Читать книгу The Real Thing - Tom Stoppard - Страница 11
ОглавлениеACT ONE
SCENE I
MAX and CHARLOTTE.
Max doesn’t have to be physically impressive, but you wouldn’t want him for an enemy. Charlotte doesn’t have to be especially attractive, but you instantly want her for a friend.
Living-room. Architect’s drawing board, perhaps. A partly open door leads to an unseen hall and an unseen front door. One or two other doors to other rooms.
Max is alone, sitting in a comfortable chair, with a glass of wine and an open bottle to hand. He is using a pack of playing cards to build a pyramidical, tiered viaduct on the coffee table in front of him. He is about to add a pair of playing cards (leaning against each other to hold each other up), and the pyramid is going well. Beyond the door to the hall, the front door is heard being opened with a key. The light from there changes as the unseen front door is opened.
Max does not react to the opening of the door, which is more behind him than in front of him.
MAX Don’t slam—
The front door slams, not violently. The viaduct of cards collapses.
(Superfluously, philosophically) … the door.
Charlotte, in the hall, wearing a topcoat, looks round the door just long enough to say two words and disappears again.
CHARLOTTE It’s me.
Max leaves the cards where they have fallen. He takes a drink from the glass. He doesn’t look up at all. Charlotte, without the topcoat, comes back into the room carrying a small suitcase and a plastic duty-free airport bag. She puts the case down and comes up behind Max’s chair and kisses the top of his head.
CHARLOTTE Hello.
MAX Hello, lover.
CHARLOTTE That’s nice. You used to call me lover.
She drops the airport bag on his lap and returns towards the suitcase.
MAX Oh, it’s you. I thought it was my lover. (He doesn’t look at his present. He puts the bag on the floor by his chair.) Where is it you’ve been?
The question surprises her. She is deflected from picking up her suitcase—presumably to take it into the bedroom—and the case remains where it is.
CHARLOTTE Well, Switzerland, of course. Weren’t you listening?
Max finally looks at her.
MAX You look well. Done you good.
CHARLOTTE What, since yesterday?
MAX Well, something has. How’s Ba’l?
CHARLOTTE Who?
Max affects to puzzle very briefly over her answer.
MAX I meant Ba’l. Do you say ‘Basel’? I say Ba’l.
CHARLOTTE Oh … yes. I say Basel.
MAX (Lilts) ‘Let’s call the whole thing off…’
Charlotte studies him briefly, quizzically.
CHARLOTTE Fancy a drink?
She notes the glass, the bottle, and his behaviour.
(Pointedly, but affectionately) Another drink?
He smiles at her, empties his glass and holds it up for her. She takes the glass, finds a second glass, pours wine into both glasses and gives Max his own glass.
MAX How’s old Basel, then? Keeping fit?
CHARLOTTE Are you a tiny bit sloshed?
MAX Certainly.
CHARLOTTE I didn’t go to Basel.
Max is discreetly but definitely interested by that.
MAX No? Where did you go, then?
CHARLOTTE Geneva.
Max is surprised. He cackles.
MAX Geneva! (He drinks from his glass.) How’s old Geneva, then? Franc doing well?
CHARLOTTE Who?
He affects surprise.
MAX The Swiss franc. Is it doing well?
CHARLOTTE Are you all right?
MAX Absolutely.
CHARLOTTE How have you got on?
MAX Not bad. My best was eleven pairs on the bottom row, but I ran out of cards.
CHARLOTTE What about the thing you were working on? … What is it?
MAX An hotel.
CHARLOTTE Yes. You were two elevators short.
MAX I’ve cracked it.
CHARLOTTE Good.
MAX I’m turning the whole place on its side and making it a bungalow. I still have a problem with the rooftop pool. As far as I can see, all the water is going to fall into the shallow end. How’s the lake, by the way?
CHARLOTTE What lake?
He affects surprise.
