David Hare Plays 2 Read online

  Peggy And what? What then, Stephen? You would like to go off and have lunch?

  Stephen (stung) No.

  Peggy suddenly smiles.

  Peggy Oh God, Stephen, I do understand you. In Westchester County I knew lots of people like you.

  Stephen Thank you.

  Peggy You know, life can really be quite easy, if you don’t always let your emotions get in the way.

  He looks at her a moment.

  When I was sixteen, I made a resolution. I had a girlfriend, we were walking in the Rockies, and the view, I can tell you, was something as we came over to Boulder, Colorado. And we had a six-pack right there on top of the mountain. And she was a good girl. I mean a really good girl. You could trust your life to her. And there that day we looked over the valley. We thought about our lives and relationships, and said, ‘Life can be simple, by will we can make it simple. From now on we are totally free. Let’s not ever mess with the bad things at all.’ Now what’s sad is I saw her six months ago. She’s married to a lawyer in DC and he’s never there, he’s out over-achieving all day, she doesn’t like him when he is there, and so she’s fucking around, so that one day, she told me, she got this terrible pain here. She was really desperate. Into the hospital. She told me for the first time in her life she prayed. And I said ‘Really, what was your prayer, Elise?’ And she said ‘Oh God, let it not be cervical cancer. God please. God, just do this for me. If it’s not cancer, I swear I’ll never cheat on Arnold again.’ And that … (She laughs delightedly.) … I tell you that, when I come to write my novel about America, that will be its title: Cheating on Arnold. That will be its name. Because you see that is not what is going to happen to me. You understand? Because there is no need. (She says this with the complete conviction of youth. Then smiles.) Now the two of you, Victor, you, both slightly ridiculous, slightly contemptible, in my view, you see? Elaine will agree. That sort of behaviour, men being jealous, men fighting, it’s out of date. Outdated, Stephen. Unnecessary, Stephen. I mean, drop the bad behaviour and you might get somewhere.

  Stephen Meaning I will get somewhere?

  Peggy Drop the bad behaviour and you will get somewhere.

  A silence while this sinks in. Elaine looks down, amused. Stephen cautious, but enjoying his power.

  Stephen That’s kind of you, but the fact is, I didn’t act alone.

  Peggy Ah, well.

  Stephen There’s a committee.

  Peggy (vigorously) Well, I’m not offering all of them.

  Elaine smiles.

  Even Westchester County has its limits, you know.

  Stephen Yes, but I just helped draft the statement, there are others and they do have views.

  Peggy They can be swung.

  Stephen Because they’re black?

  Peggy looks at him with contempt.

  Peggy That’s when you’re really boring, Stephen. The sex drops off you. It’s like your prick drops off when you say things like that.

  Stephen All right.

  Peggy No, not because they’re black, you wimp, but because it’s a committee of – how many?

  Stephen Six.

  Peggy Right. And you’re on it, that’s all. And when you’re not apologizing for your own existence, you can actually be quite a plausible human being.

  Stephen looks at her, touched.

  Stephen Weren’t you moved by what M’Bengue said just now?

  Peggy Stephen, whose cause does he damage by stopping the conference?

  Stephen He doesn’t want to stop the conference.

  Peggy His own.

  Stephen But …

  Peggy Senegal’s. Somalia’s. Mozambique’s.

  Stephen But if Victor could be persuaded.

  Peggy Victor was persuaded. I had him persuaded. Until you appeared.

  There’s a pause. Then Peggy turns, as if finally despairing.

  All right, then, make your little stand …

  Stephen It’s not that.

  Peggy … whatever it is. No one will remember.

  Stephen It’s principle.

  Peggy Principle, indeed! People do what they want to, then afterwards, if it suits them, they call it principle.

  Stephen No.

  Peggy Rationalization of what you’ve already decided, that’s what principle is.

  Stephen is already shaking his head.

  Stephen Certain things are important. Certain things are good.

  Peggy How can you say, you who are not involved?

  M’Bengue, sure, he’s a member of a government …

  Stephen He’s a civil servant.

