‘Works ay Hanoup Pier Puntisnep by Grove WEIDENFELD Betrayal ‘The Birthday Party and The Room ‘The Caretaker and’ The Dumb Waiter Compcere Works: One (The Birthday Party; The Room; The Dumb Waiter; A Slight Ache; A Night Our; The Black and White [short story]; The Examination [shore story}) Comm.ere Works: Two (The Caretaker; The Dwarfs; The Collection; The Lover; Night School; Revue Sketches {Trouble in the Works, The Black and White; Request Stop; Last co Got Special Offer)) Compute Wonxs: Taree (The Homecoming; Landscape; Silence; The Basement; Revue Sketches (Night; That's That's Your Trouble: Interview; Applicant; Dialogue for ‘Three): Tea Party [play]: Tea Party [short story]; Mac [memoir}) Comers Works: Four (Old Times; No Man’ Land; Betrayal; Monologue; Family Voices) ‘The Dwarf: A Novel Five Scarier ays (The Servant; The Pumpkin Eater; The Quiller Memorandum; Accident; The Go: ‘The Homecoming The Hothouse Mountain Language No Man's Land (Old Times ‘One for the Road 100 Poems by 100 Pocts (selected by Harold Pinter, Geof Gothen Saony Babar oe Ornier Peace: Trier PLays (A Kind of Alaska; Victoria Station; Family Voices) Poems and Prose: 1949-1977 The Proust Screenplay HAROLD PINTER COMPLETE WORKS: FOUR OLD TIMES NO MAN’S LAND: BETRAYAL, MONOLOGUE FAMILY VOICES With an introduction by the author Wwe o GROVE WEIDENFELD ‘New York 1 aceIntroduction A speech made by Harold Pinter in Hamburg, West Germany, (on being awarded the 1970 German Shakespeare Prize. ‘When I was informed that I was to be given this award my reaction was to be startled, even bewildered, while at the same time to feel deeply gratified by this honour. I remain honoured and slightly bewildered, but also frightened. What frightens me is that I have been asked to speak to you today. If I find writing difficult I find giving a public address doubly so. Once, many years ago, I found myself engaged uneasily in a public discussion on the theatre. Someone asked me what my work was ‘about,’ I replied with no thought at all and merely to frustrate this line of enquiry: “The weasel under the ' cocktail cabinet.’ That was a great mistake. Over the years I have seen that remark quoted in a number of learned columns. It has now seemingly acquired a profound significance, and is seen to be a highly relevant and meaningful observation about my own work, But for me the remark meant precisely t nothing. Such are the dangers of speaking in public. In what way can one talk about one’s work? I’m a writer, not a critic. When I use the word work I mean work. I regard myself as nothing more than a working man. ‘Tam moved by the fact that the selection committee for the Shakespear Prize has judged my work, in the context of this award, as worthy oft, but it’s impossible for me to understand ‘the reasons that led them to their decision. I’m at the other end ‘of the telescope. The language used, the opinions given, the approvals and objections engendered by one’s work happenx INTRODUCTION, a sense outside one’s actual experience of it, since the core of thet experience consists in writing the stuff. I have a particular relationship with the words I put down on paper and the characters which emerge from them which no-one else can share with me. And perhaps that’s why I remain bewildered by praise and really quite indifferent to insult, Praise and insult refer to someone called Pinter. I don’t know the man they're talking about. I know the plays, but in a totally different way, ina quite private way. If Tam totalk at all I prefer to talk practically about practical matters, but that’s no more than a pious hope, since one in- vatiably slips into theorising, almost without noticing it. And I distrust theory. In whatever capacity I have worked in the theatre, and apart from writing, T have done quite a bit of acting and a certain amount of directing for the stage, I have found that theory, as such, has never been helpful; either to myself, or, I have noticed, to few of my colleagues. The best sort of collaborative working relationship in the theatre, in my view, consists in a kind of stumbling erratic shorthand; through which facts are lost, collided with, fumbled, found again. One excellent director I know has never been known to complete a sentence. He has such instinctive surety and almost subliminal powers of communication that the actors respond to his words before he has said them, I don’t want to imply that I am counselling lack of inteli- gence as a working aid. On the contrary, I am referring to an intelligence brought to bear on practical and relevant matters, on matters which are active and alive and specific, an intelli- gence working with others to find the legitimate and therefore compulsory facts and make them concrete for us on the stage. ‘A rchearsal petiod which consists of philosophical discourse or political treatise does not get the curtain up at eight o'clock. T have referred to facts, by which I mean theatrical facts. It is true to say that theatrical facts do not easily disclose their INTRODUGTION xi secrets, and it is very casy, when they prove stubborn, to distort them, to make them into something else, or to pretend they never existed. This happens more often in the theatre than we care to recognize and is proof either of incompetence or fundamental contempt for the work in hand. I believe myself that when a writer looks at the blank of the word he has not yet written, or when actors and directors arrive at a given moment on stage, there is only one proper thing that can take place at that moment, and that that thing, that gesture, that word on the page, must alone be found, and ‘once found, scrupulously protected. I think T am talking about