Читать книгу The Apple Family - Richard Nelson - Страница 16

Acting and Forgetting

A short time later. Benjamin, Barbara, Jane and Tim.

Richard has yet to return.

TIM: Mr. Apple . . .? Could I ask you something?

BARBARA: What?

JANE (To Barbara): It’s all right, Barbara.

BARBARA: What’s he going to—?

TIM: About your reading, sir. At the Y. A few months ago? Friends of mine had seen you the night before, and they told me it was a must-see. Especially for actors.

JANE (Answering a much earlier question, to Barbara): I didn’t even know he was there, until after.

TIM: Of course we all knew about your illness. The heart attack. And—the memory. I think that was one of the first things we all said to ourselves, when we heard . . . (He turns to Barbara) He knows he’s had the heart attack?

BENJAMIN: Yes.

TIM: We said . . . what’s an actor—if he can’t remember? (Smiles) But—then to see you at the Y, reading the Oscar Wilde—it was—you were—incredible . . . You weren’t just reading, you were—reading it fresh, for the first time. And so it had the sense that you couldn’t make a mistake—if you made one, it wasn’t really a mistake. If you fumbled . . . That was part of the performance.

(Then:)

I’ve wanted to say that, sir. After all, that’s every actor’s dream, isn’t it?

BENJAMIN: What is?

TIM: I suppose—to forget.

(Benjamin looks at him.)

To forget that you’ve learned lines, forget that you’ve rehearsed, forget that you’re performing a play. My actor friends and I came up with a whole new definition—just from watching you—for what we’ve been attempting to do all of our lives. Do you want to hear it?

(Benjamin nods.)

Great acting—is simply willed amnesia.

BENJAMIN: Mmmmmmm.

(He looks off in thought and smiles. All look at him.)

Yes, I think that’s very important.

(Richard returns.)

RICHARD: I took Toby outside—

JANE: Sh-sh.

RICHARD (To Barbara): Where do you keep little plastic bags?

JANE: Be quiet.

RICHARD: What’s going on?

TIM (To the others, continuing): To forget that you are civilized. Scripted. So something true perhaps, something real is seen.

RICHARD: What?

JANE: I don’t understand.

BENJAMIN: Yes. To be without judgment. And so without inhibitions. Is that what you mean?

(The others are very interested now, as Benjamin has been engaged.)

TIM (After a look at the others): I think so.

BENJAMIN: “Why am I saying this?” “Why did I do that?” “Why do they laugh or don’t laugh?” We only limit ourselves—by remembering.

JANE: As actors you mean?

(No response.)

As actors?

BENJAMIN: It’s a complete contradiction of course.

RICHARD: What is?

TIM (Explaining): Acting.

BENJAMIN: You have to in fact be aware of what you’re doing, very consciously and not consciously. But I think that is the experience of freedom. When you are really doing it all without self-judgment, without inhibitions. It’s how you discover things.

TIM: So your acting has— (To the others) Sorry, but I’ve been so curious about this—

BARBARA: No, no—

RICHARD (Over this): Please . . .

TIM (To Benjamin): So you are aware that your acting has changed, since the illness? Your amnesia?

BENJAMIN: Yes.

TIM: I’d seen you many many times on stage. And have so admired you. But I have to say, this reading at the Y was something different.

BENJAMIN: Perhaps amnesia— (Explaining to the others) which is what I have, I’m told.

JANE: We know.

BENJAMIN: Gives one the capacity to respond—freshly, spontaneously, to whatever happened to you.

BARBARA (Quietly): This is the first time he’s ever talked about this.

BENJAMIN: It’s a state of being where you will not—and this is not a particularly original thought but it’s worth making—where you will not be bogged down with your past. Literally, it’s not only can you not remember—I can’t tell you what I did last week or earlier this morning. Is it still morning?

RICHARD: It’s nearly eight at night, Uncle.

