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7

ENGINE makes a sign with his hand to THRASH, who departs. He is heavy, resolute.

WARDROBE: I’m worried about my friend /

(ENGINE seems to ignore this. WARDROBE senses the futility of repeating himself but proceeds to do so.)

I’m worried about /

ENGINE: I heard you / Mr Wardrobe /

(WARDROBE accepts ENGINE’s denial. He is simultaneously hopeless and persistent.)

WARDROBE: It is weeks since he wrote a single line of poetry /

ENGINE: Or recited one /

WARDROBE: Or recited one / yes /

(WARDROBE labours on.)

Or recited one / and /

ENGINE: He is who he is / Mr Bible / nothing can alter that /

WARDROBE: Alter it / no / not alter it / but relieve it / perhaps? /

ENGINE: To relieve Mr Bible of the strains and stresses of being Mr Bible / were it possible / or desirable / lies outside my competence / is Mrs Thrash not satisfactory? /

WARDROBE: Entirely satisfactory /

ENGINE: That’s that / then /

(WARDROBE squirms at his impotence. A pitiful cry comes from him, involuntary, shrill.)

WARDROBE: I’M WORRIED ABOUT MY FRIEND /

(ENGINE studies WARDROBE, sensing his deterioration, and not without pity.)

ENGINE: I must get on /

WARDROBE: Get on / get on / you’re always saying that / I must get on / on to what? / what is it you must get on to? /

(ENGINE prefers not to reply. WARDROBE bites his lip. ENGINE turns to leave.)

I like you / Captain /

(ENGINE stops. He turns to WARDROBE.)

ENGINE: I don’t dislike you / Mr Wardrobe /

(WARDROBE struggles to maintain his dignity, then dissolves.)

WARDROBE: LET ME HAVE A VIOLIN / A TENTH-RATE / SCHOOLGIRL’S VIOLIN /

(ENGINE studies WARDROBE.)

ENGINE: You have had violins / Mr Wardrobe /

WARDROBE: Yes /

ENGINE: And all of them got broken /

WARDROBE: Yes /

ENGINE: I say broken / in actual fact /

WARDROBE: I smashed them /

ENGINE: You smashed them / yes /

WARDROBE: I smashed them / and this act of smashing /I don’t conceal it from myself / was nihilistic / and / arguably / barbaric / but not more barbaric / than the /

ENGINE: (Gravely.) Contempt / Mr Wardrobe /

WARDROBE: The actions which provoked /

ENGINE: Contempt / I said /

(WARDROBE is stilled. His hands squirm in his frustration.)

WARDROBE: I promise /

(He is ashamed to be so infantilized, but proceeds.)

I promise not to break another one /

(ENGINE does not reply.)

Do you have another one? /

(ENGINE remains silent.)

Mrs Thrash / she may be wrong / of course / said there were plenty /

(WARDROBE looks at the floor.)

Could I borrow one? /

(ENGINE says nothing.)

A rotten / shapeless / for half-a-day / busted / unstrung / for half an hour even / borrow one / could I? /

(ENGINE frowns. WARDROBE shakes his head.)

Of course there is one / and of course you cannot lend it me /

(He lifts his head.)

The Emperor will be gratified to learn from your report that / entirely in conformity with his expectations / the effect of the rhapsody on my sensibility was such that I / notorious for my pride / not only submitted a request / but begged / begged for the wherewithal to play it / I did beg / didn’t I? / you are satisfied / Captain / that I begged? / if not I / oh / happily I /

ENGINE: You begged / Mr Wardrobe /

(WARDROBE places his hands together.)

WARDROBE: He requires that I / I say this without contempt / become mad /

(He lifts his eyes to ENGINE.)

I must become mad / is that correct? /

(ENGINE regards WARDROBE with a frank and undisguised pity.) What is the Emperor to you? / Captain? /

(ENGINE is perturbed.)

ENGINE: I have never met the Emperor / nor do I expect to / but if I did / and formed an opinion of him / and this opinion were unfavourable / it would not affect the rigour with which I carry out his orders /

(WARDROBE seems to sway on his feet.)

WARDROBE: But / Captain / I am a genius /

ENGINE: The wind blows / Mr Wardrobe /

(WARDROBE screws up his face.)

WARDROBE: Yes /

(He peers at ENGINE.)