necessary shape, both as regards a play and its production. If there is, as I believe, a necessary, an obligatory shape which a play demands of its writer, then I have never been able to achieve it myself. I have always finished the last draft of a play with a mixture of feelings: relief, disbelief, exhilaration, and a certainty that if I could only wring the play’s neck once more it might yield once more to me, that I could get it better, that I could get the better of it, perhaps. But that's impossible. ‘You create the word and in a certain way the word, in finding its own life, stares you out, is obdurate, and more often than not defeats you. You create the characters and they prove to be very tough. They observe you, their writer, warily. It may sound absurd, but I believe I am speaking the truth when Tsay that I have suffered two kinds of pain through my characters, T have witnessed their pain when T am in the act of distorting them, of falsifying them, and I have witnessed their contempt. T have suffered pain when I have been unable to get to the quick of them, when they wilfully elude me, when they withdraw into the shadows. And there’s a third and rarer pain. ‘That is when the right word, or the right act jolts them or stills them into their proper life. When that happens the pain is worth having. When that happens I am ready to take them into the nearest bar and buy drinks all round, And I hope theyxii INTRODUCTION ‘would forgive me my trespasses against them and do the same for me. But there is no question that quite a conflict takes place between the writer and his characters and on the whole I would say the characters are the winners. And that’s as it should be, I think. Where a writer sets out a blueprint for his characters, and keeps them rigidly to it, where they do not at any time upset his applecart, where he has mastered them, he has also killed them, or rather terminated their birth, and he thas a dead play on his hands, ‘Sometimes, the director says to me in rehearsal: ‘Why does she say this?” I reply: ‘Wait a minute, let me look at the text.” I do so, and perhaps I say: ‘Doesn’t she say this because he said that, two pages ago” Or T say: ‘Because that’s what she feels.” Or: ‘Because she feels something else, and therefore says that.’ Or:“Thaven’t the faintest idea. But somehow we have to find out.’ Sometimes I learn quite a lot from rehearsals. T have been very fortunate, in my life, in the people I've worked with, and my association with Peter Hall and the Royal Shakespeare Company has, particularly, been greatly satisfying. Peter Hall and I, working together, have found that the image must be pursued with the greatest vigilance, calmly, and once found, must be sharpened, graded, accurately focused and maintained, and that the key word is economy, economy of movement and gesture, of emotion and its expression, both the internal and the external in specific and exact relation to each other, so that there is no wastage and no mess. These are hardly revolutionary conclusions, but I hope no less worthy of restatement for that, ‘T may appear to be laying too heavy an emphasis on method and technique as opposed to content, but this is not in fact the case, I am not suggesting that the disciplines to which I have been referring be imposed upon the action in terms ofa device, or as a formal convenience. What is made evident before us on the stage can clearly only be made fully evident where the INTRODUCTION xiii content of the scene has been defined. But I do not understand this definition as one arrived at through the intellect, but a definition made by the actors, using quite a different system. In other words, if I now bring various criteria to bear upon a production, these are not intellectual concepts but facts forged through experience of active participation with good actors and, I hope, a living text. What am I writing about? Not the weasel under the cocktail cabinet, Tam not concerned with making general statements. I am not interested in theatre used simply as a means of self expression on the part of the people engaged in it. I find in so much group theatre, under the sweat and assault and noise, nothing but valueless generalizations, naive and quite un- fruitful. T can sum up none of my plays. I can describe none of them, except to say: That is what happened, That is what they said, That is what they did, T am aware, sometimes, of an insistence in my mind, Images, characters, insisting upon being written. You can pour a drink, make a telephone call or run round the park, and sometimes succeed in suffocating them. You know they're going to make your life hell. But at other times they're un- avoidable and you're compelled to try to do them some kind of justice. And while it may be hell, it’s certainly for me the best kind of hell to be in. However, I find it ironic that I have come here to receive this distinguished award as a writer, and that at the moment I am writing nothing and can write nothing, I don’t know why. It’s avery bad feeling, I know that, but I must say I want more than anything else to fill up a blank page again, and to feel that strange thing happen, birth through fingertips. When you can't write you feel you've been banished from yourself,No Man’s Land‘No Man's Land was first presented by the National Theatre at the Old Vie, Waterloo, London, on 23rd April, 1975, with the following cast: HIRST, a man in his sixties Ralph Richardson SPOONER, @ man in his sixties John Gielgud FOSTER, a man in his thirties Michael Feast ‘BRIGGS, a man in his fortes Terence Rigby Designed by John Bury Directed by Peter Hall ‘The play was subsequently presented at Wyndham’s Theatre, London, from 