David Hare Plays 2 Read online

  Stephen looks down. He answers, still stubborn but also feeble.

  Stephen I certainly do think they are not very pro-women.

  Mehta glowers at him.

  Mehta Ah, well, of course, the ultimate progressive offence among the young men from the universities. In the old days – what was it? – that one must be pro-life; now we must be pro-women …

  Stephen No.

  Mehta Well, ask yourself if your heroes are very pro-women, your Lenin, your Castro …

  Stephen He is not my Castro.

  Mehta This ludicrous, long-winded bore who speaks for eight hours on end, who won his battles by speaking whole villages to death – they reeled over, bored in the face of his speeches – this man (we do not say this, it is long forgotten) who was once an extra in an Esther Williams movie.

  Stephen There, you’re doing it again. I haven’t mentioned Castro.

  Mehta At a conference on poverty, ‘Castro! Castro!’ It is the chorus of sheep.

  Stephen Why do you come? Why do you come here if it’s such torture to you?

  Mehta Yes. And why are you here?

  There is a sudden pause, after the shouting. Sure of his point, Mehta now formally turns to Elaine.

  Miss le Fanu, tonight I am to dine with the Professor of Classical Studies at Delhi University. It is already pre-arranged. He is coming specially, he is flying, as he is keen to hear my views on his new translation of Herodotus.

  Stephen speaks quietly as he helps himself, a little drunkenly, to more champagne.

  Stephen Oh, shit!

  Mehta (ignoring this) If our conversation would not be tedious to you, I would be delighted if you would join us for dinner, and afterwards perhaps …

  Stephen He could fuck your arse ragged in an upstairs room.

  An explosion from the others.

  Mehta Mr Andrews!

  Elaine I must say, Stephen …

  Mehta I cannot see how that remark is justified.

  Stephen smiles, hovering, drunk, magnificent.

  Stephen How the right wing always appropriates good manners. Yes? They always have that. Form and decorum. A permanent excuse for not addressing themselves to what people actually say, because they can always turn their heads away if a sentence is not correctly formulated.

  Mehta Now it is you who are exaggerating.

  Stephen You’re like all those people who think that if you say ‘Excuse me’ at one end of a sentence and ‘Thank you’ at the other, you are entitled to be as rude as you like in between. English manners!

  Mehta Whatever one may think of them, it seems, Andrews, it is only the foreigner who bothers with them any more.

  Stephen Yes. How appropriate! That you, an Indian by birth, should be left desperately mimicking the manners of a country that died – died in its heart – over thirty, forty, fifty years ago. (He gestures to the ceiling of the room.) This sad, pathetic imitation, this room, this conference, these servants – that all this goes on, like a ghost ship without passengers. The India of the rich! How I despise it!

  Mehta Yes. (Mehta looks at him, watching, not rising to the bait.)

  Elaine You’re smiling.

  Mehta Yes. It makes me smile suddenly to see the young man …

  Stephen Stephen.

  Mehta … to see Stephen gesturing. To hear him argue. In Hindi there is no word for ‘eavesdropper’. It is not required. Everyone speaks too loud. When I think of my home, it is of men in rooms arguing. And in the streets, the dying. This is India. Without the will to act. (His sudden characteristic darkness has come over him. Then he turns to Elaine.) Miss le Fanu, you are welcome to dine with us.

  Elaine Thank you.

  Mehta I have asked your Peggy Whitton.

  Stephen Who?

  Mehta The Peggy Whitton whom I met just now. Do you know her?

  Stephen Dark. Attractive.

  Mehta She is attractive, yes.

  Stephen But she said …

  Mehta What?

  Stephen That she would dine with me.

  Mehta moves suddenly and decisively to the door.

  Mehta Let her come. Boy!

  The Waiter appears.

  Waiter Sahib.

  Mehta Peggy Whitton, who was on the verandah, reading, as I came in. Will you ask her to join us?

  The Waiter goes.

  By chance she was reading one of my books. Then she looked up. The author was before her. She could not believe her good fortune.

  At once Peggy Whitton appears. She is in her early twenties, American, in a plain cotton dress. There is a pause.