The wind blows / yes /

ENGINE: On all of us /

WARDROBE: ‘The wind blows on all of us’ / what is that? / is that philosophy? /

(ENGINE goes to leave.)

EXCUSE ME / EXCUSE ME / THE WIND BLOWS / WHAT IS THAT? /

(ENGINE ignores WARDROBE and goes out. WARDROBE is half-hysterical, half-euphoric.)

THE WIND BLOWS / THE WIND BLOWS / BIBLE / DID YOU HEAR THAT? /

(To WARDROBE’s horror the CAPTAIN surges back into the room and hoisting WARDROBE off the floor, thrusts him backwards in a grotesque dance.)

I’M BEING KILLED / OH GOD / I’M BEING KILLED /

BIBLE: (Aroused from torpor.) Si - si / Si - si /

WARDROBE: (A doll in ENGINE’s great hands.) YOU HATE YOUR LIFE / YOU HATE YOUR LIFE / AND BECAUSE YOU HATE YOUR LIFE / YOU PUNISH ME /

(Engine deposits WARDROBE as if he were pushing rubbish into an overfilled bin, then releases him. He gazes on the spectacle, without pleasure or remorse. THRASH appears in the doorway.)

That’s illegal / Captain / illegal but /

(He straightens his clothes. THRASH enters and going to the CAPTAIN, takes his hand in hers and raises it to her lips. He accepts this consolation.)

If somehow / by some obscure means / a violin was got to me /

(He rises unsteadily to his feet.)

I may not find it / necessary / to register / a complaint /

(He does not lift his gaze to ENGINE. ENGINE’s demeanour is restored.)

ENGINE: A full account of what occurred will be entered in the weekly statement of conditions / Mr Wardrobe / if you discover scratches / or bruises / let the doctor know /

(He goes out. WARDROBE remains staring at the floor. BIBLE, bewildered, looks about him.)

BIBLE: Sisi? / Sisi? /

WARDROBE: The genius of the Emperor / and the genius of me / no wonder we were friends /

BIBLE: (Crossly.) Sisi /

WARDROBE: To invent such a refinement of his natural malice / which entertained me / I admit / so long as I was not the subject of it / is testament to a greatness of imagination / no less extraordinary than my own / or that of Mr Backus /

BIBLE: Sisi /

WARDROBE: (To THRASH.) (Crossly.) Go to bed with him / stroke him / suffocate him / anything /

(He turns, he calls out.)

SHE’S COMING / YES / COMING / SISI /

(THRASH, in accordance with WARDROBE’s wishes, goes to the canvas bed.)

I’m going mad / I’m going mad myself /

THRASH: (Massaging BIBLE.) I said to burn it / didn’t I? /

WARDROBE: Mad as he intended / and when I’m wholly / and completely mad / I’ll die /

THRASH: Burn it / I said /

WARDROBE: I say die / die as if I had a sickness / I do / I do have a sickness / but to be given sickness / knowing the consequence / is murder / I am being murdered /

(He is aghast.)

AND BACKUS IS THE EMPEROR’S ACCOMPLICE / YES / BACKUS COLLUDED IN MY MURDER / LET HIM KNOW /

THRASH: I will /

WARDROBE: LET HIM KNOW THIS /

THRASH: If I meet him / I will /

WARDROBE: Say Wardrobe knew /

THRASH: Wardrobe knew /

WARDROBE: I’m not asking for him to confess / his excuses / guilty conscience / and the rest / I don’t require the poorest / flimsiest apology / but say I knew his greatest work / he will never do a better / will he? / was the death of me / will you do that? /

THRASH: I will do / yes /

WARDROBE: Thank you / thank you /

THRASH: If I see him /

WARDROBE: You will see him /

THRASH: Will I? /

WARDROBE: You will see him / yes /

(THRASH looks at WARDROBE, even as she nurses BIBLE.)

Froben / Anda / having composed a tribute to the frontier / will / sooner or later / be required to visit it /

(He looks at THRASH.)

I say visit / you know what I mean /

(THRASH frets for WARDROBE.)

The Captain’s wrong / to compare the Emperor to the wind / the wind is cruel / but could we say the wind has wit? / I don’t think so /

THRASH: (Out of compassion.) Say that thing you say / that bad thing about your mother / Wardrobe / those words which / no matter how often you say them / still make you shudder /

(WARDROBE looks at the OLD WOMAN.)