15 July, 1975, with the same cast, A large room in a house in North West London. Well but sparely furnished. A strong and comfortable straight-backed chair, in which 11RST sits. A wall of bookshelves, with various items of pottery acting as bookstands, including two large mugs. ‘Heavy curtains across the window. “The central feature of the room is an antique cabinet, with marble top, brass gallery and open shelves, on which stands 1 great variety of bottles: spirits, aperitifs, beers, etc.SPOONER stands in the centre of the room. Act One He is dressed in a very old and shabby suit, dark faded shirt. creased spotted tie, wiRst is pouring tohisky at the cabines. Summer. He is precisely dressed. Sports jacket. Well cut trousers. : HIRST Night. As itis? SPOONER As it is, yes please, absolutely as itis. HIRST brings hiim the glass, SPOONER ‘Thank you. How very kind of you, How very kind. HIRST pours himself a vodka. HIRST Cheers. SPOONER ‘Your health. ‘They drink, SPOONER sips. HIRST drinks the vodka in one gulp. He refills his glass, moves to his chair and sits. SPOONER empties his glass. a Py ENN ReB NO MAN’S LAND HIRST Please help yourself. SPOONER Terribly kind of you. SPOONER goes to cabinet, pours. He turns, SPOONER ‘Your good health. He drinks, SPOONER ‘What was it I was saying, as we arrived at your door? HIRST Ah... letme see, SPOONER ‘Yes! I was talking about strength. Do you recall? HIRST Strength. Yes, SPOONER ‘Yes. Iwas about to say, you see, that there are some people who appear to be strong, whose idea of what strength consists of is persuasive, but who inhabit the idea and not the fact. What they possess is not strength but expertise. They have nurtured and maintain what isin facta calculated posture. Half the time it works. It takes a man of intelligence and perception to stick 2 needle through that posture and discern the essential flabbi- ness of the stance, I am such a man. ACT ONE 9 Hist ‘You mean one of the latter? SPOONER One of the latter, yes, a man of intelligence and perception. Not one of the former, oh no, not at all. By no means, Pause May I say how very kind it was of you to ask me in? In fact, you are kindness itself, probably always are kindness itself, now and in England and in Hampstead and for all eternity. He looks about the room, ‘What a remarkably pleasant room. I feel at peace here, Safe from all danger. But please don’t be alarmed, I shan’t stay Jong. I never stay long, with others. They do not wish it. And that, for me, is a happy state of affairs. My only security, you ‘See, my true comfort and solace, rests in the confirmation that I elicit from people of all kinds a common and constant level of indifference. It assures me that I am as I think myself to be, that I am fixed, concrete. To show interest in me or, good gracious, anything tending towards a positive liking of me, would cause in me a condition of the acutest alarm, For- ‘tunately, the danger is remote. Pause I speak to you with this startling candour because you are ‘clearly a reticent man, which appeals, and because you are a stranger to me, and because you are clearly kindness itself. Pause Do you often hang about Hampstead Heath?80 NO MAN’S LAND IST No. SPOONER ‘But on your excursions . . however rare .. on yous rare excure sions .. you hardly expect to run into the likes of me? I take it? HIRST Hardly. SPOONER T often hang about Hampstead Heath myself, expecting noth- ing. I’m too old for any kind of expectation, Don’t you agree? HIRST Yes. ; SPOONER ‘A pitfall and snare, if ever there was one. But of course I a a Bond teal, ‘on my peeps through twigs. A wit once entitled me a betwixt twig peeper. A most clums - tion, T thought. sensu HIRST Infeticitous. : SPOONER ‘My Christ you're right. Pause inst What a wit SPOONER You're most acutely right. All we have left is the English language. Can it be salvaged? That is my question. ACT ONE HIRST ‘You mean in what rests its salvation? SPOONER ‘More or less. HIRST {ts salvation must rest in you. SPOONER e's uncommonly kind of you to say so. In you too, perhaps, although I haven't sufficient evidence to go on, a yet. Pause HIRST ‘You mean because I’ve said litle? SPOONER ‘You're a quiet one. 1° a great relief, Can you imagine two of ‘us gabbling away like ‘me? It would be intolerable. Pause By the way, with reference to peeping, I do feel it incumbent ‘upon me ro make one thing clear. I doa’t peep on sex. That's gone forever. You follow me? When my twigs bappen to shall Tsay rest their peep on sexual conjugations, however peri- phrastic, I see only whites of eyes, so close, they glut me, po ‘istance possible, and when you can’t keep the proper distance between yourself and others, when you can no longer maintain an objective relation to matter, the game’s not worth the candle, so forget it and remember that what is obligatory to keep in your vision is space, space in moonlight partcalaly, and lots of it,Be No MAN’S. LAND HIRST ‘You speak with the weight of experience behind you. SPOONER ‘And beneath me. Experience is a paltry thing. Everyone has it and will tell his tale of it. I leave expericace to psychological interpreters, the wettiream world. I myself can do any graph of experience you wish, to suit your taste or mine. Child's play. ‘The present will not be distorted. I am a poet. I am interested in where I am eternally present and active. HIRST stands, goes to cabinet, pours vodka T have gone too far, you think? HIRST T’m expecting you ro go very much further. SPOONER Really? That doesn’t mean I interest you, I hope? HIRST Not in the least, SPOONER ‘Thank goodness for that. For a moment my heart sank. HIRST drates the curtains aside, looks out briefly, lets