  Peggy All right, he’s a civil servant who represents a government which stands to gain from the successful outcome of this conference – so when he says ‘principle’, we listen. It’s at some cost. It’s at some personal expense. But your principles come from a store on the corner and cost you nothing.

  Stephen looks down, very hurt.

  Stephen No, well, I’m sorry …

  Peggy Look, Stephen, I don’t mean to be unkind to you. I like you.

  Elaine (smiles) She does.

  Peggy You attract unkindness because so often you’re not you. You’re this ragbag of opinions.

  Stephen So are you.

  Peggy looks at hint, surprised, not understanding.

  How is it different? Your freedom you’ve just told us about, your sexual freedom, what’s that if not some contrived and idiotic idea based on some mountaintop experience you’ve talked yourself into believing was a revelation? And a revelation meaning what? That you may sleep with anyone and not get involved. Gosh, well, thank goodness. What a convenient discovery. Remind me to buy climbing boots next time I’m out.

  Elaine Stephen …

  Stephen The six-pack philosopher. Really! Entitled to patronize. To witter on about freedom. And from what position? From the safety of beauty. From the absolute safety of being beautiful.

  He stops, aware of having hurt her. He begins to apologize.

  Well, I’m sorry. Something happened to me last night, while you were no doubt with …

  Peggy Victor.

  Stephen Quite. I walked to the Gateway of India with M’Bengue, among the small kerosene stoves, suffocating, the heat, the dope, tripping against beggars, watching boys of ten and eleven with fat joints stuck in their mouths. We walked along Chowpatty Beach, and I listened to a man trying to explain to me what it’s like to see the world the other way up. To come – can you imagine – from Dakar, West Africa, to fly through the night and arrive in this conference hall to listen to the well-heeled agents of the West argue that of course aid never gets through, and, when it gets through, how officials rip it off. And how really all it does is create a disease called aid dependency. Aid doesn’t really help, the West keeps saying to salve its bloated conscience. Yes, I do feel these things that seem to you affectations only because to believe in anything now in the West, except money or sex or motor cars, is to mark yourself out as foolish. A subject for satire. At which Victor Mehta is adept.

  There is a pause. Peggy looks at him, lost. Then suddenly:

  Peggy Then you should argue it out.

  Stephen What?

  Peggy The two of you. Just the two of you on behalf of your committee. Since you believe it so strongly.

  Stephen He won’t listen.

  Elaine He’ll listen. If Peggy says …

  There is a pause.

  Stephen I’m not sure.

  Peggy Yes. This evening.

  Elaine I will adjudicate.

  Peggy Brilliant! Elaine will decide. And whoever wins, wins me.

  Stephen No!

  Peggy Oh yes. Yes. That will be principle. That’s what principle is. Having something to lose.

  Stephen No.

  Peggy That’s freedom. I do actually believe in it.

  Stephen That’s not freedom. My God. That’s bartering.

  Peggy Elaine?

  Stephen It’s sick.

  Elaine Putting her body where h
er mouth is, how can that be wrong?

  Stephen It’s impossible. What would I say to M’Bengue and the others, if I lost, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, because of a deal I made we now have to give way to this offensive Indian …’ No, it’s ridiculous!

  Peggy Yes, if you lose. But you told me you believed so passionately … if you’re right after all, if Victor is wrong to say all these things …

  Stephen He is.

  Peggy Very well then. Test it. Test it, Stephen. If you want me, argue it tonight.

  She goes out. Elaine and Stephen are left alone.

  Stephen Oh, God. Elaine …

  Elaine looks at him affectionately.

  Elaine There’s so much passion in you, so much emotion, all the time. This is wrong, that’s wrong. Well, tonight you will get the chance to direct that emotion, and in a good cause.

  A pause.

  What better cause than Peggy Whitton, eh?

  There is a moment of warmth between them. Suddenly they both smile at the ludicrousness of the situation.

  Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.

  And at once, Angelis appears from the back of the stage, walking on to the set and calling to his unseen followers. This time the two scenes interweave, one group of people walking right through the other, SCENE THREE oblivious to SCENE FOUR’s existence.

