by John Cleese
Virginia: Yes, when she’s feeling better.
Basil: But Roger wants to now.
Roger: No, we mustn’t disturb her.
Basil: No, no, no, no, if Roger wants to . . .
Alice: He doesn’t, Basil. (they all look to Roger)
Roger: Well, we could just say hello.
Alice (furious): Oh, Roger!!
Basil: Right. All right. Fine! All right, OK then, fine!! No problem. No problem. Suits me. Good idea. I’ll just pop upstairs and ask her to stop dying and then you can all come up and identify her.
Alice (embarrassed): Basil.
Basil moves off towards the lobby, grabbing Polly by the arm as he goes past her.
Basil: Polly, would you give me a hand. (he draws her out of the bar and shouts over his shoulder to the others) Help yourself to another drink, please make yourself at home, relax . . .
Roger: Any more nuts?
The lobby. Basil pulls Polly along.
Polly: What are you doing?
Basil: You won’t have to say anything.
Polly: What? (they have reached the stairs; as he starts pulling her up them the penny drops) Oh, no. No. No. No.
Basil: Come on. (he grabs her round the waist and half carries her up the stairs)
Polly (resisting): No!
Basil: Come on.
Polly: I won’t.
Basil: Yes you will.
Polly: I won’t, I won’t.
Basil: It’s easy. You just put on her dark glasses and one of her wigs.
Polly: Let me go!
They have got to the top of the stairs. Basil hustles Polly along the corridor.
Basil: I’ll keep them away from you.
Polly: Mr. Fawlty, will you listen to me?
Basil: We’ll draw the curtains.
Polly: Oh come on, they’d never believe I was . . .
Basil: Seeing is believing.
Polly: But I don’t look like her!
Basil: You’re a woman, aren’t you?
Polly: My face is too long.
Basil: We’ll shorten it. You’ve lost your voice, all you have to do is wave.
Polly: Wave?
Basil (holding her firmly): You just put one hand up and jiggle it about. You’ll soon get the hang of it. (he kicks the door to the bedroom open and pushes her in)
In the bedroom, he runs to the wardrobe, pulls out a wig and throws it to her.
Polly: Mr. Fawlty, I know you’re very excited, you might even be having a nervous breakdown, I don’t know, I’m no expert—but you must really try and see that this isn’t going to work.
Basil (throwing her a negligée): Get that on.
Polly: It isn’t going to work!
Basil: What’s the matter, what’s the matter?
Polly: I’m not doing it! You want to be in a Marx Brothers film, that’s your problem. I’m not interested.
Basil: Not interested?
Polly: No.
Basil: This is all your fault.
Polly: My fault?
Basil: You said she was ill.
Polly: You were the one who invited them to come up here. They didn’t want to. You pretend to be Sybil. (throws him the wig) You get into the bed! (throws him the negligée)
Basil: I’m too big! I’ve got a moustache! What’s this supposed to be, a great hairy bogey?
Polly: It’s something you get when you’re puffed up.
Basil: . . . I’ll ruin you. You’ll never waitress in Torquay again.
Polly: Waitress? That’s a joke. I help out at receptions, I clean the rooms, I deal with the tradesmen, I change the fuses, I tend the switchboard, and if you think my duties now include impersonating members of your family you have got one more screw loose than I thought. I’m not doing it. Do you understand? You get yourself out of it. It’s nothing to do with me.
There is a knock at the door. Basil hears it and mimes a heart attack, clutching his chest, emitting gurgling noises and sinking to the floor.
Polly: A hundred for the car.
Basil: . . . All right.
Polly: Now! (another knock at the door)
Basil: What?!
Polly: Now!
Basil: Now?
Polly: Now.
Outside in the corridor, Manuel is standing by the door bridling. After a moment Basil comes out.
Basil: Hallo? (he sees Manuel)
Manuel: Is not possible.
Basil: What?
Manuel: Is not possible for me. Please come. (he takes Basil’s sleeve)
Basil: What is it?
Manuel: Is Terry, please come.
Basil: Look, I’m busy.
Manuel: He tell me I not know to make a paella. He tell me.
Basil: You tell him . . .
Manuel: I tell him, paella is Spanish, not Cockney stinking eel pie. I make paella like my momma . . .
Basil: I’m not interested!