curtain fall, remains standing. But nevertheless you're right. Your instinct is sound. I could igo further, in more ways than one. I could advance, reserve my defences, throw on a substitute, call up the cavalry, or throw everything forward out of the knowledge that when joy over~ ACT ONE 83 floweth there can be no holding of joy. The point I'm trying to make, in case you've missed it, is that I am a free man. MIRST pours himself another vodka and drinks it, He puts the ‘glass down, moves carefully to his chair, sits. HIRST T's a long time since we had a free man in this house. SPOONER We? HIRST L SPOONER Is there another? miRsT Another what? SPOONER People. Person. HIRST ‘What other? SPOONER ‘There are two mugs on that shel. naRsT ‘The second is for you. |84 NO MAN’S LAND SPOONER And the first? uaRst Would you like to use it? Would you like some hot reftesh- ment? SPOONER ‘That would be dangerous. I'll stick to your scotch, if I may. HIRST Help yourself. SPOONER ‘Thank you. He goes 10 cabinet. uiest Vl take a whisky with you, if you would be so kind. SPOONER With pleasure. Weren’t you drinking vodka? Hirst Tl be happy to join you in a whisky. SPOONER pours. SPOONER You'll take it as it is, as it comes? MIRST Oh, absolutely as it comes. Act ONE 85 SPOONER brings RST his glass, SPOONER Your very good health. HIRST Yours, They drink, ‘Tell me. . . do you often hang about Jack Straw's Castle? SPOONER Tknew it as a boy, mist Do you find it as beguiling a public house now as it was in the days of the highwaymen, when it was frequented by highvway- men? Notably Jack Straw. The great Jack Straw. Do you find it much changed? SPOONER Te changed my life, HIRST Good Lord. Did it really? SPOONER I refer to a midsummer night, when I shared a drink with a Hungarian émigré, lately retired from Paris. HIRST ‘The same drink? SSnS SS SS Me 86 NO MAN'S LAND SPOONER ‘By no means. You've guessed, I would imagine, that he was an erstwhile member of the Hungarian aristocracy? HIRST T did guess, yes. SPOONER On that summer evening, led by him, I first appreciated how ‘quiet life can be, in the midst of yahoos and hullabaloos. He exerted on me a quite uniquely . .. calming iffluence, without exertion, without any . . desire to influence. He was so much older than me. My expectations in those days, and I confess I hhad expectations in those days, did not include him in their frame of reference. I'd meandered over to Hampstead Heath, 2 captive to memories of a more than usually pronounced srisliness, and found myself, not much to my surprise, order ing a pint at the bar of Jack Straw’s Castle. This achieved, and having negotiated a path through a particularly repellent lick- spittling herd of literati, 1 stumbled, unsceing, wita my pint, ‘to his bald, tanned, unmoving table. How bald he was. Pause I think, after quite half my pint had descended, never to be savoured again, that I spoke, suddenly, suddenly spoke, and received . . . a response, no other word will do, a response, the like of which ~ HIRST What was he drinking? SPOONER What? ACT ons. 87 HIRST ‘What was he drinking? SPOONER Pernod. Pause ‘was impressed, more or less at that point, by an intuition that he possessed a measure of serenity the like of which I had never encountered. nuRsT What did he say? SPOONER stares at him, SPOONER ‘You expect me to remember what he said? HIRST No. Pause SPOONER What he said . . . all those years ago . . . is neither here nor there, It was not what he said but possibly the way he sat which has remained with me all my life and has, Iam quite sure, made me what Iam, Pause And I met you at the same pub tonighe, although at a different table.88 NO MAN’S LAND Pause And I wonder at you, now, as once I wondered at him. But will wonder at you tomorrow, I wonder, as I still wonder at him today? HIRST Tcannot say. SPOONER Tr cannot be said. Pause ‘ll ask you another question. Have you any idea from what I derive my strength? HIRST ‘Strength? No. SPOONER have never been loved. From this I derive my strength. Have ‘you? Ever? Been loved? HIRST Oh, I don't suppose so. SPOONER looked up once into my mother’s face. What I saw there was nothing less than pure malevolence. I was fortunate to escape with my life. You will want to know what I had done to pro- voke such hatred in my own mother. HIRST You'd pissed yourself, ACT ONE 89. SPOONER Quite right. How old do you think I was at the time? Inst ‘Twenty eight. SPOONER Quite right. However, [left home soon after. Pause ‘My mother remains, I have to say, a terribly attractive woman in many ways, Her buns are the best. HIRST looks at him. ‘Her currant buns. The best. HIRST ‘Would you be so kind as to pour me another drop of whisky? SPOONER Certainly. SPOONER takes the glass, pours whisky into it, gives it to HIRST. SPOONER Perhaps it’s about time T introduced myself. My name is Spooner. HIRST Ah SPOONER T'm a staunch friend of the arts, particularly the art of poetry, and a guide to the young. I keep open house. Young poets90 NO MAN’S LAND come to me. They read me their verses. I comment, give them coffee, make no charge. Women are admitted, some of whom are also poets. Some are not. Some of the men are not. Most of the men are not. But with the windows open to the garden, my wife pouring long glasses of squash, with ice, on a summer evening, young voices occasionally lifted in unaccompanied ballad, young bodies lying in the dying light, my wife moving through the shadows in her long gown, what can ail? T mean who can gainsay us? What quarrel can be found with what is, au fond, a gestare towards the sustenance and preservation of art, and through art to virtue? uiRsT ‘Through art to virtue. (Raises glass.) To