  Peggy Yes?

  Mehta Miss Whitton. You are over-extended. You appear to be eating in two places at once.

  Peggy (looking between them) Oh, I see. No. I thought we’d all eat together.

  Stephen Mr Mehta is implying this is not on.

  Mehta I said nothing.

  Stephen He dislikes me. Because I don’t just listen when he speaks. I dispute. He finds this habit offensive. He is the famous writer. He expects to be allowed to give forth. In his books he makes sure there is no dispute. There are no messy arguments. He writes fiction because in fiction he gets his own way.

  There is a pause.

  Well, have it tonight. Dine with Peggy Whitton. By all means. (He turns to Peggy.) Sit at his table. Lie at his feet. Let him pour gold in your ear.

  He goes. Peggy makes to follow him, upset.

  Peggy I must follow the boy. And be nice to him. Excuse me, Mr Mehta.

  Mehta Of course. Eight o’clock.

  Peggy Yes.

  There is a pause. She cannot quite leave. Mehta is smiling. They are still.

  I better go.

  At once music begins to play, quietly. She runs off. Mehta crosses the room towards us. As he does so, the lights go down, dramatically darkening, until they are in two pools only on Elaine and Mehta.

  Mehta Why are you smiling?

  Elaine Oh … men I suppose.

  Mehta Children, you mean. Do you know this Peggy Whitton?

  Elaine I’ve met her.

  Mehta She’s a jazz violinist. Reputedly brilliant.

  Elaine Well, I’m sure you will charm her.

  Mehta Do you think so?

  Elaine Yes, of course. If you want her just ask. Do it. Act. Seize her. Never nurse unrequited desire. (She gets up from her chair, her acting expanding alarmingly.)

  Mehta You say that?

  Elaine Yes! I’ve lived by it!

  At once from the darkness, great cries.

  Angelis Lights!

  Boom Operator Sound!

  Sound Recordist Speed!

  Angelis Turn over!

  Cameraman Rolling!

  Clapperboy Mark it! Scene 86. Take 4.

  Huge lights now illuminate Elaine. A 35mm camera has circled on to place. Sound men have edged near her. Elaine steps up into her highlight.

  Angelis Action!

  Elaine What do you think the purpose of life is? We could be giants. Victor, I swear it’s the truth. This mess, this stew of unhappiness. How nobody dares to speak what they feel. There’s something inside every human being. Something suppressed. It’s got to come out. I tell you, Victor: cut through to it. My friend, I beg you: let that something out.

  Angelis Cut! All right, yes, print that.

  At once huge lights come on in the studio and the scene fractures. Peggy Whitton, a woman in her early thirties, well dressed in grey cotton trousers and a grey sweater, walks through the chaos. She has been watching the filming of the scene. We are now in SCENE TWO.

  Peggy My God, it’s terrible. That wasn’t the point of the original scene.

  Angelis Please, yes, I am with you in a moment, I am most keen to hear what you say.

  Stephen Is Paul there?

  Angelis Well done, everyone. Monica, all right?

  Elaine I don’t know. I just don’t feel I got her.

  Angelis You have her, honestly. That was wonderful. Were you happy, Shashi?

>   Mehta Yes. I was fine.

  Stephen Paul!

  Paul Hi. How are you.

  Paul is a strikingly good-looking young man, who now embraces the Stephen-actor. He offers him a small punnet of strawberries. Make-up Girl is dealing with the Elaine-actress’s face. The Propmen are waiting to know whether to take furniture away.

  Make-up That was really great.

  Elaine Thank you, Barbara. There’s something happening to this eyelash.

  Propman Do we take these?

  Second Are we going back?

  Cameraman Do we need a re-set?

  Loader Is it the same shot?

  Angelis Look, please, everyone, just give me a moment.

  He has raised his voice. There is a silence.

  Peggy You’ve quite destroyed Victor’s writing you know.

  Angelis Please, everyone, we have a visitor today, who has come to observe our filming. We welcome the real Peggy Whitton, on whom Victor Mehta based his great novel. She made that choice which is at the centre of the book. I am sure she will have all sorts of observations … remarks, which will be helpful to us.