Manuel: My momma’s recipe is big in Barcelona.
Basil: Go away! Go on!
Manuel: No, no, you come—he call me ignorant wog motherboy crump.
Basil (getting loose from Manuel): Let go of me! Now look!
Reg’s voice (calling up the stairs) Basil!
Basil: Yes? (to Manuel) You tell Terry—let you alone.
Reg (appearing at the top of the stairs): Basil?
Basil: Yes, Reg? (to Manuel) Go on . . . go away! Not you, Reg!
Manuel (going, reluctantly): Is big in Barcelona, big, big.
Reg: Are we supposed to come up now?
Basil: Er, yes, in a moment, Reg. No, no, no, come on up now, you know, yes, come on up . . . yes, she’s just, you know, touching up the worst bits.
Reg comes forward tentatively, followed by the others straggling behind.
Virginia: How is she feeling, Basil?
Basil: Well, um, I woke her and told her that you’d come over—she was very very pleased, of course, but she’s very weak and her throat, you know, and she has great difficulty expressing herself. (they all nod and make concerned noises) Makes a change. Hah! (an embarrassed pause) She should be able to see you in a moment. She’s pretty quick with the old . . .
Virginia: She’s not bothering to make up for us, is she?
Basil: Oh, no, no, no . . . just . . . you know. (a pause) She asked me to thank you and say how much she’s looking forward to seeing you all.
Arthur: Good.
Virginia: She can speak a little then, can she, Basil?
Basil: Um . . . not really, no. No, I see what you mean . . . she wrote that down, actually, on one of the . . . um, postcards she keeps by the side of the bed.
Roger: Did she stamp it? (Basil glares)
Alice: Basil—do you have an ashtray anywhere?
Basil: Oh, yes, I’ll get one, Alice. (he sets off past them)
Alice: Oh, Basil, there’s no need to . . .
Basil: No, it’s no bother, not at all. I shan’t be a second . . .
He hurries down the stairs, across the lobby and into the bar. He grabs a bottle, uncorks it and swings it up to take a swig from it just as Manuel arrives and plucks at his arm.
Manuel: Mr. Fawlty! Mr. Fawlty! (Basil takes his eye off the bottle, most of which goes over him) He put mince in it! He put bloody mince in it!!
Basil (indicating soaking jacket): Look what you’ve done!
Manuel: Oh, sorry! Sorry! (he starts trying to wipe Basil dry) Look, I tell him, paella is a fish dish.
Basil (pushing him away): Go away. Go away.
Manuel: What I do?
Basil: Go away! Arriba—vamoose!!
In the upstairs corridor the crowd has started to bicker.
Roger: Well, this is fun, isn’t it.
Alice: Roger!!
Roger: No, I mean, who wants to go to the boozer or play golf when you can come to one of Basil’s do’s.
Virginia: Oh, come on, Roger. It can’t be easy for him with Sybil lying there ill.
Roger: . . . Well, you know what I thin
k about that.
Virginia: What?
Alice & Kitty: Sssh!
Basil (coming up with ashtray, nuts and crisps): Here we are—I brought some nuts.
Alice: Oh, Basil, you shouldn’t have.
Basil (to Reg): If you could just take the ashtray. (there is a sudden flurry as he drops the nuts) Sorry.
Alice: Oh, never mind.
Basil: I’ll get some more, shall I?
Reg: No, no, we’ve got the crisps.
Basil: Sure? I don’t mind . . .
Virginia: No, no, crisps will be lovely.
Basil: Really? OK, OK. (he offers them round) Crisp, Alice?
Alice: Thank you.
Basil: Arthur?
Arthur: Not for me, thank you.
Basil: Kitty, would you like a crisp?
Kitty: Thank you, lovely, thank you.
Basil: Just hold them—I’ll just get a brush.
Roger: A Basil Brush.
Basil: Ha ha, oh very good, Rog. (he runs off again down the corridor; the others stare after him, surprised)
Roger: Broom broom! (Basil disappears)
Virginia: Roger? . . . What did you mean?
Roger: Well, they’ve had a row. She refused to come down.
Kitty (shocked): Roger.
Roger: And he’s embarrassed her into seeing us.
Basil’s voice (from downstairs) I’m not interested!