your continued health. SPOONER sits for the first time, SPOONER ‘When we had our cottage... . when we had our cottage ... we gave our visitors tea, on the lawn, HIRST Idid the same, SPOONER On the lawn? HIRST I did the same, SPOONER ‘You had a cottage? ACT ONE or HIRST Tea on the lawn. SPOONER What happened to them? What happened to our cottages? ‘What happened to our lawns? Pause Be frank, Tell me, You've revealed something. You've made an unequivocal reference to your past. Don't go back on it. We share something. A memory of the bucolic life. We're botk English. Pause mirst In the village church, the beams are hung with ‘garlands, in honour of young women of the parish, reputed to have died virgin, Pause However, the garlands are not bestowed on maidens only, but on all who die unmarried, wearing the white flower of a blame- Jess life. Pause SPOONER ‘You mean that not only young women of the parish but also young men of the parish are so honoured? HIRST Ido.2 NO MAN'S LAND SPOONER : ‘And that old men of the parish who also died maiden are so garlanded? HIRST Certainly. SPOONER : Tam enraptured. Tell me more. Tell me more about the quaint little perversions of your life and times. Tell me more, with all the authority and brilliance you can muster, about the socio~ politico-economic structure of the environment in which you attained to the age of reason. Tell me more. Pause HIRST ‘There is no more. SPOONER ‘Tell me then about your wife. HIRST What wife? SPOONER How beautiful she was, how tender and how true. Tell me with ‘what speed she swung in the air, with what velocity she came off the wicket, whether she was responsive to finger spin, ‘whether you could bow! a shooter with her, or an offbreak with a legbreak action. In other words, did she google? Silence ACT ONE 8 ‘You will not say. I will ell you then... that my wife... had everything. Eyes, a mouth, hair, teeth, buttocks, breasts, absolutely everything. And legs. HIRST Which carried her away. : SPOONER (Carried who away? Yours or mine? Pause 1s she here now, your wife? Cowering in a locked room, perhaps? Pause ‘Was she ever here? Was she ever there, in your cottage? It is my duty to tell you you have failed to convince. Tam an honest and intelligent man. You pay me less than my due. Are you, equally, being fair to the lady? I begin to wonder whether truly accurate and therefore essentially poetic definition means anything to you atall.T begin to wonder whether you do in fact truly remember her, whether you truly did love her, truly caressed her, truly did cradle her, truly did busband her, falsely dreamed or did truly adore her. I have seriously questioned these propositions and find them threadbare. Silence Her eyes, I take it, were hazel? HIRST stands, carefully. He moves, with a slight stagger, to the cabinet, pours whisky, drinks,94 No MAN'S LAND HIRST ‘Hazel shit. SPOONER Good lord, good lord, do I detect @ touch of the maudlin? Pause ‘Hazel shit. I ask myself: Have I ever seen hazel shit? Or hazel eyes, for that matter? HIRST throws his glass at him, ineffectually. Tt bounces on the carpet. Do I detect a touch of the hostile? Do I detect — with respect — a touch of too many glasses of ale followed by the great malt ” which wounds? Which wounds? Silence maRsT ‘Tonight ... my friend ... you find me in the last lap of a race ++. Thad long forgotten to run. Pause SPOONER ‘A metaphor. Things are looking up. Pause I would say, albeit on a brief acquaintance, that you lack the essential quality of manliness, which is to put your money ACT ONE 95 ‘Where your mouth is, 10 pick up a pintpot and know it to be a Pinepot, and knowing it to be a pintpot, to declare it asa pint Pot, and to stay faithful to that pintpot as though you had given birth to it our of your own arse. You lack that capability, in my view. Pause Do forgive me my candour. Tt is not method but madness. So You won't, E hope, object if I take out my prayer beads and ‘my prayer mat and salute what I take to be your impotence? He stands. T salute, And attend. And saluting and attending am at your service all embracing. Heed me, I am a relevant witness, And HIRST grips the cabinet, rigid. ‘You need a friend, You have a long hike, my lad, up which, Presently, you slog unfriended. Let me perhaps be your boat man, For if and when we talk of a river we talk of a deep and dank architecture, In other words, never disdain a helping hand, especially one of such rare quality. And itis not only the quality of my offer which is rare, itis the act itself, the offer itself ~ quite without precedent. I offer myself to you as a friend. Think before you speak. HIRST attempts to move, stops, grips the cabinet. a96 NO MAN'S LAND Remember this. You've lost your wife of hazel bue, you've lost her and what can you do, she will no more come back to you, ‘with a tillfolatillifolatllifoladi-foladi-foloo. rest No. Pause ‘No man’s land . .. does not move... or change . .. or grow old... remains... forever ... icy... silent. HIRST loosens his grip on the cabinet, staggers, across the room, olds on to a chair. He waits, moves, falls. He waits, gets to his feet, moves, falls. SPOONER watches, HIRST crawls towards the door, manages to open it, eratols out of the door. SPOONER remains still. SPOONER Thave known this before, The exit through the door, by way of belly and floor. He looks at the room, walks about it, looking at each object closely, stops, hands behind his back, surveying the room. A door, somewhere in the house, closes. ACT ONE ” Silence, The front door opens, and slams sharply. SPOONER stiffens, i still. FOSTER enters the room. He is casually dressed. He stops still upon seeing SPOONER. He stands, looking