  Angelis Lunch, everyone.

  Elaine and Stephen are still standing looking at each other.

  Elaine I’m fond of you. You’re a fool, and I’m fond of you.

  Angelis Strike the set!

  Elaine Where shall we eat?

  Stephen I want to go to the Temple of the Jains. Have you been there?

  Elaine No.

  Stephen I hear it’s beautiful.

  The Prop Crew has appeared and is clearing away the chairs. Elaine and Stephen walk upstage.

  Elaine And let’s go to Doongarwadi, to the Parsee funeral ground.

  Stephen Is that where the vultures pick at the bodies of the dead?

  Elaine That’s the one.

  Stephen Good. Let’s go there.

  The lights lose them as they go.

  Lunch before?

  Elaine After, I think.

  The Assistant has carried on a chair for Angelis’s approval.

  Assistant Is this the right kind of chair for the bedroom, Mr Angelis?

  Angelis Yes, that’s fine.

  Assistant They want you to look at the bed.

  Angelis I will look at the bed later. The bed comes later.

  A Crewman walks by with a ghetto-blaster playing Barry Manilow’s ‘I Am Music’.

  Assistant They want to know whether to make the bed soft or hard?

  Angelis Soft.

  Assistant What colour?

  Angelis Blue. Blue spread.

  Assistant Really?

  Angelis (panicking now) White. Oh, God, I don’t know. White sheets, white spread too. Sure. What the hell? Who cares? Get the book.

  Assistant The book says white.

  Angelis Then white. If it’s in the book, it must be right.

  The set has been cleared. There is only an empty floor. Peggy Whitton runs on, as if the set were still there. She doesn’t realize Stephen and Elaine have gone.

  Peggy Stephen! Victor agrees. It’s on.

  She stands triumphant. Angelis does not see or hear her.

  Angelis I’m bored.

  A great cry.

  Lunch! Lunch!

  Act Two

  At the end of the interval, in the darkness, we hear a recording of Peggy’s letter home.

  Peggy Dear Sue, Alone but not lonely in Bombay. I have met a man – I cannot tell you – I have met a novelist, Victor Mehta. A man of great gracefulness. Difficult, of course, like the best men. And very proud. In a fit of stupidity, I have agreed – oh, God, how I agreed to this I have no idea – I have agreed to sleep with the winner of an argument. One of the men is Victor. The other … not.

  SCENE FIVE. The film studio. There is now a bedroom, which is represented by a bed and a wall behind with a door in it, which leads off to an imaginary bathroom. The room is unnaturally spacious, occupying a large area, detailed but incomplete. Dotted near it are canvas chairs and camera equipment, though the camera itself is missing. The actors are sitting about in casual clothes, waiting for rehearsal. They are not yet in costume. The Elaine-actress is sitting at one side by herself with a magazine. The Martinson-actor is doing The Times crossword. He was born an Englishman, but is now a self-consciously international figure in blue jeans, gold medallion and muted Californian T-shirt. The M’Bengue-actor stands in the middle, quite still, looking off into the distance.

  M’Bengue Well, what is happening?

  Martinson I don’t know. (He frowns.) What on earth could be one … two … three … four … five … six … seven letters, begins with Z, and the clue is ‘It’s the plague of the earth’?

  Elaine Zionism.

  Martinson What?

  The Peggy-actress comes on. She is wearing a band round her head, to push her hair back. She has a dressing-gown on over her shirt and trousers.

  Peggy Is there any sign of Angelis?

  Elaine No. We’re all called, but there’s nobody here.

  Martinson is staring at Elaine in disbelief.

  Martinson What d’you mean, ‘Zionism’?

  Elaine Well, it’s seven letters, beginning with Z.

  Martinson But are you just saying it because it’s a word?

  Elaine It’s a word.

  Martinson I know it’s a word. (He pauses.) I know it’s a word.

  Elaine It’s got seven letters and it begins with Z.

  Peggy has stood a moment, taking no notice, and now smiles round.