In the lobby, Basil is being hampered by Manuel.
Basil: I’m not interested! (he throws Manuel into the kitchen, and runs back upstairs)
In the upstairs corridor Alice and Kitty are trying to pick up the nuts. Basil runs up and starts helping them.
Basil: Oh, don’t you bother, leave it to me.
Reg: Basil. (Basil continues working) Basil?
Basil: Mmmm?
Reg: Perhaps she’s ready now?
Basil: Oh yes. Er . . . good idea. Yes, I’ll just have a look. Right (he opens the door and puts his head inside for a moment) Not quite. Nearly. Anyone care for another crisp?
All: No, thank you, no.
Roger: Have you got a choc ice?
Basil (putting the bowl on the floor near them): Well, I’ll put them there . . . just help yourselves . . . (he looks awkward and flinches at the carpet with his foot)
Roger: Nice carpet, Bas.
Basil: Thank you, yes, it’s a bit worn now.
Roger: Oh, I thought it was part of the pattern.
Alice: Nice paper, Basil.
Basil: Oh, thank you, Alice. Yes, we got it to go with the carpet, you know . . .
Roger: To go with it?
Basil: That’s right, Roger.
Roger: Well, one of ’em’ll have to go. My money’s on the carpet . . .
Basil: You read a lot of Oscar Wilde, do you, Rog? (pointing up) I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the moulding up there. (he treads into the crisp bowl, slips, and sits down abruptly)
Alice: Oh, dear.
Basil: It’s all right, it’s all right, don’t worry. I’ll clean it up. (he stands up)
Roger: What time’s the main feature?
Basil ignores him. The Major walks by.
The Major: Morning, Fawlty. Lovely day for a round of golf.
Basil: Oh, morning, Major. Yes.
The Major: Anyone care to make up a four?
Basil: No, no. We’re going to see Sybil, Major.
The Major: Playing a match, is she?
Basil: No, no, she’s ill. Really quite ill.
The Major: Oh . . . she should be in bed, you know.
Basil: She is. We’re going in to see her.
The Major: Another lot in with her, is there?
Basil: May I introduce Major Gowen, our oldest resident . . . I don’t know if you know everyone, Major?
The Major (shaking hands with everyone): Good morning . . . delighted to meet you . . . Welcome to Torquay.
All: Good morning, Major.
Basil (peeps inside the bedroom): Yes, all right. She’s ready now, come on in. (the Major starts to go in; Basil steers him out) Yes, not you.
They go into Sybil’s bedroom. The curtains are drawn and it is very dark.
Alice: Sybil?
Virginia: Hallo darling, don’t try and speak.
Kitty: The gang’s here.
Alice: Sorry you’re not well.
Kitty: Such a shame.
Virginia: So we thought we’d come and visit you . . . Happy anniversary.
All: Yes, happy anniversary.
There is a crash and a cry. Someone has fallen over. Cries of alarm from the women; a moan.
Virginia: What’s the matter?
Arthur: Reg has fallen over. You all right, Reg?
Reg: Done my ankle.
Alice: Oh dear.
Basil: You all right, Reg?
Virginia: Careful!
Kitty: It’s so dark in here.
Roger: The bloody light’s not working.
Reg: I tripped over something.
There’s another crash and a cry. General alarm.
Arthur: Who’s that?
Kitty: Me.
Alice: It’s Kitty.
Virginia: Where are you, dear?
Arthur: Can’t we have some light in here, Basil?
Basil: Yes, all right, hang on. (there is the sound of a metal wastepaper-basket being kicked across the room) Here we are. OK?
He switches on a small table lamp on the other side of the room. Sybil’s bed, on which Polly is lying, is almost surrounded by screens, with a gap at the foot and a small gap near the head.
Roger: Well, now the light’s on we can see the screen.
Basil: Oh dear.
Virginia: Are you all right, Kitty?
Kitty: I think so.
Reg is getting up gingerly, helped by Arthur.
Roger: You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble, Basil.
Alice: Roger! (she elbows him)
Basil: Come on up here. OK? You both all right? Come on round here, you can see her from there. (to the hidden Polly) Everything all right, dear? (to the others) Here she is!
They move to the foot of the bed and look round it towards ‘Sybil’. Basil moves to the gap in the screen at the head of the bed.