at SPOONER, Silence FOSTER What are you drinking? Christ I’m thirsty. How are you? I'm parched. He goes to cabinet, opens a bottle of beer, pours. ‘What are you drinking? It’s bloody late. I'm worn to a frazzle. ‘This is what I want. (He drinks.) Taxi? No chance. Taxi drivers are against me. Something about me. Some unknown factor. My gait, perhaps. Or perhaps because I travel incog- nito. Oh, that’s better. Works wonders. How are you? What are you drinking? Who are you? I thought I'd never make it, ‘What a hike, And not only that. I'm defenceless. I don't ‘carry a gun in London, But I'm not bothered. Once you've done the East you've done it all. Pve done the East. But I still like a nice lighthouse like this one. Have you met your host? He's my father, Tt was our night off tonight, you see, He was going to stay at home, listen to some lieder. I hope he had a98 ‘NO MAN’S LAND quict and pleasant evening. Who are you, by the way? What are you drinking? SPOONER T’ma friend of his, FOSTER ‘You're not typical. BRIGGS comes into the room, stops. He is casually dressed, stocky. BRIGGS Who's this? FOSTER His name’s Friend. This is Mr. Briggs. Mr. Friend - Mr. Briggs. I'm Mr. Foster. Old English stock. Jobn Foster. Jack. Jack Foster, Old English name. Foster. John Foster. Jack Foster. Foster. This man’s name is Briggs. Pause BRIGGS T've seen Mr. Friend before. FOSTER ‘Seen him before? BRIGGS T know him. FOSTER Do you really? BRIGGS Tve seen you before. ACT ONE 99 SPOONER Possibly, possibly. BRiccs ‘Yes. You collect the beermugs from the tables in 2 pub in Chalk Farm, SPOONER ‘The landlord’s a friend of mine, When he’s shorthanded, I give him a helping hand. BRIGGS ‘Who says the landlord’s a friend of yours? FOSTER He does. BRIGGS ‘Ym talking about The Bull’s Head in Chalk Farm. SPOONER ‘Yes, yes. So am I. BRIGGS Soam I. FOSTER Iknow The Bull's Head. The landlord’s a friend of mine. BRIGGS ‘He collects the mugs. FOSTER A firstclass pub. I’ve known the landlord for years, BRIGGS ‘He says he’s a friend of the landlord.100 NO MAN’S LAND FOSTER He says he’s a friend of our friend too, BRIGGS ‘What friend? FOSTER Our host. BRIGGS He's a bloody friend of everyone then, FOSTER He’s everybody's bloody friend. How many friends have you got altogether, Mr. Friend? BRIGGS ‘He probably couldn’t count them. FOSTER Well, there's me too, now. I'm another one of your new friends. T’m your newest new friend. Not him. Not Briggs. He's no- body's fucking friend, People tend to be a little wary of Briggs. ‘They balk at giving him their all, But me they lke at first sight, BRIGGS Sometimes they love you at first sight. FOSTER Sometimes they do. That’s why, when I travel, T get all the gold, nobody offers me dross. People take an immediate shine to-me, especially women, especially in Siam or Bali. He knows Tm nota liar, Tell him about the Siamese girls. ACT ONE. ror BRIGGS ‘They loved him at first sight. FOSTER (To sPoonER.) You're not Siamese though, are you? BRIGGS ‘He's a very Jong way from being Siamese. FOSTER Ever been out there? SPOONER T’ve been to Amsterdam, FOSTER and BRIGGS stare at him. Tmean that was the last place... I visited. I know Europe well. ‘My name is Spooner, by the way. Yes, one afternoon in Amsterdam . . . I was sitting outside a café by a canal. ‘The weather was superb, At another table, in shadow, was a man whistling under his breath, sitting very still, almost rigid, Ar the side of the canal was a fisherman. He caught a fish. He lifted it high. The waiter cheered and applauded, the two men, the waiter and the fisherman, Inughed. A little girl, passing, laughed. Two lovers, passing, kissed. The fish was lofted, on the rod. The fish and the rod glinted in the sun, as they swayed. ‘The fisherman’s checks were flushed, with pleasure. I decided to paint a picture - of the canal, the waiter, the child, the fisherman, the lovers, the fish, and in background, in shadow, the man at the other table, and to call it The Whistler. The Whistler. If you had seen the picture, and the title, would the title have baflled you? Pause02 NO MAN’s LAND FOSTER (To BRIGGS.) Do you want to answer that question? BRIGGS No. Goon. You answer it. FOSTER ‘Well, speaking for myself, I think I would have been baffied by that title. But I might have appreciated the picture, I might even have been grateful for it Pause Did you hear what I said? I might have been grateful for the picture. A good work of art tends to move me. You follow me? Tim aot a cunt, you know. Pause T’m very interested to hear you're a painter. You do it'in your spare time, I suppose? SPOONER . Quite, FOSTER Did you ever paint that picture, The Whistler? SPOONER Not yet, I'm afraid. FOSTER Don’t leave it too long. You might lose the inspiration. Briggs Ever painted a beermug? ACT ONE 103 SPOONER You must come and see my collection, any time you wish, BRIGGS ‘What of, beermugs? SPOONER No, no. Paintings, FOSTER Where do you keep it? SPOONER ‘At my house in the country, You would receive the warmest of welcomes, FOSTER Who from? SPOONER My wife. My two daughters. FOSTER Really? Would they like me? What do you think? Would they love me at first sight? SPOONER (Laughing.) Quite possibly. FosTER What about him? + SPOONER looks at BRIGGS. Dn eT pe.104 NO MAN'S LAND SPOONER ‘They are remarkably gracious women, FOSTER ‘You're a lucky man, What are you drinking? SPOONER Scotch. FOSTER goes to cabinet, pours scotch, stands holding glass FOSTER ‘What do you make of this? When I was out East... once ..2 kind of old stinking tramp, bollock naked, asked me for a few bob. I didn’t know him. He was a complete stranger. But I could see immediately he wasn’t a man to trust. He had a dog with