MAX Lake Geneva. You haven’t been to Loch Ness, have you? Lake Geneva. It is at Geneva? It must be. They wouldn’t call it Lake Geneva if it was at Ba’l or Basel. They’d call it Lake Ba’l or Basel. You know the Swiss. Utterly reliable. And they’ve done it without going digital, that’s what I admire so much. They know it’s all a snare and a delusion. I can remember digitals when they first came out. You had to give your wrist a vigorous shake like bringing down a thermometer, and the only place you could buy one was Tokyo. But it looked all over for the fifteen-jewelled movement. Men ran through the market place shouting, ‘The cog is dead.’ But still the Swiss didn’t panic. In fact, they made a few digitals themselves, as a feint to draw the Japanese further into the mire, and got on with numbering the bank accounts. And now you see how the Japs are desperately putting hands on their digital watches. It’s yodelling in the dark. They can yodel till the cows come home. The days of the digitals are numbered. The metaphor is built into them like a self-destruct mechanism. Mark my words, I was right about the skateboard, I was right about nouvelle cuisine, and I’ll be proved right about the digital watch. Digitals have got no class, you see. They’re science and technology. Makes nonsense of a decent pair of cufflinks, as the Swiss are the first to understand. Good sale?
Charlotte stares at him.
CHARLOTTE What?
He affects surprise.
MAX Good sale. Was the sale good? The sale in Geneva, how was it? Did it go well in Geneva, the sale?
CHARLOTTE What’s the matter?
MAX I’m showing an interest in your work. I thought you liked me showing an interest in your work. My showing. Save the gerund and screw the whale. Yes, I’m sure you do. I remember how cross you got when I said to someone, ‘My wife works for Sotheby’s or Christie’s, I forget which.’ You misjudged me, as it happens. You thought I was being smart at your expense. In fact, I had forgotten. How’s old Christie, by the way? (Strikes his forehead.) There I go. How’s old Sothers, by the way? Happy with the Geneva sale, I trust?
Charlotte puts her glass down and moves to stand facing him.
CHARLOTTE (To call a halt) All right.
MAX Just all right? Well, that’s the bloody Swiss for you. Conservative, you see. The Japs could show them a thing or two. They’d have a whaling fleet in Lake Geneva by now. How’s the skiing, by the way? Plenty of snow?
CHARLOTTE Stop it—stop it—stop it. What have I done?
MAX You forgot your passport.
CHARLOTTE I did what?
MAX You went to Switzerland without your passport.
CHARLOTTE What makes you think that?
MAX I found it in your recipe drawer.
CHARLOTTE (Quietly) Jesus God.
MAX Quite.
Charlotte moves away and looks a him with some curiosity.
CHARLOTTE What were you looking for?
MAX Your passport.
CHARLOTTE It’s about the last place I would have looked.
MAX It was.
CHARLOTTE Why were you looking for it?
MAX I didn’t know it was going to be your passport. If you see what I mean.
CHARLOTTE I think I do. You go through my things when I’m away? (Pause. Puzzled.) Why?
MAX I liked it when I found nothing. You should have just put it in your handbag. We’d still be an ideal couple. So to speak.
CHARLOTTE Wouldn’t you have checked to see if it had been stamped?
MAX That’s a very good point. I notice that you never went to Amsterdam when you went to Amsterdam. I must say I take my hat off to you, coming home with Rembrandt place mats for your mother. It’s those little touches that lift adultery out of the moral arena and make it a matter of style.
CHARLOTTE I wouldn’t go on, if I were you.
MAX Rembrandt place mats! I wonder who’s got the originals. Some Arab, is it? ‘Dinner’s ready, Abdul, put the Rembrandts on the table.’
CHARLOTTE It’s like when we were burgled. The same violation. Worse.
MAX I’m not a burglar. I’m your husband.
CHARLOTTE As I said. Worse.
MAX Well, I’m sorry. I think I just apologized for finding out that you’ve deceived me. Yes, I did. How does she do it?
She moves away, to leave the room.