All: Hallo, Sybil. Hallo.
Polly is wearing a wig and dark glasses, and has stuffed something in her mouth to puff her cheeks up. She is in deep shadow. She waves a beringed hand at them.
Roger: There’s something there—I can see it moving.
Virginia: It’s a bit dark, Basil.
Basil: Yes, well, her eyes are very sensitive.
Virginia: She’s got her glasses.
Basil: Yes, well, I’ll just draw the curtains a bit . . . (he goes to do so but Polly makes frantic noises and grabs his leg) Yes, I know they are sensitive, dear . . . it’s all right, trust me, dear . . . trust me, trust me. (he draws the curtains open a little)
All: That’s better. Hallo, dear. Happy anniversary. Hallo, Sybil.
Alice: You poor dear.
Virginia: How are you feeling, dear?
Polly gives the thumbs down.
All: Oooh.
Virginia: You’re very swollen. (Polly points to her cheeks and then her legs)
Basil: . . . Her thighs! The thighs.
Kitty: We’ve brought you a cake.
All: Yes.
Basil takes it and shows it to Polly, who gives the spot-on signal.
Basil: Would you like a little bit, dear? (Polly shakes her head firmly) Oh, have a little bit? Go on . . . (Polly points to her cheeks) Oh, yes! Well . . . fifteen years, eh?
All: Fifteen years, yes! Well, well. Happy anniversary.
Arthur: Well done, both of you.
Polly does the Royal Wave for a bit.
Basil: Thank you. (a pause; Polly waves again; Basil stares at her, then gets the point) . . . . Ah, yes . . . well, I think she’s feeling a little bit tired.
Roger: All that waving’d wear anyone out. (Polly
stretches)
Basil: So perhaps we’d better all . . . er . . . (Polly yawns)
Virginia: What’s that in her mouth, dear . . . the white stuff?
Polly indicates ‘It’s nothing’.
Basil: Just foam . . . you know, from the excitement. Fifteen years, eh? Um, well . . . (he puts the cake down, chancing to look out of the window; to his horror he sees Sybil’s car drive up) Aaaaaaaghh!
Virginia: What is it?
Basil (in panic): I’ve just remembered something! Downstairs! You stay here, have a chat with Polly, Sybil! Sybil!! And I’ll just . . . shan’t be a moment. (he rushes off)
Roger: A chat? Does anyone know semaphore?
The lobby. Basil rushes downstairs just as Sybil walks in.
Basil (calmly): Hallo, dear.
Sybil: I came back for my clubs, Basil, I’m not staying.
Basil: Oh, aren’t you? OK.
Sybil: What?
Basil: Well, I’m sure you know best, dear.
Sybil: You don’t even want me to, do you.
Basil: Um . . . (picks a bit of thread off his jacket) Oh, what’s that?
Sybil (slapping him in the face): Fifteen years I’ve been with you. When I think what I might have had.
Basil: Fifteen years! Coh!
Sybil: . . . You want me to go, don’t you.
Basil: Oh, no! But . . . well, you’ve obviously made up your mind, so . . .
Sybil: I won’t forget this, Basil.
Basil: Won’t you dear?
Sybil: No, I won’t. (a little pause; she starts to cry) I’m going now, Basil. I think it’s best, don’t you?
Basil: All right, dear.
Sybil: Goodbye, Basil.
Basil: . . . Cheerio, dear. (she leaves; just outside she turns and looks back) Drive carefully, dear. (she goes and Basil rushes back up the stairs)
In the bedroom the guests are taking their leave.
Arthur: Get well soon.
Reg: Look after yourself. (Polly waves)
Kitty: We’ll have a little party when you’re feeling better.
Virginia: You know, I really don’t like leaving you like this, dear. (Polly indicates ‘It’s all right’) Let me just have a little feel . . . (she advances with her hands out) Just to see if . . . (Polly waves her away) Now, now don’t be frightened, I’m not going to hurt you . . . just feel your glands, dear. (she comes very close; Polly fends her off) No, don’t be silly Sybil. It’s for your own good, now, don’t be silly. (Polly hits her quite hard) Aagh!
Virginia falls back quite startled. The others are amazed. Basil hurries in.
Basil: What’s going on?
Virginia (holding her eye and crying): She hit me, Basil.