Harold Pinter Page 3
EMMA
Well, I know. But I mean, I like it. I want to do it.
JERRY
No, it’s great. It’s marvellous for you. But you’re not –
EMMA
If you’re running a gallery you’ve got to run it, you’ve got to be there.
JERRY
But you’re not free in the afternoons. Are you?
EMMA
No.
JERRY
So how can we meet?
EMMA
But look at the times you’re out of the country. You’re never here.
JERRY
But when I am here you’re not free in the afternoons. So we can never meet.
EMMA
We can meet for lunch.
JERRY
We can meet for lunch but we can’t come all the way out here for a quick lunch. I’m too old for that.
EMMA
I didn’t suggest that.
Pause.
You see, in the past … we were inventive, we were determined, it was … it seemed impossible to meet … impossible … and yet we did. We met here, we took this flat and we met in this flat because we wanted to.
JERRY
It would not matter how much we wanted to if you’re not free in the afternoons and I’m in America.
Silence.
Nights have always been out of the question and you know it. I have a family.
EMMA
I have a family too.
JERRY
I know that perfectly well. I might remind you that your husband is my oldest friend.
EMMA
What do you mean by that?
JERRY
I don’t mean anything by it.
EMMA
But what are you trying to say by saying that?
JERRY
Jesus. I’m not trying to say anything. I’ve said precisely what I wanted to say.
EMMA
I see.
Pause.
The fact is that in the old days we used our imagination and we’d take a night and make an arrangement and go to an hotel.
JERRY
Yes. We did.
Pause.
But that was … in the main … before we got this flat.
EMMA
We haven’t spent many nights … in this flat.
JERRY
No.
Pause.
Not many nights anywhere, really.
Silence.
EMMA
Can you afford … to keep it going, month after month?
JERRY
Oh …
EMMA
It’s a waste. Nobody comes here. I just can’t bear to think about it, actually. Just … empty. All day and night. Day after day and night after night. I mean the crockery and the curtains and the bedspread and everything. And the tablecloth I brought from Venice. (Laughs.) It’s ridiculous.
Pause.
It’s just … an empty home.
JERRY
It’s not a home.
Pause.
I know … I know what you wanted … but it could never … actually be a home. You have a home. I have a home. With curtains, et cetera. And children. Two children in two homes. There are no children here, so it’s not the same kind of home.
EMMA
It was never intended to be the same kind of home. Was it?
Pause.
You didn’t ever see it as a home, in any sense, did you?
JERRY
No, I saw it as a flat … you know.
EMMA
For fucking.
JERRY
No, for loving.
EMMA
Well, there’s not much of that left, is there?
Silence.
JERRY
I don’t think we don’t love each other.
Pause.
EMMA
Ah well.
Pause.
What will you do about all the … furniture?
JERRY
What?
EMMA
The contents.
Silence.
JERRY
You know we can do something very simple, if we want to do it.
EMMA
You mean sell it to Mrs Banks for a small sum and … and she can let it as a furnished flat?
JERRY
That’s right. Wasn’t the bed here?
EMMA
What?
JERRY
Wasn’t it?
EMMA
We bought the bed. We bought everything. We bought the bed together.
JERRY
Ah. Yes.
EMMA stands.
EMMA
You’ll make all the arrangements, then? With Mrs Banks?
Pause.
I don’t want anything. Nowhere I can put it, you see. I have a home, with tablecloths and all the rest of it.
JERRY
I’ll go into it, with Mrs Banks. There’ll be a few quid, you know, so …
EMMA
No, I don’t want any cash, thank you very much.
Silence. She puts coat on.
I’m going now.
He turns, looks at her.
Oh here’s my key.
Takes out keyring, tries to take key from ring.
Oh Christ.
Struggles to take key from ring.
Throws him the ring.
You take it off.
He catches it, looks at her.
Can you just do it please? I’m picking up Charlotte from school. I’m taking her shopping.
He takes key off.
Do you realise this is an afternoon? It’s the Gallery’s afternoon off. That’s why I’m here. We close every Thursday afternoon. Can I have my keyring?
He gives it to her.
Thanks. Listen. I think we’ve made absolutely the right decision.
She goes.
He stands.
1974
SCENE FOUR
Robert and Emma’s House. Living room. 1974. Autumn.
ROBERT pouring a drink for JERRY. He goes to the door.
ROBERT
Emma! Jerry’s here!
EMMA (off)
Who?
ROBERT
Jerry.
EMMA
I’ll be down.
ROBERT gives the drink to JERRY.
JERRY
Cheers.
ROBERT
Cheers. She’s just putting Ned to bed. I should think he’ll be off in a minute.