Are you going somewhere?
CHARLOTTE I’m going to bed.
MAX Aren’t you going to tell me who it is?
CHARLOTTE Who what is?
MAX Your lover, lover.
CHARLOTTE Which lover?
MAX I assumed there’d only be the one.
CHARLOTTE Did you?
MAX Well, do you see them separately or both together? Sorry, that’s not fair. Well, tell you what, nod your head if it’s separately.
She looks at him.
Heavens. If you have an opening free, I’m not doing much at the moment. Or is the position taken? It is only two, is it? Nod your head.
She looks at him.
Golly, you are a dark horse. How do they all three get away at the same time? Do they work together, like the Marx Brothers? I’m not upsetting you, I hope?
CHARLOTTE You underestimate me.
MAX (Interested) Do I? A string quartet, you mean? That sort of thing? (He ponders that for a moment.) What does the fourth one do?
She raises her hand.
Got it. Plays by himself. You can slap me if you like. I won’t slap you back. I abhor cliché. It’s one of the things that has kept me faithful.
Charlotte returns to the hall and reappears wearing her topcoat.
CHARLOTTE If you don’t mind, I think I will go out after all.
She moves to close the door behind her.
MAX You’ve forgotten your suitcase.
Pause. She comes back and picks up her suitcase. She takes the case to the door.
CHARLOTTE I’m sorry if you’ve had a bad time. But you’ve done everything wrong. There’s a right thing to say if you can think what it is.
She waits a moment while Max thinks.
MAX Is it anyone I know?
CHARLOTTE You aren’t anyone I know.
She goes out, closing the door, and then the front door is heard opening and closing. Max remains seated. After a moment he reaches down for the airport bag, puts it back on his lap and looks inside it. He starts to laugh. He withdraws from the bag a miniature Alp in a glass bowl. He gives the bowl a shake and creates a snowstorm within it. Then the snowstorm envelops the stage. Music—a pop record—makes a bridge into the next scene.
SCENE II
HENRY, Charlotte, Max and ANNIE.
Henry is amiable but can take care of himself. Charlotte is less amiable and can take even better care of herself. Max is nice, seldom assertive, conciliatory. Annie is very much like the woman whom Charlotte has ceased to be.
A living-room. A record player and shelves of records. Sunday newspapers.
The music is coming from the record player.
Henry, with several record sleeves around him, is searching for a particular piece of music.
There are doors to hall, kitchen, bedroom. Charlotte enters barefoot, wearing Henry’s dressing-gown which is too big for her. She is unkempt from sleep and seems generally disordered.
Henry looks up briefly.
HENRY Hello.
Charlotte moves forward without answering, sits down and looks around in a hopeless way.
CHARLOTTE Oh, God.
HENRY I thought you’d rather lie in. Do you want some coffee?
CHARLOTTE I don’t know. (Possibly referring to the litter of record sleeves, wanly.) What a mess.
HENRY Don’t worry … don’t worry …
Henry continues to search among the records.
CHARLOTTE I think I’ll just stay in bed.
HENRY Actually, I phoned Max.
CHARLOTTE What? Why?
HENRY He was on my conscience. He’s coming round.
CHARLOTTE (Quite strongly) I don’t want to see him.
HENRY Sorry.
CHARLOTTE Honestly, Henry.
HENRY Hang on—I think I’ve found it.
He removes the pop record, which might have come to its natural end by now, from the record player and puts a different record on. Meanwhile—
CHARLOTTE Are you still doing your list?
HENRY Mmm.
CHARLOTTE Have you got a favourite book?
HENRY Finnegans Wake.
CHARLOTTE Have you read it?
HENRY Don’t be silly.
He lowers the arm on to the record and listens to a few bars of alpine Strauss—or sub-Strauss. Then he lifts the arm again.
No … No … Damnation.
He starts to put the record away.
Do you remember when we were in some place like Bournemouth or Deauville, and there was an open-air dance floor right outside our window?