SHOUT IT /

WARDROBE: (Declining her invitation.) You don’t say live /

THRASH: (Rebuked.) I don’t / no / only I thought / it’s a long time since I heard /

WARDROBE: Frig? /

THRASH: That’s it /

WARDROBE: (Supremely indifferent now.) I can say frig /

(He shrugs.)

Frig / frig /

THRASH: Like you used to / like it filled you with / oh /

WARDROBE: Mrs Thrash / you don’t say live /

(THRASH is uncomfortable.)

THRASH: Not normally /

WARDROBE: Never / never /

(She hangs her head, as if repentant.)

You love me /

THRASH: You know I do /

WARDROBE: Yes / but still / this / this solicitude / for my health and happiness / it’s /

(He is frustrated.)

THRASH / YOU DON’T SAY LIVE /

(Rebuked, THRASH bites her lip. WARDROBE observes the tentative entrance of the SOLDIER. He creates a sinister, conspiratorial posture, as if imparting a secret.)

No / violin /

(He mimes tragedy.)

No bow / no bridge / and not a single string /

SOLDIER: I’m not here for my lesson / Mr Wardrobe /

(He moistens his lips.)

I came to say / how sorry we are / Mr Bible is /

(He cannot utter.)

WARDROBE: Dying /

SOLDIER: (Shocked.) Is he? /

(WARDROBE studies the SOLDIER, who pulls at his hands.)

All of us / we / even if we didn’t understand it / we liked his poetry /

WARDROBE: Tell him /

SOLDIER: Tell him? /

WARDROBE: Yes / tell him / not me /

(The SOLDIER chews his tongue in his anxiety, then with a determined toss of his head, goes to advance on the canvas bed.)

It would be much worse /

(The SOLDIER stops.)

Wouldn’t it? / much worse if it was me? /

(The SOLDIER is embarrassed, then he continues his advance on the stricken BIBLE. THRASH makes way for him. The SOLDIER stares at BIBLE, lost for words. The wind blows. At last he finds his voice, but WARDROBE is quicker.)

Nothing is arbitrary / neither here nor anywhere / not a single thing / take the bed / the sordid / steeped-in-toss-and-vomit / caricature of comfort / which officially we share / but which / because of his condition / Bible occupies exclusively / and is / therefore / not available to me / this bed /

THRASH: Shh /

WARDROBE: Wasted on him / now / obviously /

THRASH: Shh /

WARDROBE: Might serve / however clammy with disease / to save me / but no / I lie on the floor / in damp / in draughts / thereby ensuring /

(He is bathed in euphoria.)

OH / AND THIS HE KNEW / PROVIDING US WITH ONE BED BETWEEN TWO /

(He shakes his head in wonder.)

Bible’s death would guarantee my own /

(He casts a glance at the unhappy SOLDIER.)

Or vice-versa / probably he doesn’t mind who follows who /

(He frowns.)

Knowing this / isn’t it obvious / what I should do? /

(THRASH has a horrible premonition.)

If only /

THRASH: Wardrobe /

WARDROBE: If only to frustrate the complacent / and surely / sentimental / attitude to human behaviour /

THRASH: Wardrobe /

WARDROBE: Embedded in the Emperor’s /

THRASH: You mustn’t / Wardrobe /

WARDROBE: Sense of comedy /

(He goes towards the bed.)

THRASH: YOU MUSTN’T TIP POOR BIBLE ON THE FLOOR / I WON’T LET YOU /

(The SOLDIER, shocked at the revelation of WARDROBE’s intention, takes up a defensive posture over the deathbed of BIBLE. WARDROBE is amused, and stops.)

WARDROBE: I say comedy / what’s comedy / only another discipline / surely? /

(Provoking the SOLDIER, WARDROBE launches himself a few paces further and stops.)

SOLDIER: (Braced for a struggle.) Please / you are such a / such a great artist / Mr Wardrobe / please /

(WARDROBE fixes the SOLDIER with a stare.)

WARDROBE: Get a violin /

(The SOLDIER’s face falls.)

SOLDIER: A violin? /

WARDROBE: You know / it’s hollow / and it screams /

(The SOLDIER’s head shakes in his anxiety.)