  She is looking at him. They are quite still.

  For that reason I think we may need a moment alone.

  A Wardrobe Girl walks on, oblivious of the slight tension.

  Wardrobe Girl This hat for Scene Ninety?

  Angelis Yes, it’s fine.

  Then the Martinson-actor.

  Martinson Is it me yet?

  Script Girl No, your scene’s later.

  Stephen Angelis, if you need me I’m just slipping out. I’ll be in the dressing-room with Paul.

  They go.

  Sparks Ten minutes, guv?

  Angelis Yes, OK.

  First & Sparks Ten minutes! Ten minutes everyone!

  Everyone disperses. Angelis calls to the Script Girl.

  Propman What can I do with ten minutes?

  Angelis By the way, Caroline …

  Script Girl Yes.

  Angelis That hat I was shown. It’s ridiculous. Please get it changed.

  The lights have gone down. The studio is almost empty.

  Miss Whitton, be clear. This is not my forte. I am an action director. Cars, fast movement, guns. For motives of tax, my employers are making a more cultural movie. I am told, in order to lose money … for reasons it is quite beyond me to understand. Leasebacks, kickbacks, greenbacks, I understand nothing. It was not even meant to be my assignment. Three weeks ago I was about to shoot Pulveriser 3. But suddenly instead my business is nuance.

  Peggy I want very little. Only that you should stick to the facts.

  Angelis (he calls off) Get her a chair. Please. Go on.

  Peggy For a start, why have you made me a jazz violinist? I was an actress.

  Angelis I know. I informed Mr Mehta of the change.

  Peggy But what’s the point of it?

  Angelis It adds colour.

  Peggy Apart from anything, it’s just so unlikely. All the jazz violinists you meet in Bombay.

  Angelis Does it matter?

  Peggy Of course. Everything matters. It’s a question of tone. For instance, the scene I just saw. The speech ‘What do you think the purpose of life is?’ Have you heard anyone say anything like that in real life?

  Angelis Not in those exact words, no.

  Peggy What happened happened purely by accident. It was chance. It was chance that I met him. And in a funny way, it was chance what I did.

  There is a pause. Angelis looks steadily at her.

  Angelis Perhaps it would be easiest … why not tell me the story from your point of view?

  A Prop Man arrives with a chair. It is set down immediately in front of an unlit brute. The Man goes. Peggy sits.

  Peggy I was staying in that hotel. I was in Bombay. I was making a film. It was a phoney sort of thriller, a heist movie, maharajahs and diamonds and so on. And I was basically a New York actress. Not even that. I was a philosophy major who worked in publishing. Someone wrote a play and asked me to act. And that’s what I did. Easy America. The easiest place in the world. (She smiles.) Anyway this movie was dumb. It was long and dumb. I was off for a couple of days. Witty and literate people I was pretty short on, and figured that at least if I went along to this conference I’d read about in the papers … well, the great thing would be not to have to talk about films. I had briefly met, I guess for ten minutes maybe, this young Englishman … well now, there you are, I looked at the script and in your version you have him as a bore. But that’s not how he was. The night I first met him he was charming … (She suddenly gives up the struggle.) Oh look, this is pointless.

  Angelis Please, no, say.

  Peggy Angelis, you need a decent writer, you know?

  Angelis I know.

  Peggy I can sit here all day and set you right on everything and you still won’t be able to show it. That’s what writers do. They make you see it. And on this film the screenwriter is terrible. (She shakes her head.) Elaine, for instance. I mean she wasn’t direct like that. Not Elaine. She always just insinuated. She was always just there. Oh, and she was so warm!

  Angelis (hurt) She’s warm in this.

  Peggy She’s understanding, yes.

  Angelis She’s one of the characters the writer’s done best.

  Peggy looks at him, as if now realizing how deep the gulf is between them. So it is kindly, as to an invalid, that she now speaks.

  Peggy Please, do you think, could you get me a glass of water?

  Angelis Yes. I’ll get someone …

  Peggy No … if you could … get it yourself. I need a moment. Just a moment’s clarity. (She smiles, to try and take the offence out of the request.) If you would give me a moment, then I’ll let you get on with your film.