him. They only had about one eye between them, So I threw him some sort of coin. He caught this bloody coin, looked at it with a bit of disaste, and then he threw the coin back. Well, automatically I went to catch it, I clutched at it, but the bloody coin disappeared into thin air. It didn't drop anywhere, It just disappeared . . into thin air . . on its way towards me. He then let out a few curses and pissed off, with his dog. Ob, here’s your whisky, by the way. (Hands i to him.) ‘What do you make of that incident? SPOONER ‘He was a con artist. FOSTER ‘Do you think so? SPOONER ‘You would be wise to grant the event no integrity whatsoever. ACT ONE 105 FOSTER ‘You don’t subscribe to the mystery of the Orient? SPOONER A typical Eastern contrick. FOSTER Double Dutch, you mean? SPOONER Certainly. Your good health. (Drinks.) HIRST enters, wearing a dressing-gotn. BRIGGS goes to cabinet, pours whisky. wurst I can’t sleep. I slept briefly. I think. Perhaps it was sufficient. Yes, I woke up, out of a dream. I feel cheerful. Who'll give me a glass of whisky? MEIRST sits, BRIGGS brings him wonisky, My goodness, is this for me? How did you know? You knew. You're very sensitive. Cheers. The first today. What day is it? ‘What's the time? Is it still night? BRIGGS ‘Yes, HIRST “The same night? I was dreaming of a waterfall. No, n0, of a lake. I think it was .. just recently. Can you remember when T ‘went to bed? Was it daylight? It’s good to go to sleep in the EEE =106 NO MAN'S LAND late afternoon, After tea and toast. You hear the faint begin rings of the evening sounds, and then nothing. Everywhere else people are changing for dinner. You're tucked up, the shutters closed, gaining a march on the world. He passes his glass to BRIGGS, toho fills and returns it. Something is depressing me, What is it? It was the dream, yes. Waterfalls. No, no, a lake. Water. Drowning. Not me. Some~ one else, How nice to have company. Can you imagine waking up, finding no-one here, just furniture, staring at you? Most ‘unpleasant. I’ve known that condition, I've been through that period ~ cheers ~ I came round to human beings in the end. Like yourselves. A wise move. I tried laughing alone. Pathetic. Have you all got drinks? He looks at SPOONER. ‘Who's that? A friend of yours? Won't someone introduce me? FOSTER He's a friend of yours. HIRST In the past knew remarkable people. I’ve a photograph album somewhere. Y'l find it. You'll be impressed by the faces. Very fhandsome. Sitting on grass with hampers. I had a moustache. Quite a few of my friends had moustaches. Remarkable faces. Remarkable moustaches, What was it informed the scene? A tenderness towards our fellows, perhaps. The sun shone. The gitls had lovely hair, dark, sometimes red. Under their dresses their bodies were white, It’s all in my album. I'll find it. You'll bbe struck by the charm of the girls, their grace, the ease with ‘which they sit, pour tea, loll. It’s all in my album, ACT ONE 107 He empties glass, holds it up. ‘Who is the kindest among you? BRIGGS takes glass to cabinet. ‘Thank you. What would I do without the two of you? I'd sit here forever, waiting for a stranger to fill up my glass. What would I do while I waited? Look through my album? Make plans for the future? BRiGcs (Bringing glass.) You'd crawl to the bottle and stuff it between your teeth. HIRST No. I drink with dignity. He drinks, looks at SPOONER. ‘Who is this man? Do I know him? POSTER He says he’s a friend of yours. HIRST ‘My true friends look out at me from my album. I had my world, I have it. Don’t think now that it’s gone I'l choose to sneer at it, to cast doubt on it, to wonder if it properly existed. No. We're talking of my youth, which can never leave me, No. It existed. It was solid, the people in it were solid, while . .. transformed by light, while being sensitive... to all the chang- ing light.108 No MAN’S LAND When I stood my shadow fell upon her. She looked up. Giveme the bottle. Give me the bottle, BRIGGS gives him the bottle, He drinks from it. It’s gone. Did it exist? It’s gone. It never existed. It remains. Tam sitting here forever. How kind of you. I wish you'd tell me what the weather's like. I wish you'd damawell tell me what night itis this night or the next night or the other one, the night before last. Be frank. Isit the night before last? Help yourselves. I hate drinking alone. There's too much solitary shittery. What was it? Shadows. Brightness, through leaves. Gam- bolling. In the bushes. Young lovers. A fall of water. It was my dream. The lake, Who was drowning in my dream? It was blinding. I remember it. I've forgotten. By all that's sacred and holy. The sounds stopped. It was freezing. There’s a gap in me. I can’t fill it. There’s a flood running through me. T can’t plug it. They're blotting me out. Who is doing it? I'm suffocating, It’s a muff. A muff, perfumed. Someone is doing me to death. ‘She looked up. I was staggered. I had mever seen anything so beautiful. That's all poison. We can't be expected to live like that, ‘remember nothing. I'm sitting in this room. I see you all, every one of you. A sociable gathering. The dispositions are kindly. Am I asleep? There’s no water. No-one is drowning. ACT ONE 109 Yes, yes, come on, come on, come on, pipe up, speak up, speak up, speak up, you're fucking me about, you bastards, ghosts, long ghosts, you're making noises, I can hear you humming, I wear a crisp blue shirt at the Ritz, I wear a crisp blue shirt at the Ritz, I know him well, the wine waiter, Boris, Boris, he’s been there for years, blinding shadows, then a fall of water — SPOONER Ht was I drowning in your dream. urrst falls to the floor. They all go to him. FOSTER turns 10 