SOLDIER: I don’t know where to / how to /

WARDROBE: Stab / murder / commit atrocity /

(Neither conceding nor refusing, the SOLDIER hurries out. WARDROBE is immobile, taut, a knot of ambition, frustration, dread. With a swift move he outmanoeuvres THRASH and lifting the canvas bed in both hands, tilts it. With a cry, BIBLE tumbles onto the boards. THRASH howls and goes to attack WARDROBE, who snatches the bed off the floor and extends it before him as a shield. THRASH ceases her onrush and stares in disbelief. WARDROBE goes away a little distance, places the canvas bed on the floor, and extends himself on it. Removing the music score from his clothes, he proceeds to study it. THRASH seems incapable of action. The wind blows. BIBLE faintly sobs.)

THRASH: (At last.) You and the Emperor /

(She screws up her face.)

The Emperor and you /

WARDROBE: Friends /

(THRASH returns to BIBLE and kneels beside him.)

THRASH: He’s been sick / he’s been sick / oh / he’s been sick /

(WARDROBE receives this information without comment. THRASH nurses BIBLE.)

Let go / darling / it’s all right / let go /

(The sounds and sense of BIBLE’s death suffuse WARDROBE’s consciousness. The music, which he had held aloft, falls in his hand like a signal. His hands collapse onto his chest, the fingers barely moving on the score. THRASH hums tunelessly, and eventually, inaudibly. From his deep breathing it is evident that whilst BIBLE is dead, WARDROBE is asleep. THRASH removes herself from the dead man, and looks at WARDROBE, pensively. The wind blows litter over the boards. She steals towards him and with infinite caution, reaches to remove the score from his fingers. He allows her to extract the pages from his grasp, then instantly seizes her wrist. THRASH concedes.)

You never sleep /

(WARDROBE, without letting go of THRASH’s wrist, relieves her of the score with his free hand.)

You must sleep / Wardrobe /

WARDROBE: Must I? / in order that you can satisfy your criminal ambitions? /

THRASH: Criminal? / me? /

WARDROBE: Criminal / yes / it would be criminal / I assure you / if some stinking servant on the frontier / in a froth of naivety / good-will / and innocence / were to frustrate the terrible desires that led to the creation of the rhapsody / now / if Bible’s dead / announce it to the Captain /

(WARDROBE flings away her hand. THRASH does not obey at once, but studies WARDROBE critically. As she goes to leave, she stops.)

THRASH: Madness / Wardrobe /

(She bites her lip.)

Madness is not a coat / you can’t put it on / and take it off /

WARDROBE: I’m not mad / Thrash /

THRASH: I know you’re not /

WARDROBE: And I assert that / knowing full well / the truly mad / rarely admit to it /

(THRASH goes to leave.)

AND SAY A VIOLIN WOULD BE NICE /

(She shakes her head, and goes out. WARDROBE is still. The wind blows. He addresses BIBLE, now stiff on the floor.)

When I said you were doomed / did I know the word would kill you? /

(He seems to wait for a reply.)

Yes / I knew / and still I said it /

(He sits on the bed.)

We could not live / the two of us / and if one of us must perish / far better that one is you / I think you know that / I think / whatever resentment you might have felt / or still feel / Bible / even as I slew you with that word / you knew / your poetry did not entitle you to linger / and lingering / bring me down too / I think / learning of your death / the Emperor will /

(He stops. He laughs. He jumps up.)

Now / that’s a sign of madness / ha /

(He goes to BIBLE.)

To claim / to dare / to even imagine / in a fit of recklessness / what the Emperor might do / ha /

(He swiftly kneels beside BIBLE’s corpse and arranges it, laying the hands over his chest, adjusting the head.)

MADNESS / SURELY / MADNESS / HOO / HOO / HOO /

(He stops abruptly.)

But certainly he will do something / or / to express it with the exactitude that / dear Bible / because of your sacrifice / is your due / he cannot do nothing /

(He presses his fingers together.)

And that is the single aspect of the Imperial will which / when all else appears wild / fluctuating / arbitrary / is fixed / and is a law / for the Emperor / he also labours under a servitude /

(As he develops his thesis, WARDROBE becomes more passionate.)

THEY MAY NOT NOT / THAT IS THE CURSE LAID ON OUR MASTERS / ALWAYS THEY MUST DO /

(WARDROBE’s satisfaction in elaborating his insight is cut off by a sense of some swift movement behind him as SISI, naked and gasping plunges onto the canvas bed he so recently vacated and lies there shivering. WARDROBE does not turn his head to ascertain the identity of the visitor.)