  There’s a pause. He turns and goes out. Peggy is alone on the set. The brute behind her slowly begins to burn. She speaks straight to us.

  Young. That’s the first thing. Young. Unmistakably young. Not even sure or confident. But irreplaceably, indecently young. You never get it back. How can you? Oh God, nothing makes sense. None of it. Unless you understand this one basic fact. How do I put it? (She smiles.) That I was so young.

  Peggy goes. From the back of the area Victor Mehta is appearing, pursued into the conference hall by men in suits. The Crew transforms the set by laying out rows of chairs to suggest an empty hall. This is as sketchily marked as the previous Indian scene. Martinson, a tall Swede, is pursuing Mehta.

  Martinson Mr Mehta, please, I must insist. You must not just walk away from me. I am trying to tell you, it is a simple statement. Mr Mehta, you cannot refuse.

  The lights change. The set is by now assembled. SCENE THREE has begun.

  Mehta You ask me to accept it. I cannot accept it. It’s out of the question. I am a free writer. The whole subject of my work is freedom. Now you ask me to give my freedom up. Well, I will not.

  Martinson turns despairingly to his colleagues.

  Peggy! Where is Peggy?

  Peggy Whitton has arrived from the other side.

  Peggy Victor, I’m here.

  Mehta I am sorry, my dear. I had hoped to have lunch with you. But I am so distressed. There is trouble.

  Peggy What kind?

  Mehta Why not ask Mr Martinson? He is running the conference. He is the man who invited me to speak.

  He gestures at Martinson, who is standing at the centre of a group of suited Diplomats. Martinson is a tall, grave and persistent Swede, whose apparent doggedness turns out to have an iron quality. He is in his forties.

  You remember last night …

  Peggy Yes.

  Mehta … after our dinner … I told you something here made me uneasy from the start …

  Peggy You enjoyed dinner.

  Mehta (He pauses, thrown by this apparent irrelevance, then persists.) Yes, I did at the time. But that was last night. And now this morning Mr Martinson has come with this evil news.

  Martinson Perhaps, perhaps if I were allowed
to repeat it to your friend …

  Mehta Miss Whitton …

  Martinson It would be a good test. She would be able to judge more dispassionately how serious it is. Miss Whitton?

  A pause. Mehta nods.

  Peggy Okay.

  Martinson turns patiently to Peggy.

  Martinson Mr Mehta is upset because there has been an approach from the Mozambique delegation …

  Mehta Mozambique!

  Martinson Yes, you said.

  Mehta There is no such place. It is merely a province of China.

  Martinson I am not sure they would necessarily agree.

  Mehta They are a tongue only. Not even a puppet. They are simply another man’s mouth.

  Martinson turns back, apparently almost indifferent.

  Martinson Well, it is not really central …

  Mehta It is very ‘central’.

  Martinson (ignoring him) Well, it is not really the point. There is a faction, let us say it, from the socialist countries …

  Mehta I …

  Martinson (holding up a hand to silence him) Yes. From whatever direction … that objects to Mr Mehta’s presence at the conference. Because of some things he’s written about their countries in the past.

  Mehta, justified, looks to Peggy for her reaction.

  Mehta You see!

  Peggy Well, there are some people –

  Mehta Of course, you are right.

  Peggy … factions that are bound to object to some of Victor’s books. I mean, I’ve only read a couple – sorry, Victor – but what he says doesn’t seem to me to read like hostility. He loves the countries; he attacks the regimes. Surely even they can see there’s a difference.

  Martinson Yes. You’re right. But they dislike the implication in some of the novels that anyone who professes Marxist ideas always uses them as a sort of convenience, as if they were justification for whatever terror he wants to commit.

  Mehta It’s true.

  Martinson There’s a phrase where you call Marxism ‘dictatorship’s fashionable dress’.

  Mehta That’s a very nice phrase.

  Martinson Well, they do find that peculiarly insulting.

  Peggy Yes. But surely they knew that in advance?

  Martinson It still causes great anger.

  Peggy It can’t be overnight they’ve started to read.

  There is a momentary pause as Peggy waits for the explanation.