CHARLOTTE No.
HENRY Yes you do, I was writing my Sartre play, and there was this bloody orchestra which kept coming back to the same tune every twenty minutes, so I started shouting out of the window and the hotel manager—
CHARLOTTE That was St. Moritz. (Scornfully) Bournemouth.
HENRY Well, what was it?
CHARLOTTE What was what?
HENRY What was the tune called? It sounded like Strauss or somebody.
CHARLOTTE How does it go?
HENRY I don’t know, do I?
CHARLOTTE Who were you with in Bournemouth?
HENRY Don’t mess about. I’m supposed to give them my eight records tomorrow, and so far I’ve got five and Finnegans Wake.
CHARLOTTE Well, if you don’t know what it’s called and you can’t remember how it goes, why in Christ’s name do you want it on your desert island?
HENRY It’s not supposed to be eight records you love and adore.
CHARLOTTE Yes, it is.
HENRY It is not. It’s supposed to be eight records you associate with turning-points in your life.
CHARLOTTE Well, I’m a turning-point in your life, and when you took me to St. Moritz your favourite record was the Ronettes doing ‘Da Doo Ron Ron’.
HENRY The Crystals. (Scornfully) The Ronettes.
Charlotte gets up and during the following searches, successfully, for a record, which she ends up putting on the machine.
CHARLOTTE You’re going about this the wrong way. Just pick your eight all-time greats and then remember what you were doing at the time. What’s wrong with that?
HENRY I’m supposed to be one of your intellectual playwrights. I’m going to look a total prick, aren’t I, going on the radio to announce that while I was telling Jean-Paul Sartre that he was essentially superficial, I was spending the whole time listening to the Crystals singing ‘Da Doo Ron Ron’. Look, ages ago, Debbie put on one of those classical but not too classical records—she must have been about ten or eleven, it was before she dyed her hair—and I said to you, ‘That’s that bloody tune they were driving me mad with when I was trying to write “Jean-Paul is up the Wall” in that hotel in Switzerland’. Maybe she’ll remember.
CHARIOTTE Where is she?
Charlotte has placed the record on the machine, which now starts to play the Skater’s Waltz.
HENRY Riding stables. That’s it! (Triumphant and pleased, examining the record sleeve.) Skater’s Waltz! How did you know?
CHARLOTTE They don’t have open-air dance floors in the Alps in mid-winter. They have skating rinks. Now you’ve got six.
HENRY Oh, I can’t use that. It’s so banal.
The doorbell rings. Henry goes to take the record off the machine.
That’s Max. Do you want to let him in?
CHARLOTTE No. Say I’m not here.
HENRY He knows perfectly well you’re here. Where else would you be? I’ll say you don’t want to see him because you’ve seen quite enough of him. How’s that?
CHARLOTTE (Giving up) Oh, I’ll get dressed.
She goes out the way she came in, towards the bedroom. Henry goes out through another door into the hall. His voice and Max’s voice are heard, and the two men come in immediately afterwards.
HENRY Hello, Max. Come in.
MAX Hello, Henry.
HENRY (Entering) It’s been some time.
Max enters unassertively.
MAX Well, you’ve rather been keeping out of the way, haven’t you?
HENRY Yes. I’m sorry, Max. (Indicating the bedroom) Charlotte’s not here. How are you?
MAX I’m all right.
HENRY Good.
MAX And you?
HENRY I’m all right.
MAX Good.
HENRY Well, we all seem to be all right.
MAX Is Charlotte all right?
HENRY I don’t think she’s terribly happy. Well, is it coffee or open a bottle?
MAX Bottle, I should think.
HENRY Hang on, then.
Henry goes out through the door to the kitchen. Max turns aside and looks at a paper without interest. Charlotte enters from the bedroom, having dressed without trying hard. She regards Max, who then notices her.
MAX Hello, darling.
CHARLOTTE Don’t I get a day off?
