Howard Barker: Plays Nine. Howard Barker

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СКАЧАТЬ not here for my lesson / Mr Wardrobe /

      (He moistens his lips.)

      I came to say / how sorry we are / Mr Bible is /

      (He cannot utter.)

      WARDROBE: Dying /

      SOLDIER: (Shocked.) Is he? /

      (WARDROBE studies the SOLDIER, who pulls at his hands.)

      All of us / we / even if we didn’t understand it / we liked his poetry /

      WARDROBE: Tell him /

      SOLDIER: Tell him? /

      WARDROBE: Yes / tell him / not me /

      (The SOLDIER chews his tongue in his anxiety, then with a determined toss of his head, goes to advance on the canvas bed.)

      It would be much worse /

      (The SOLDIER stops.)

      Wouldn’t it? / much worse if it was me? /

      (The SOLDIER is embarrassed, then he continues his advance on the stricken BIBLE. THRASH makes way for him. The SOLDIER stares at BIBLE, lost for words. The wind blows. At last he finds his voice, but WARDROBE is quicker.)

      Nothing is arbitrary / neither here nor anywhere / not a single thing / take the bed / the sordid / steeped-in-toss-and-vomit / caricature of comfort / which officially we share / but which / because of his condition / Bible occupies exclusively / and is / therefore / not available to me / this bed /

      THRASH: Shh /

      WARDROBE: Wasted on him / now / obviously /

      THRASH: Shh /

      WARDROBE: Might serve / however clammy with disease / to save me / but no / I lie on the floor / in damp / in draughts / thereby ensuring /

      (He is bathed in euphoria.)

      OH / AND THIS HE KNEW / PROVIDING US WITH ONE BED BETWEEN TWO /

      (He shakes his head in wonder.)

      Bible’s death would guarantee my own /

      (He casts a glance at the unhappy SOLDIER.)

      Or vice-versa / probably he doesn’t mind who follows who /

      (He frowns.)

      Knowing this / isn’t it obvious / what I should do? /

      (THRASH has a horrible premonition.)

      If only /

      THRASH: Wardrobe /

      WARDROBE: If only to frustrate the complacent / and surely / sentimental / attitude to human behaviour /

      THRASH: Wardrobe /

      WARDROBE: Embedded in the Emperor’s /

      THRASH: You mustn’t / Wardrobe /

      WARDROBE: Sense of comedy /

      (He goes towards the bed.)

      THRASH: YOU MUSTN’T TIP POOR BIBLE ON THE FLOOR / I WON’T LET YOU /

      (The SOLDIER, shocked at the revelation of WARDROBE’s intention, takes up a defensive posture over the deathbed of BIBLE. WARDROBE is amused, and stops.)

      WARDROBE: I say comedy / what’s comedy / only another discipline / surely? /

      (Provoking the SOLDIER, WARDROBE launches himself a few paces further and stops.)

      SOLDIER: (Braced for a struggle.) Please / you are such a / such a great artist / Mr Wardrobe / please /

      (WARDROBE fixes the SOLDIER with a stare.)

      WARDROBE: Get a violin /

      (The SOLDIER’s face falls.)

      SOLDIER: A violin? /

      WARDROBE: You know / it’s hollow / and it screams /

      (The SOLDIER’s head shakes in his anxiety.)

      SOLDIER: I don’t know where to / how to /

      WARDROBE: Stab / murder / commit atrocity /

      (Neither conceding nor refusing, the SOLDIER hurries out. WARDROBE is immobile, taut, a knot of ambition, frustration, dread. With a swift move he outmanoeuvres THRASH and lifting the canvas bed in both hands, tilts it. With a cry, BIBLE tumbles onto the boards. THRASH howls and goes to attack WARDROBE, who snatches the bed off the floor and extends it before him as a shield. THRASH ceases her onrush and stares in disbelief. WARDROBE goes away a little distance, places the canvas bed on the floor, and extends himself on it. Removing the music score from his clothes, he proceeds to study it. THRASH seems incapable of action. The wind blows. BIBLE faintly sobs.)

      THRASH: (At last.) You and the Emperor /

      (She screws up her face.)

      The Emperor and you /

      WARDROBE: Friends /

      (THRASH returns to BIBLE and kneels beside him.)

      THRASH: He’s been sick / he’s been sick / oh / he’s been sick /

      (WARDROBE receives this information without comment. THRASH nurses BIBLE.)

      Let go / darling / it’s all right / let go /

      (The sounds and sense of BIBLE’s death suffuse WARDROBE’s consciousness. The music, which he had held aloft, falls in his hand like a signal. His hands collapse onto his chest, the fingers barely moving on the score. THRASH hums tunelessly, and eventually, inaudibly. From his deep breathing it is evident that whilst BIBLE is dead, WARDROBE is asleep. THRASH removes herself from the dead man, and looks at WARDROBE, pensively. The wind blows litter over the boards. She steals towards him and with infinite caution, reaches to remove the score from his fingers. He allows her to extract the pages from his grasp, then instantly seizes her wrist. THRASH concedes.)

      You never sleep /

      (WARDROBE, without letting go of THRASH’s wrist, relieves her of the score with his free hand.)

      You must sleep / Wardrobe /

      WARDROBE: Must I? / in order that you can satisfy your criminal ambitions? /

      THRASH: Criminal? / me? /

      WARDROBE: Criminal / yes / it would be criminal / I assure you / if some stinking servant on the frontier / in a froth of naivety / good-will / and innocence / were to frustrate the terrible desires that led to the creation of the rhapsody / now / if Bible’s dead / announce it to the Captain /

      (WARDROBE flings away her hand. THRASH does not obey at once, but studies WARDROBE critically. As she goes to leave, she stops.)

      THRASH: СКАЧАТЬ