BENJAMIN: Anyway, not remembering—there’s an advantage to that—obviously certain disadvantages—but the advantages of that is that each day is completely free. You’re not thinking, Can I do better than I did last week? Each day is a free day, and you take it as it comes. And you’ll find what you want to find in it. You’ll learn what you want to learn. And to that extent it’s true that I never feel apprehensive now. About myself, I mean. I don’t mean about Barbara and Marian . . . And . . . I don’t feel apprehensive about myself. I don’t have any concerns—am I going to do this as well as I have, and so forth.

(Short pause.)

JANE: And this is so useful to your acting.

BENJAMIN: It’s useful.

(Pause.)

BARBARA: I have a question.

(Benjamin looks at her.)

Uncle, when you sit alone outside in the garden or on the porch swing? You look like you are lost in thought. Into your own world. What do you think about?

BENJAMIN: Oh. Many many things. I think about the day that’s ahead.

BARBARA (After a glance at the others): Do you despair?

BENJAMIN: No. I don’t think I ever have. I’ve never felt myself to be desperate at all.

BARBARA: Do you have moments when you are frustrated?

BENJAMIN: I don’t think I do. I think I possibly should have more. I don’t seem to get into situations now where I’m frustrated. I seem not to.

BARBARA (She is speaking very quietly, a tension in the room, one could hear a pin drop): Are there times when you look around and wish you could remember?

(A couple of dog barks from the kitchen.)

BENJAMIN: No. There aren’t. Not that I’m not aware of the absence of things in my memory, but apart from . . . (Tries to remember, but can’t) No I mean, I might try to remember something and be annoyed that I can’t remember it. And why can’t I remember it. But that’s comparatively short-lived. Not that I wish I had a better memory or had a memory about this. I don’t. No. No, I don’t feel frustrated in that sense. Not at all. Actually, I think I’m happy. (He smiles)

(Silence.

Marian enters from the kitchen.)

MARIAN (Entering): Sorry to be late.

(The others are startled, jump. Jane screams.)

BARBARA: You scared us.

(Then:)

It’s Marian. Look who’s here, Uncle Benjamin.

BENJAMIN: Marian.

RICHARD (Holds his chest): My god . . .

MARIAN (To Richard): What did I do? Is that the new dog in the kitchen?

BARBARA: Marian, sh-sh. Benjamin is in the middle of telling us—what he’s been feeling. I asked him if he despaired. He doesn’t. He doesn’t despair. We’ve wondered about that.

MARIAN: He doesn’t?

BARBARA (To Benjamin): What else do you want to tell us, Uncle? (To Marian) It’s been so interesting. (To Benjamin) Tell Marian too.

(No response.

Marian goes to Benjamin, who eats.)

MARIAN: Uncle, tell me too.

BARBARA: He said he’s happy.

MARIAN: Are you happy, Uncle?

(No response.)

BARBARA (To the others): Marian comes by almost every day to see Uncle Benjamin. (To Benjamin) Doesn’t she? She wants to hear too.

(Benjamin continues to eat.)

RICHARD: I think maybe—he’s done for now.

(Short pause.)

JANE: How are you Marian?

MARIAN: Sorry I’m late.

JANE (To Marian): Even as a kid you were always creeping up on us.

(They hug.)

MARIAN (Hugging): I don’t remember ever “creeping.”

JANE: Maybe you only “creeped” up on me.

MARIAN: I wasn’t “creeping.” Richard, what did I do? I’m sorry if I interrupted—

RICHARD: You didn’t do anything.

BARBARA: We started without you.

MARIAN (About Tim): Who are you?

JANE: You ask like he’s a burglar.

MARIAN (To Jane): I did not.

TIM: Tim—

RICHARD: This is Tim. Should I get you a plate, or do you want to—? He’s doing a workshop.

MARIAN: What does that mean?

RICHARD: He’s an actor.

JANE: Don’t just stare at him, Marian.

MARIAN: I’m not staring—

JANE: Tim, this is my other sister, Marian.

TIM: Nice to meet you—

MARIAN: Nice to meet you— (Looks to Barbara)

BARBARA: “Tim.”

MARIAN: Barbara, he’s young.

BARBARA: That’s it, Tim. There are no more of us.

RICHARD: Thank you god . . . Take a plate, Marian. We didn’t wait . . .

(The lights fade.)