JERRY
Off where?
ROBERT
Dreamland.
JERRY
Ah. Yes, how is your sleep these days?
ROBERT
What?
JERRY
Do you still have bad nights? With Ned, I mean?
ROBERT
Oh, I see. Well, no. No, it’s getting better. But you know what they say?
JERRY
What?
ROBERT
They say boys are worse than girls.
JERRY
Worse?
ROBERT
Babies. They say boy babies cry more than girl babies.
JERRY
Do they?
ROBERT
You didn’t find that to be the case?
JERRY
Uh … yes, I think we did. Did you?
ROBERT
Yes. What do you make of it? Why do you think that is?
JERRY
Well, I suppose … boys are more anxious.
ROBERT
Boy babies?
JERRY
Yes.
ROBERT
What the hell are they anxious about … at their age? Do you think?
JERRY
Well … facing the world, I suppose, leaving the womb, all that.
ROBERT
But what about girl babies? They leave the womb too.
JERRY
That’s true. It’s also true that nobody talks much a
bout girl babies leaving the womb. Do they?
ROBERT
I am prepared to do so.
JERRY
I see. Well, what have you got to say?
ROBERT
I was asking you a question.
JERRY
What was it?
ROBERT
Why do you assert that boy babies find leaving the womb more of a problem than girl babies?
JERRY
Have I made such an assertion?
ROBERT
You went on to make a further assertion, to the effect that boy babies are more anxious about facing the world than girl babies.
JERRY
Do you yourself believe that to be the case?
ROBERT
I do, yes.
Pause.
JERRY
Why do you think it is?
ROBERT
I have no answer.
Pause.
JERRY
Do you think it might have something to do with the difference between the sexes?
Pause.
ROBERT
Good God, you’re right. That must be it.
EMMA comes in.
EMMA
Hullo. Surprise.
JERRY
I was having tea with Casey.
EMMA
Where?
JERRY
Just around the corner.
EMMA
I thought he lived in … Hampstead or somewhere.
ROBERT
You’re out of date.
EMMA
Am I?
JERRY
He’s left Susannah. He’s living alone round the corner.
EMMA
Oh.
ROBERT
Writing a novel about a man who leaves his wife and three children and goes to live alone on the other side of London to write a novel about a man who leaves his wife and three children –
EMMA
I hope it’s better than the last one.
ROBERT
The last one? Ah, the last one. Wasn’t that the one about the man who lived in a big house in Hampstead with his wife and three children and is writing a novel about –?
JERRY (to EMMA)
Why didn’t you like it?
EMMA
I’ve told you actually.
JERRY
I think it’s the best thing he’s written.
EMMA
It may be the best thing he’s written but it’s still bloody dishonest.
JERRY
Dishonest? In what way dishonest?
EMMA
I’ve told you, actually.
JERRY
Have you?
ROBERT
Yes, she has. Once when we were all having dinner, I remember, you, me, Emma and Judith, where was it, Emma gave a dissertation over the pudding about dishonesty in Casey with reference to his last novel. ‘Drying Out.’ It was most stimulating. Judith had to leave unfortunately in the middle of it for her night shift at the hospital. How is Judith, by the way?
JERRY
Very well.
Pause.
ROBERT
When are we going to play squash?
JERRY
You’re too good.
ROBERT
Not at all. I’m not good at all. I’m just fitter than you.
JERRY
But why? Why are you fitter than me?
ROBERT
Because I play squash.
JERRY
Oh, you’re playing? Regularly?
ROBERT
Mmnn.
JERRY
With whom?
ROBERT
Casey, actually.
JERRY
Casey? Good Lord. What’s he like?
ROBERT
He’s a brutally honest squash player. No, really, we haven’t played for years. We must play. You were rather good.
JERRY
Yes, I was quite good. All right. I’ll give you a ring.
ROBERT
Why don’t you?
JERRY
We’ll make a date.
ROBERT
Right.
JERRY
Yes. We must do that.
ROBERT
And then I’ll take you to lunch.
JERRY
No, no. I’ll take you to lunch.
ROBERT
The man who wins buys the lunch.
EMMA
Can I watch?
Pause.
ROBERT
What?
EMMA
Why can’t I watch and then take you both to lunch?