MAX (Apologetically) Henry phoned …
CHARLOTTE (More kindly) It’s all right, Max.
Henry enters busily from the kitchen, carrying an open champagne bottle and a jug of orange juice. Wine glasses are available in the living-room. Henry puts himself in charge of arranging the drinks.
HENRY Hello, Charlotte. I was just telling Max you weren’t here. So nice to see you, Max. What are you doing with yourself?
MAX Is he joking?
HENRY I mean apart from that. Actors are so sensitive. They feel neglected if one isn’t constantly going round to the theatre to check up on them.
MAX I was just telling Henry off for keeping out of the way.
CHARLOTTE You’d keep out of the way if you’d written it. (To Henry.) If that orange juice is for me you can forget it.
HENRY No, no—buck’s fizz all round. I feel reckless, extravagant, famous, in love, and I’m next week’s castaway on Desert Island Discs.
MAX Are you really?
HENRY Head over heels. Here you are, lover. How was last night, by the way?
He hands Max and Charlotte their glasses.
CHARLOTTE Hopeless. I had to fake it again.
HENRY Very witty woman, my present wife. Actually, I was talking about my play.
CHARLOTTE Actually, so was I. I’ve decided it’s a mistake appearing in Henry’s play.
MAX Not for me, it isn’t.
CHARLOTTE Well, of course not for you, you idiot, you’re not his wife.
MAX Oh, I see what you mean.
CHARLOTTE: Max sees what I mean. You’re right, Max.
MAX I never said anything!
HENRY How was it really?—last night.
CHARLOTTE Not good. The stalls had a deserted look, about two-thirds, I should think. (With false innocence.) Oh, sorry, darling, is that what you meant?
MAX (Disapproving) Honestly, Charlotte. It was all right, Henry, really. All the laughs were in place, for a Saturday night anyway, and I had someone who came round afterwards who said the reconciliation scene was extremely moving. Actually, that reminds me. They did say—I mean, it’s a tiny thing but I thought I’d pass it on because I do feel rather the same way … I mean all that stuff about the Japanese and digital watches—they suddenly have no idea what I’m talking about, you see, and I thought if we could just try it one night without—
Henry halts him, like a traffic policeman.
HENRY Excuse me, Max.
Henry tums to Charlotte.
Two-thirds empty or two-thirds full?
Charlotte laughs brazenly.
CHARLOTTE Hard luck, Max. (She toasts.) Well, here’s to closing night. To the collapse of House of Cards.
MAX (Shocked) Charlotte!
CHARLOTTE Well, you try playing the feed one night instead of acting Henry after a buck’s fizz and two rewrites. All his laughs are in place all right. So’s my groan. Groan, groan, they all go when they find out. Oh, groan, so she hasn’t got a lover at all, eh? And they lose interest in me totally. I’m a victim of Henry’s fantasy—a quiet, faithful bird with an interesting job, and a recipe drawer, and a stiff upper lip, and two semi-stiff lower ones all trembling for him—‘I’m sorry if you’ve had a bad time … There’s a right thing to say now …’
MAX Jesus, Charlotte—
CHARLOTTE (Quite genially) Oh, shut up, Max. If he’d given her a lover instead of a temporary passport, we’d be in a play.
HENRY It’s a little early in the day for all this.
CHARLOTTE No, darling, it’s a little late.
MAX Er, where’s young Deborah today?
CHARLOTTE Who?
MAX Debbie.
CHARLOTTE (Baffled) Debbie?
MAX Your daughter.
CHARLOTTE Oh, daughter.
HENRY Riding school.
CHARLOTTE Must be some mistake. Smart talk, that’s the thing. Having children is so unsmart. Endless dialogue about acne. Henry couldn’t do that. He doesn’t like research.
HENRY True.
MAX (To Charlotte.) Lots of people don’t have children, in real life. Me and Annie …
HENRY Oh, don’t—I told her once that lots of women were only good for fetching drinks, and she became quite unreasonable.
