, that is to say the time required to take it in. From then on it might as well never have been uttered.’ [Pause.] Tsstss!
A: [With satisfaction.] You see. [Pause.] Where does that come in?
B: In a letter presumably never posted to an anonymous admiratrix.
A: An admiratrix? He had admiratrixes?
B: It begins: ‘Dear friend and admiratrix …’ That’s all we know.
The Complete Dramatic Works of Samuel Beckett Page 21