  Peggy I want to show you a few bathrobes, and then you can say what’s best for the scene, OK?

  She disappears through the door in the set and closes it. From the side the Stephen-actor appears, in loose grey flannels and pullover, with a book. He is a pleasant and easy-going man. He sits.

  Stephen Hello.

  Martinson But are you also saying it’s the plague of the earth?

  Elaine What?

  Martinson Zionism.

  Elaine (frowns) Well, I don’t think it’s a very good thing, if that’s what you mean.

  She goes back to reading, but Martinson looks round to see who else is taking notice, then persists.

  Martinson No, that’s not actually what I mean. What I mean is, are you actually suggesting that Zionism is the plague of the earth?

  Elaine Well, obviously, if it’s got seven letters and begins with Z, it scarcely matters what I think about it. What matters is what the compiler thinks, and obviously, I don’t know, perhaps The Times has Arab crossword compilers these days. Perhaps they have some Libyan on the staff.

  Martinson I suppose you think that’s funny.

  Elaine No, I don’t think it’s funny. I’m just saying …

  Peggy has come through the bathroom door in a blue-and-white spotted dressing-gown.

  Peggy Well, what d’y ou think?

  Martinson Very nice.

  Peggy Monica?

  Elaine Fine.

  Stephen (looking up) Honestly, it’s fine.

  Peggy goes out smiling. Martinson is still waiting.

  Martinson Are you seriously saying …

  Elaine I’m not saying anything.

  Martinson … you actually think The Times would employ somebody …?

  Elaine No.

  Martinson Do you know the history of the state of Palestine?

  Elaine Well, as a matter of fact, yes, I do.

  Martinson Do you know what happened to the Jews between 1939 and 1945?

  Elaine Yes, I do. They got wiped out.

  Martinson It’s not funny.

  Elaine I know it’s not funny, for Christ’s sake. I am not for one second saying it is funny. It’s you that seems determined to take issue with everything I say.

  Martinson I’m not.

  E
laine It’s just … objectively … it seems a remarkable fact that a people who once enjoyed the sympathy of the whole world for what they had suffered have, in the space of just thirty-five years, managed to squander that sympathy by creating a vicious, narrow-minded, militarist state.

  Martinson (quietly) What?

  Elaine And as a matter of fact, I think it not funny at all. I think it a tragedy.

  There is a pause. Then Martinson turns to appeal to the others.

  Martinson Did you hear what she just said?

  M’Bengue (neutrally) Yes, I did.

  Martinson (turning back to Elaine) Do you know what Sartre said?

  Elaine Yes, I do.

  There is a pause.

  What did he say?

  Martinson Why say you did?

  Elaine Well, I mean, I know what Sartre said about various things …

  Martinson Such as?

  Elaine Well, I mean, I can’t remember what things he said what about … I mean … I know he liked actresses very much …

  Martinson ignores this.

  Martinson I will tell you what he said about Israel. That it was a historical exception.

  Peggy reappears, in a yellow dressing-gown this time.

  Peggy Guys, this one?

  Martinson Very nice.

  Elaine Sure.

  Peggy goes out again.

  Martinson That normally the Jews would have no right to the territory of Palestine, but that the crime against them was so great, that it was so out of proportion with anything any people had ever suffered before, that it was necessary to make a historical exception and say, ‘Yes, give them the land.’

  A pause. Elaine concedes with ill grace.

  Elaine OK.

  Martinson That’s what Sartre said.

  Elaine OK.

  M’Bengue has leant over casually and is looking down at Martinson’s discarded Times.

  M’Bengue It’s not Z anyway.

  Martinson What?

  M’Bengue Look, six down is ‘evasion’. You don’t spell that with a Z. You spell it with an S.

  Martinson Are you telling me how to do this?

  M’Bengue Which means fourteen across is now a seven-letter word beginning with S.

  Martinson looks at him unkindly.

  Martinson I suppose you agree with her.

  M’Bengue What?

  Martinson About the Jews.

  Elaine gets up from her chair, suddenly losing her temper.