Harold Pinter Plays 2 by Harold Pinter Page A

upstairs to finish what I’m doing, run back downstairs to see to the sausages, if I’m having sausages, run back upstairs to finish what I’m doing, run back downstairs to lay the table, run back upstairs to finish what I’m doing, run back—
    PETE: Yes!
    LEN: Where did you get those shoes?
    PETE: What?
    LEN: Those shoes. How long have you had them?
    PETE: What’s the matter with them?
    LEN: Have you been wearing them all night?
    [ Pause. ]
    PETE: When did you last sleep?
    [ His hand is lying open, palm upward. ]
    LEN: Sleep? Don’t make me laugh. All I do is sleep.
    PETE: What about work? How’s work?
    LEN: Paddington? It’s a big railway station. An oven. It’s an oven. Still, bad air is better than no air. It’s best on night shift. The trains come in, I give a bloke half a dollar, he does my job, I curl up in the corner and read the timetables. But they tell me I might make a first class porter. I’ve been told I’ve got the makings of a number one porter. What are you doing with your hand?
    PETE: What are you talking about?
    LEN: What are you doing with your hand?
    PETE [ coolly ]:What do you think I’m doing with it? Eh? What do you think?
    LEN: I don’t know.
    PETE: I’ll tell you, shall I? Nothing. I’m not doing anything with it. It’s not moving. I’m doing nothing with it.
    LEN: You’re holding it palm upwards.
    PETE: What about it?
    LEN: It’s not normal. Let’s have a look at that hand. Let’s have a look at it. [ Pause. He gasps through his teeth. ]You’re a homicidal maniac.
    PETE: Is that a fact?
    LEN: Look. Look at that hand. Look, look at it. A straight lineright across the middle. Right across the middle, see? Horizontal. That’s all you’ve got. What else have you got? You’re a nut.
    PETE: Oh yes?
    LEN: You couldn’t find two men in a million with a hand like that. It sticks out a mile. A mile. That’s what you are, that’s exactly what you are, you’re a homicidal maniac!
    [ A knock on the outer door. ]
    PETE [ rising to exit ]:That’s him. [ He goes off. The lights begin to fade to blackout. ]
    MARK: [ off ]Anyone here?
    PETE: [ off ]Yes, how are you?
    MARK: [ off ]Any tea?
    PETE: [ off ]Polish tea.
    [ Blackout. The lights come up in LEN ’ S room — overhead lamp.
    LEN is sitting at the side of the table. ]
    LEN: There is my table. That is a table. There is my chair. There is my table. That is a bowl of fruit. There is my chair. There are my curtains. There is no wind. It is past night and before morning. This is my room. This is a room. There is the wall-paper, on the walls. There are six walls. Eight walls. An octagon. This room is an octagon.
    There are my shoes, on my feet.
    This is a journey and an ambush. This is the centre of the cold, a halt to the journey and no ambush. This is the deep grass I keep to. This is the thicket in the centre of the night and the morning. There is my hundred watt bulb like a dagger. This room moves. This room is moving. It has moved. It has reached … a dead halt. This is my fixture. There is no web. All’s clear, and abundant. Perhaps a morning will arrive. If a morning arrives, it will not destroy my fixture, nor my luxury. If it is dark in the night or light,nothing obtrudes. I have my compartment. I am wedged. Here is my arrangement, and my kingdom. There are no voices. They make no hole in my side.
    The doorbell rings. LEN searches for his glasses on the table, rummaging among the books. Lifts tablecloth. Is still. Searches in armchair. Then on mantlepiece. Bell rings again. He searches under table. Bell rings again. He rises, looks down, sees glasses in top pocket of jacket. Smiles, puts them on. Exits to open front door. MARK enters to below table. LEN follows.
    LEN: What’s this, a suit? Where’s your carnation?
    MARK: What do you think of it?
    LEN: It’s not a schmutta.
    MARK: It’s got a zip at the hips.
    LEN: A zip at the hips? What for?
    MARK: Instead of a buckle. It’s neat.
    LEN: Neat? I should say it’s