ROBERT
Well, to be brutally honest, we wouldn’t actually want a woman around, would we, Jerry? I mean a game of squash isn’t simply a game of squash, it’s rather more than that. You see, first there’s the game. And then there’s the shower. And then there’s the pint. And then there’s lunch. After all, you’ve been at it. You’ve had your battle. What you want is your pint and your lunch. You really don’t want a woman buying you lunch. You don’t actually want a woman within a mile of the place, any of the places, really. You don’t want her in the squash court, you don’t want her in the shower, or the pub, or the restaurant. You see, at lunch you want to talk about squash, or cricket, or books, or even women, with your friend, and be able to warm to your theme without fear of improper interruption. That’s what it’s all about. What do you think, Jerry?
JERRY
I haven’t played squash for years.
Pause.
ROBERT
Well, let’s play next week.
JERRY
I can’t next week. I’m in New York.
EMMA
Are you?
JERRY
I’m going over with one of my more celebrated writers, actually.
EMMA
Who?
JERRY
Casey. Someone wants to film that novel of his you didn’t like. We’re going over to discuss it. It was a question of them coming over here or us going over there. Casey thought he deserved the trip.
EMMA
What about you?
JERRY
What?
EMMA
Do you deserve the trip?
ROBERT
Judith going?
JERRY
No. He can’t go alone. We’ll have that game of squash when I get back. A week, or at the most ten days.
ROBERT
Lovely.
JERRY (to EMMA)
Bye.
ROBERT and JERRY leave.
She remains still.
ROBERT returns. He kisses her. She responds. She breaks away, puts her head on his shoulder, cries quietly. He holds her.
1973
SCENE FIVE
Hotel Room. Venice. 1973. Summer.
EMMA on bed reading. ROBERT at window looking out. She looks up at him, then back at the book.
EMMA
It’s Torcello tomorrow, isn’t it?
ROBERT
What?
EMMA
We’re going to Torcello tomorrow, aren’t we?
ROBERT
Yes. That’s right.
EMMA
That’ll be lovely.
ROBERT
Mmn.
EMMA
I can’t wait.
Pause.
ROBERT
Book good?
EMMA
Mmn. Yes.
ROBERT
What is it?
EMMA
This new book. This man Spinks.
ROBERT
Oh that. Jerry was telling me about it.
EMMA
Jerry? Was he?
ROBERT
He was telling me about it at lunch last week.
EMMA
Really? Does he like it?
ROBERT
Spinks is his boy. He discovered him.
EMMA
Oh. I didn’t know that.
Unsolicited manuscript.
Pause.
You think it’s good, do you?
EMMA
Yes, I do. I’m enjoying it.
ROBERT
Jerry thinks it’s good too. You should have lunch with us one day and chat about it.
EMMA
Is that absolutely necessary?
Pause.
It’s not as good as all that.
ROBERT
You mean it’s not good enough for you to have lunch with Jerry and me and chat about it?
EMMA
What the hell are you talking about?
ROBERT
I must read it again myself, now it’s in hard covers.
EMMA
Again?
ROBERT
Jerry wanted us to publish it.
EMMA
Oh, really?
ROBERT
Well, naturally. Anyway, I turned it down.
EMMA
Why?
ROBERT
Oh … not much more to say on that subject, really, is there?
EMMA
What do you consider the subject to be?
ROBERT
Betrayal.
EMMA
No, it isn’t.
ROBERT
Isn’t it? What is it then?
EMMA
I haven’t finished it yet. I’ll let you know.
ROBERT
Well, do let me know.
Pause.
Of course, I could be thinking of the wrong book.
Silence.
By the way, I went into American Express yesterday.
She looks up.
EMMA
Oh?
ROBERT
Yes. I went to cash some travellers cheques. You get a much better rate there, you see, than you do in an hotel.
EMMA
Oh, do you?
ROBERT
Oh yes. Anyway, there was a letter there for you. They asked me if you were any relation and I said yes. So they asked me if I wanted to take it. I mean, they gave it to me. But I said no, I would leave it. Did you get it?
EMMA
Yes.
ROBERT
I suppose you popped in when you were out shopping yesterday evening?
EMMA
That’s right.
ROBERT
Oh well, I’m glad you got it.
Pause.
To be honest, I was amazed that they suggested I take it. It could never happen in England. But these Italians … so free and easy. I mean, just because my name is Downs and your name is Downs doesn’t mean that we’re the Mr and Mrs Downs that they, in their laughing Mediterranean way, assume we are. We could be, and in fact are vastly more likely to be, total strangers. So let’s say I, whom they laughingly assume to be your husband, had taken the letter, having declared myself to be your husband but in truth being a total stranger, and opened it, and read it, out of nothing more than idle curiosity, and then thrown it in a canal, you would never have received it and would have been deprived of your legal right to open your own mail, and all this because of Venetian je m’en foutisme. I’ve a good mind to write to the Doge of Venice about it.