SPOONER. FOSTER Bugger off. BRIGGS pulls HIRST up. HIRST wards him off. HIRST Unhand me. He stands erect. SeOONER moves t0 him. SPOONER He has grandchildren. As have I. As I have. We both have fathered, We are of an age. I know his wants. Let me take his arm. Respect our age. Come, P'l seat you, He takes winst’s arm and leads him to a chair. ‘There's no pity in these people. FOSTER Christ. [Es eee ee ee =10 NO MAN’S LAND SPOONER Tam your true friend, That is why your dream . . . was so distressing. You saw me drowning in your dream. But have no fear. Lam not drowned. FOSTER Christ. SPOONER (To wxnst.) Would you like me to make you some coffee? BRIGGS He thinks he’s a waiter in Amsterdam. FOSTER Service non compris. BRIGGS Whereas he’s a pintpot attendant in The Bull’s Head, And a pisspot attendant as well. FOSTER Our host must have been in The Bull’s Head tonight, where he had an unfortunate encounter. (To SPOONER.) Hey scout, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. You're not in some shithouse dowa by the docks. You're in the home of a ‘man of means, of a man of achievement. Do you understand me? He turns to BRIGGS. Why am I bothering? Tell me. Eh? He turns back 10 SPOONER. ACT ONE nr Listen chummybum. We protect this gentleman against cor- ruption, against men of craft, against men of evil, we could destroy you without a glance, we take care of this gentleman, we do it out of love. He turns 10 wR1G6s. Why am I talking to him? I'm wasting my time with a non- starter. I unust be going mad. I don’t usually talk. I don't have to, Normally I keep quict. He turns back 10 SPOONER, Tknow what itis. There's something about you fascinates me. sPooner Te’s my bearing. FosTer ‘That's what it must be. prices T've seen Irishmen chop his bells off. FOSTER I suppose once you've had Irishmen you've had everything. (To sPooweR.) Listen. Keep it tidy. You follow? You've just laid your hands on a rich and powerful man. It’s not what you're used to, scout. How can I make it clear? This is another lass, It’s another realm of operation. Ie's a world of silk, Ie’ a world of organdie. It’s a world of flower arrangements, Is a world of eighteenth century cookery books. It’s nothing to do with toffecapples and a packet of crisps. It’s milk in the bath, It’s the cloth belipull. Ie’s organisation. Deem2 NO MAN'S LAND BRIGGS I's not rubbish, FOSTER It's not rubbish. We deal in originals. Nothing duff, nothing ersatz, we don't open any old bottle of brandy. Mind you don’t fall into a quicksand, (To BR1GGs.) Why don’t I kick his head off and have done with it? SPOONER Tm the same age as your master. I used to picnic in the country too, at the same time as he, POSTER Listen, my friend. This man in this chair, he’s a creative man. ‘He's an artist, We make life possible for him. We're in a position of trust. Don’t try to drive a wedge into a happy household. You understand me? Don’t try to make a nonsense out of family life. BRIGGS (To FosTER) If you can't, I can. He moves to SPOONER and beckons to him, with his forefinger. BRIGGS Come here. HIRST Where are the sandwiches? Cut the bread. BRIGGS Irs cut, ACT ONE 113 HIRST Tris not cut. Cut it! BRIGGS stands sill, BRIGGS Plgo and cutit. ‘He leaves the room. HIRST (To seooNeR) I know you from somewhere. FOSTER I must clean the house, No-one else’ll do it. Your financial adviser is coming to breakfast. I've got to think about that, His taste changes from day to day. One day he wants boiled eggs and coast, the next day orange juice and poached eggs, the next scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, the next a mushroom omelette and champagne. Any minute now itl be dawn. A new day. Your financial adviser’s dreaming of his breakfast. ‘He's dreaming of eggs. Eggs, eggs, What kind of eggs? 'm exhausted. I've been up all night. But it never stops, Nothing stops. It’s all fizz, This is my life. I have my brief arousals ‘They leave me panting. T can’t take the pace in London. Nobody knows what I miss, BRIGGS enters and stands, listening. I miss the Siamese girls, I miss the girls in Bali. You don't come across them over here. You sce them occasionally, on the steps of language schools, they're learning English, they're not prepared to have a giggle and a cuddle in their own lan- ‘guage. Not in Regent street. A giggle and a cuddle. Sometimes tre ee EN eym4 No MAN'S LAND my ambitions extend no further than that. I could do some- thing else. I could make another life, I don’t have to waste my time looking after a pisshound. I could find the right niche and be happy. The right niche, the right happiness, BRices We're out of bread. I'm looking at the housekeeper. Neurotic oof. He prefers idleness. Unspeakable ponce. He prefers the Malay Straits, where they give you hot toddy in a fourposter. ‘He's nothing but a vagabond cock. (To SPOONER.) Move over. SPOONER moves out of his way. Briccs (Tomiast,) Get up, HIRST slowly stands. BR1GGS leads kim 10 the door. BRIGGS (To mist.) Keep on the move. Don’t look back, HIRST Tknow that man, BRIGGS leads HIRST out of the room, Silence FOSTER ‘Do you know what I saw once in the desert, in the Australian desert? A man walking along carrying two umbrellas. Two ‘umbrellas, In the outback. ACT ONE 15 Pause SPOONER Was it raining? FOSTER No. It was a beautiful day. T nearly asked him what he was up to but I changed my mind. SPOONER Why? FOSTER ‘Well, I decided he must be some kind of lunatic. I thought he would only confuse me, FOSTER walks about the room, stops at the door. Listen. You know what it’s like when you're in a room with the light on and then suddenly the light goes out? T'll show you. It’s like this. He turns the light out. BLACKOUT [SEE